jongin247

[jongin247]

[jongin247]

she speaks with a strange accent, almost forced, but he doesn’t try to dissect her, doesn’t try to understand or question her aesthetic, deciding it’s somewhat of a lost cause; to ask a masked woman who she is or why she’s attempting to disguise herself, isn’t it? so instead he simply curls a corner of his lips up, his eyes slanted and pinned to the ridiculous fluff of her ensemble. he wants to say there’s something familiar in the lines of her jaw, the crook of her elbows, that particular tint of peach-toned skin, but in honesty, he has no idea, he can’t place her, not just yet, not from such a quick glance.

and if she’s addressing him like so, it must mean she has no idea who he is either, although he would have assumed the darker shade of his skin would have given him away in a heartbeat. if not his skin, most likely his voice, but that is only if they’ve ever met before, given that he’s not as dedicated to the pretense of fully becoming someone else in the spirit of the ball. he is who he is, and a mask can hardly change that. “they say the line between love and hate is thin anyway, so how could anyone really discern who they love from who they hate?” the grin spreads across his lips fully now, the phrase similar to something he’s always said, actually enjoying the trope, however untrue it may be.

‘dig a hole, label it love’

[jongin247]

“why don’t you quit being so difficult?” he implores her, one hand gripping hers, holding it up as though they were already dancing, and the other coming around lightly on her hip. when she insists that she won’t dance with him, that hand wraps around her more firmly, almost yanking her against him so she’d more likely be forced to move with him to the beat, his eyes boring into hers, vaguely curious whether or not she’ll struggle against him, make a scene, cause a ruckus in front of all these people. he’s not sure he would bet against her, but at the same time, she’d only get herself thrown out, and then where would her duty stand?

“you can dance with me and we can pretend like we don’t hate each other for at least 3.5 minutes, or you can draw all the attention in the room to yourself by fussing and arguing with me for no reason.” the steel of his teeth graze against his lips by the end of that sentence, the demand for her compliance clear, no room for hesitation or any more battles. she’s always drowning herself in war these days it seems, as though the child he had met so long ago had decided only mountain-sided bones could get her through life, a gun attached to every limp, teeth and claws and barely restrained hatred.

he’s not sure she’s wrong, having already decided something similar to that himself way back before anyone knew his name, but the music plays and he moves her, and watches her, and wonders at what point she’d come to despise even him. “we didn’t used to be so opposed, did we?” his eyes roam over her masked face, as though searching for the features of that little girl she’d been. “do you remember when we first met?”

shut up & dance ( csm ✩ kji )

[jongin247]

kim jongin has been training for business transactions since before he could ever become attached to fairytale books, his father rearing in him an appreciation for mathematics, statistics, self-confidence, and the basic understanding of how running a multi-positioned operation functioned. as a child, he would sit through meetings with his father, absorb the trade and stock of clients and investors, watch how charm and poise could be used as weapons just as well as intimidation and resoluteness. his father is not a man who conforms very often, never in fact, and growing in his shadow meant jongin was expected to become just like him.

attending a business school in japan and returning to take over the reins, at least in a single hotel for now, are pieces set in the puzzle of jongin’s life, building him up into the company head— that is, unless mr. kim manages to kill him first, or unless his clandestine nightlife activities put him in the ground. despite preparing himself for his roles in society for over two decades, something in the darker recesses of jongin’s soul tells him he won’t make it too far anyway, he shouldn’t plan so far ahead, not with the kind of deathwish he walks around attached to.

still though, might as well go through the motions, part of which being a deal brokered by another influential mr. kim, this one with no obvious ties to his family, thankfully enough. rumor has it, despite having lived his life under the thumb of the elder mr. kim, hoseok is about as adept at this job a newborn fawn would be in an office, something jongin sincerely hopes is an exaggeration given that he’s never been capable of exuding patience or guidance.

he almost winces as he enters the room, his hand outstretched towards the other in habit, their eyes meeting. he’s brought with him all the necessary paperwork for his arrangement, the two enterprises collecting together for a mutually beneficial alignment; he doesn’t want this this to take too long. “good day to you,” he greets professionally, but then he pauses, his eyes scanning the rest of the room. “will your grandfather be arriving soon for this meeting?”

Business is business

[jongin247]

‘first rule of fight club’

@247gao

jongin’s tongue slips out across his lower lip, the salted taste filling his mouth, the familiar iron he’s become accustomed to, almost raised on like a vampire, and sometimes he wonders if he is one, if he might be some blood-hungry, hideous monster draped in pretty skin, only surviving from one night to the next by means of drinking down other peoples’ lives. it’d certainly explain a lot about him, not only how many fights he gets into, how many of these nothing parties evolve into battle grounds he loses himself in, the sting and pain from fighting occasionally the only way he can tell that he’s not entirely dead yet. it’s fun, right? existing is fun.

distantly, he hears the tap-tap-tapping of a gutter storm drain, the alleyway around him dark and unpleasant ( as all alleyways are supposed to be ), his haggard breathing along with that of the man sitting opposite him becoming the only other sounds in the crisp evening air. which is surprising, given that just a few feet from them, the masquerade ball blooms and carries on, high-pitched laughter over music hardly anyone is really paying attention to, each and every puppet in play between gilded walls. jongin had done his best, tried hard to fit in with them, to sit and dine pretty and pretend like he hasn’t been itching for a fight for almost two days now, this incursion with gao not even his first one here.

despite their general dislike of each other, faces bruised, knuckles tarnished, both their immaculate outfits in shambles, jongin finds himself grinning at the other in the darkness, the chuckles bubbling out of him like a broken dam. he has no real idea why they have just fought ( probably something he said, gao not showing up in a dress being a shock ), but it feels satisfying just the same, and jongin sighs as he leans his head back against the building behind him. “feel better?”

[jongin247]

‘dig a hole, label it love’

@247yoori

he wanders onto the balcony with a glass of wine between his fingers, the edge of it pressed against his lower lip absentmindedly, his eyes distant and apathetic of the merriment and romance occurring back on the ballroom. he supposes he ought to be annoyed or despairing of the reception, valentines parties raising their classic red flags up all over the city, but he generally regards it similarly to anyone who believes in santa claus or god, mythologies and shadows cooked up to tell children at night to help them sleep through the nightmares.

jongin never had such luxury. there’s no such thing as love, he’s certain of it, and even if it does exist, it’s not for him. love is something to be used, a tool to be operated, a weakness found in other people, something he has been raised to manipulate, maneuver, control. anything he fancies, he knows he must destroy before it destroys him; this is the only way he knows he’ll succeed, the only way he knows he’ll be worthy of his fortune and his birthright. he sips on the wine and sets the glass down on the wide, stone balcony railing, the urge to pull off his mask and feel the cool evening air on his face overcoming him for a moment.

he almost does it when someone else enters the balcony and he stays his hand. he doesn’t look back at them but instead leans over the railing, the build of it as long as his forearms. it’d be a struggle to fall off this thing, he thinks morosely, and sighs, almost aching for it. his eyes glance over at the newcomer, a woman, foreign in her red mask and red dress, but he says nothing, wonders if he knows her underneath all that hoopla.

[jongin247]

as soon as jongin hears sehun’s careful tone in his ear, he grins, his chest lurching, the air returning to his lungs like a drowning man, and suddenly the room is brightly lit up once again, the gold trimmings shimmering, the crystal chandeliers dazzling. he chuckles at the question and lifts an eyebrow, the joke that jongin wouldn’t immediately know his best friend of years, his lover of late, absolutely absurd, although somehow not the strangest thing he’s heard this evening.

“my valentine?” jongin counters with his own question, his head tilting, eyesight burning over his shoulder teasingly. “well you, if you’d have me. you know you’re always my favorite, but something tells me you’ve probably got five to ten applicants for that position already.” he pretends to sigh as he turns around to face sehun, his hip leaning against the bar counter, his glass of wine perched precariously atop it only a few inches away. “people have always been a lot more enamored of you than they are of me, i always had to fight to get any attention.” he ought to pretend to be put out by that fact, but instead his grin only widens. “i suppose my valentine ought to be whoever i can fight most with.”

sugar hearts ‎♡‎

[jongin247]

it would be foolish of him to expect sumin to be in any sort of good spirits of course, the path of her personality having never quite been anything aligned with occasions such as this, soft decadence, silver tongues, gold embroidery never in her style. and he isn’t exactly exasperated by her lack of enthusiasm as much as simply forlorn about it, not that he’s about to lament her attitude or anything— he doesn’t have time for things like that, doesn’t have the patience. and he knows there’s very little he could say or do to persuade her otherwise, that is if she’s anything like the hard-broiled girl he’d re-met in high school, so changed and shifted from the smaller, soft-toned child she’d been when they had first known of each other.

something in him wonders if there’s any more of that girl inside sumin, if there’s anything left of her beneath the sharpened edges, the knife-bladed havoc of her skin, her eyes, her wit. she is all offensive slices of apathy, a cool-tinted shade plastered across her face, with or without the mask, and jongin reminds himself they are not here together because of any feelings held between them. she is here as his guard, somewhat, despite his interest in other things, despite the fact that he has another guard lurking around the premises, once he trusts slightly more not to get too drunk by the end of the evening.

when the music changes and she tells him to go find a partner, he almost follows suits, his eyes glancing around at all the many beautiful gowns and masks, each of them just as soulless and empty as the next. what is he supposed to do? pick a girl based on whether she matches his suit or not? he cringes and sighs, grabbing sumin’s hand and dragging her out onto the floor, regardless of her wishes, one hand on her back to lead her as gracefully as possible. “do what i want, huh?” he chuckles, moving in front of her, his hand holding hers tightly, no room for escape without violence. “i’m not just going to abandon my date that easily, you’ll have to find some better way of getting rid of me.”

shut up & dance ( csm ✩ kji )

[jongin247]

    slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor                     grasp it, sense it - tremulous and tender                                     turn your face away from the garish light of day                                                     turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light                           and listen to the music of the night

[jongin247]

dahye247 answered:

shameless season 8 prompts: s8: e6 / icarus fell and rusty ate him.

What she believed were regular people in the hotel turned out to be something greater and far more different than her world. The dangerous looking men in the movies were nothing like these men. No, they were just regular looking people that stroll through the streets of Seoul, all with family and friends. She believed there were abandoned warehouses where they would hang out. But again, life is not like the movies and Dahye’s curiosity trailed her into a death trap at the Crown Hotel. “What?” She stares at the guy in front of her, her eyes wide as his lips uttered the words which sound like a threat. “I don’t need rewards… I-I promise I won’t tell anyone. You don’t even have to see me again, please.” Her fidgety hands tremble as she urges him to let her go. She didn’t mean to stumble into the room- she wasn’t even sure what he thinks she saw. Her memories are blurred in this moment and all she wants is to leave and pretend this was all a nightmare.

like a snake striking out, jongin’s strong right hand snatches her, grips her by the front of her shirt and yanks her towards him, out of the doorway and fully into the room she’s peeked into. silly little mouse, nosing her way into bigger things than she could understand, he kicks the door shut, slamming it loudly, and shoves her back against the wall of the small hallway. there’s at least four life sentences’ worth of drugs and guns scattered throughout this room, two other dangerous, dark-browed men, long shadows on their faces like scars, years of gang violence marking them like trophies. jongin steps harshly into her space, breaks through her atmosphere like a thunderstorm, the edges and plains of him dark, dark and nefarious, black eyes brimming with evil intentions, a gun cocks and presses against her jaw, the barrel of it frozen against her skin. he finishes the rest of his statement. “and when you don’t do as you’re told, you get punishments,” he emphasizes his words as his jaw clenches. “now you’re in trouble, little mouse. you can say you won’t tell anyone, but in today’s day and age, that’s practically impossible. don’t lie to me or i’ll put a bullet in you.” he thinks about it a second. “shit, i might have to put a bullet in you anyway.”

[jongin247]

jongin waves his hand around vaguely, the one with the cigarette poised between fingers, his lips pursing. “i meant abstractly; you’d be eating and i’d be watching you— not super fun for my half of our pairing, you know. i don’t like festival food.” he inhales on the stick once more, eyes traveling away as they continue walking. really, why does daejung even keep trying at this point? he has a tell. jongin’s eyes snap over to him as he places long, opulent fingers at the base of daejung’s throat, lightly feathering across his skin. “you know you have this little faltering sound in your voice that you make whenever you tell a lie?” a devious corner of his lips tilts upwards after a moment when he retreats his hand, his gaze dark and half-lidded, his posture leaning slightly towards the other. “you should practice on that instead of ignoring what i literally just told you. it’s easy to read someone as open as you.” he finally turns away. “so you are in pain? are you going to get it looked at?” then he chuckles because daejung is always trying to not talk about himself. “ahhh business… it’s alright. the crown keeps me occupied, which i suppose is a good thing. keeps me out of trouble.” and at that, he grins fully, wondering if daejung can read him and his lies as well.

[jongin247]

“did i miss everything already?” he asks, stepping inside, eyes darting around to the other faces in the garage, the horde of them congregated as he assumed they would be. jongin isn’t often here for their practices but he does attempt to sit in on them at least a few times when he has the time. it’s not like he is busy with homework or anything, and his mom likes to imagine he has friends, other than sehun. he likes to please her, insofar as he’s capable of that, so he comes to aya’s house and integrates among the humans, acts like them, eats like them, breathes like them. even though he’s not, really. he’s something other.

he rubs his arms and heads over to the other side of the garage, where it’s furthest from the door and all the freezing chill of the weather. “i came to watch you practice, yet you’re kicking everyone out? that’s harsh.” a corner of his lips tilts upwards as he looks back over at the girl with a guitar hanging against her torso. “where are you guys going to be performing next at?” he never goes to her shows, despite the invitations. he comes to the practices but not the clubs or stages she hosts, and he knows she’s probably upset with him about that, but he always just shrugs. at least he’s here.

‘cacophony’

[jongin247]

‘time flies’

@247sumin

twilight blooms across the horizon and they call him into the room of his own hotel with authoritative voices and demands, as though they are not here by his personal request, as though all the ground they walk on belongs to them by simple touch or association. jongin shouldn’t mind it so much, shouldn’t let the lower tiered status by his name bore into his mind so effortlessly, but his father had raised him to be a god among men and this constant reminder of his own inferiority is bruising his insides. his heart made of shards of glass, keep cutting against the steel of his ribs, the words written across the walls of his brain screaming at him to remain calm despite the pain. his footfalls are surer than theirs. he should wear their rings, pulled from the stench of their coffins.

but outwardly, he only shrugs, dark eyes blinking, souring, sighing. he’s higher than a foot soldier amidst their ranks, and he supposes he ought to be grateful, given the strained relationships between korea and japan, a fight he has no stake in. he’s done the impossible, mixed the two cultures together here in this glittery, morbid city, brought them suitcases of gold and treasure and cash, and they’re pleased with him. soon he expects an elevation, but he knows that’s not what this is yet; it’s too soon. he’d have to spill more blood, not that that’s an issue.

they call him up, his governors in this silly street war, beckon him to his own rooms, and when he enters he assumes it’s a layout of his next purchase, some errand they wish to incur on him and his already-strained time. he expects the cigarette smoke, the vague clicking of sidearms against belt buckles, he expects the tensed atmosphere and droll demeanors. he’s seen these men for years now, since high school, embedded himself among them, pretended to belong to them even though his ambitions will take him much higher. he expects their leather jackets and scarred faces.

what he doesn’t expect is the girl in the center of the room, long hair and a longer frame, deep eyes, a frown as black as the void of space, thin, lithe, subtle. she turns her head to meet his eyes and all he can think about is the way he’d first seen her, much smaller, tremble at the hands of boys who acted much like the men in this room. his expression gives nothing.

“this is cha sumin. she’s a gift for you, jongin-ssi.”

[jongin247]

for a moment when he walks into the room, he worries his mother is actually psychic, some sort of otherworldly being more powerful than he’d ever given her credit for. is this some sort of prank, like a silly joke? could his mother have possibly known about jongin’s history with jiyong, the fact that they met a few weeks ago? had she seen something, heard something about the two of them connecting ( in more ways than one )? could this be some sort of shrewd payback how he’d never been able to protect her from her own husband, the cacophony of their family life suddenly catching up to him in such a twisted, awkward way?

but then she just looks back at him and smiles, expecting him to make nice of this situation, the way she always has. she raises her tea and says something to mrs. kwon, something jongin tunes out because he’s too busy wondering how he’s going to communicate with jiyong without letting on that they already know each other, without hinting to their mothers that something might be awry. it’s usually his father who enjoys putting jongin through uncomfortable trials, not his mother, but nevertheless, jongin’s face is a mask, a vague frown adorning his brow as he watches the man he’s being imposed upon.

when the other looks up, jongin can tell they are both having the same difficulties, and he decides at some point today, he’s going to have to find some time alone with him. not for anything sexual ( at least not yet ), but to have some kind of candid conversation where they establish that this is probably the worst situation to ever be found in with a one-night-stand. jongin doesn’t buck though, doesn’t wince or shift away as jiyong looks over at him, smiling, having spent way too many years under the watchful eye of a monster to give anything away too soon. he is nothing but a mask of himself.

he nods slowly to jiyong’s polite attempt, his teeth held together, his eyes half-lidded. “you as well, jiyong-hyung, i used to hear all about you in school.” to his mother’s surprised, raised eyebrows he chuckles lowly. “jiyong here was somewhat of a popular guy, always center of attention.” then again, with the presence of gossip girl, who hadn’t had their moment in the spot-light? some worse than others, but jiyong had still managed to get into his fair share of trouble.

‘resistance is futile’

[jongin247]

EXO Japanese album “Countdown” | Teaser Clip #KAI

[jongin247]

she speaks his name into the space between them and the sound rings like a deathknell, like the end of a horror story, the weight she puts on each of his syllables heavier than either of them are comfortable wearing. he blinks in response, swallows against the urge to wince or smile or feel anything at all, despite the sudden burning in his chest, his lungs close to seizing for breath, all the air in the hallway having fled. he forces himself to look at her, refuses to shift away because he’s kim jongin, he doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t cower, he doesn’t withhold himself; strength like the roots of the planet, the stones under their feet, histories branded into time.

he can remember the last they’d seen of each other, her eyes lit up almost in fury, like they are now, always so keen on playing the plucky hero, and him the villain. he hadn’t been sure of how to talk to her, really with any note of gravity in his voice, a vague request for seriousness that she hadn’t grasped, thinking him unendingly cold and frustrating. maybe he was pretty frustrating. maybe he still is. he doesn’t mold himself to fit her ideal of a gentleman, or a boyfriend, and her prideful side never seemed to accept that. he’d wanted to tell her goodbye but she thought he was only being malicious. as usual.

and now they stand in front of each other, nearly five years gone, although not all of it has been spent in tokyo, on his part. he’s been working hard at his business, working on setting everything up, applying his knowledge and skills, buried in anything he possibly could to convince himself he didn’t have any time to reconnect with her. she wouldn’t want him anyway, and that’s more obvious now that he’s in front of her, it’s more apparently written over her face that it had ever been inside his mind. he could be on fire and she probably wouldn’t spit on him, with all the hatred she holds against his family at the very least. that’s normal. he’s used to it.

he steps towards her slowly, carefully, his head tilting at an angle so he can give her a slanted look; she’s losing her mind? “what do you mean?” she’s dressed immaculately, which implies that she must be here for the fundraiser but how could she walk right past the front doors without knowing that he, or at least his family, runs this hotel? another step. “i own the crown. i’m putting on this party.” his eyes scan the length of her, the trail of her dress impressive but he’s not flabbergasted at her appearance— he’s always known she was pretty. “what are you doing here?” another step.

‘pomegranate seeds’

[jongin247]

the term “friend” is nigh abhorrent to jongin, a word used like flower petals, soft and carefree, eventually wilting and getting trampled on, roses shriveling and dying in the sunlight, a word he rarely, if ever categorized people into, much rather preferring more objective phrases like “associate” or “acquaintance.” this provides a level of distance that separates him from things breakable, human beings with frail hearts and frailer egos, collected up in their eyes and hands, wanting, needing, begging for validation. he has been conditioned to feel sick with that idealism in mind, bred to be without such connections, branded a level of distinction from his peers.

but despite all this, he knows there have been a select few who have managed to rope him in with them, ones he wouldn’t necessarily call close, but a part of his life anyway. after having taken a trip to japan as a child, he’d made relations with a girl who now resides in seoul, who now invites him over, who now addresses him as nini. when she opens the door, he lets the corners of his lips tilt upwards just slightly, the glow of this girl engulfing him immediately. he chuckles a bit and humors her enthusiasm. “aya, how are you?” he brings an arm around her securely, dipping his chin a bit, before releasing her and gesturing to the doorway. “i know you probably have a million snacks, but i brought us some dinner supplies as well. hungry?”

〃다가와 말을 걸어 Hurry〃

Honestly, it has been a while that she meet someone other than to have sex. No wonder why she was never in home after all this time. “Home” she couldn’t really call her house a home, to be very honest. Her home was with herself but still couldn’t find her true place. It could be on the bar that she worked, no wonder she always was in someone else bed in the morning. She has someone that could make her feel at home, her best friend and confident. It has been a long time until have a few time to spend with him. Having Jongin by her side was something like a blessing, although she doesn’t quite believe in God. She was missing him too much that she couldn’t handle to stay without his company any longer. She had a lot of things to talk to him since the last time that meet him, on other hand she would love to hear him as well.

In any case, she was ready to go to home after her shift, something that is rare to happen. She mostly go home just to change her clothing. But, this time, she invited her old and best friend. Aya was so excited that she bought a few things to eat with him. Junk food was her favorite thing since beginning. It kinda show her rebel side since she knows very well that she could die earlier because of that. Inviting him to come to her house wasn’t a big deal since they are childhood friends that kept contacting each other a lot, enough to have a really expensive phone bills every month. She remembers when her parents wanted to fix them, they never believe truly that they were just friends, though they didn’t believe in friendship between a male and female. After get really comfy at her house, she couldn’t even sit for a few minutes and heart her bell ring. She walked lazily to the door and opened it with a smile on her lips. 「 Nini, it has been a while! 」 She said, opening her arms to hug him tight.

@jongin247