10 Bookmarks by irisgrey
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“I suppose I’m not really the boss of you, anyway.”
“Eh,” Minho agrees, airy, “technically, no.” Then he is silent, until, “Not like you’ve tried, though.”
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Minho's girlfriend takes him home to spend a summery week on the lake—and to meet her widower dad.
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The conclusion Minho has come to after nights spent thinking of wavy brown hair when he spaces out during Jeongin’s kids shows, days spent with his eyes skimming the beach for a glimpse of honey skin, is that humans have an interest in the unknown.
Jisung is a new character in his day to day, the first in ages, ever since Hyeju got hired as a lifeguard. Jisung is pretty and he’s from the mainland but he seems to be setting up a life here, and Minho knows nothing about him besides his name. His brain has inexplicably latched onto a weaved story, a routine thing he and Hyunjin do, because humanity craves to learn more about the unknown.
The Jisung in his head is separate from the Jisung on the beach, though they look the same. A temporary annoyance, a psychological torment.
(OR: Minho, left to care for his younger brother after his parents death, works to make ends meet and doesn't have time for distractions. Jisung, a free-spirited and very distracting surfer, moves to town and turns Minho's world on it's head.)
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Jisung wants Minho to be his new hobby. Learning each tick and hum. The way his bones creak and his breath tumbles from his lips. He wants to become an expert.
He thinks Minho could be the hobby that sticks. The thing that will finally stop the clock on his humiliating, slow demise— his deterioration into nothing but soil, and dirt, and the dust of flower petals that never grow correctly.
He’ll have to see.
(OR: Jisung is saving himself for his step-brother; Minho is home for the summer.)
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sorry for what i said in our social research class by ouchsolo for NominNoodles
Fandoms: NCT (Band)
05 Apr 2022
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All Jeno does is make him feel horrible, rile him up to the point of no return and burrow beneath his skin like a putrid botfly. Nothing about Jeno is welcoming or steady or warm, but Jaemin is so fucking sick in the head that he thinks he likes that about him. Still, telling him no, lying and saying he wants to stop is the right thing to do here, because neither of them deserve to be used.
Bookmarked by irisgrey
29 Nov 2024
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- Words:
- 170,248
- Works:
- 7
- Bookmarks:
- 1,532
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Summary
It started as a joke.
Whatever possessed Mark, Yuta had no idea, but out of nowhere, he clutched his hands to his chest and pitched his voice up in a breathy keen.
“Oppa.”
Now, it’s a thing.
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Wooyoung is just a stranger at first, one with glittering eyes and smiling lips who knows how to show San a good time.
As it turns out, he’s actually someone who’s able to hide very well—hide the fact that underneath it all, the core of him is something that’s twisted and broken and bright.
San looks, San realizes, and San stays.
Series
- Part 1 of The World Wore Masks
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In which Jisung is dating a girl, Minho is dating a boy, and they both slowly realize they should instead be dating each other.
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After a seemingly harmless one-night stand, a very unprepared Wooyoung finds himself looking at the world through a lens of inconvenient fireworks, rewritten rulebooks, and sudden bursts of sunlight, as a man with a treasure map neck and shimmering midnight hair prompts him to think about everything that he is, was, and wants to be.
And maybe, just maybe, he learns a thing or two about love.
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in which Wooyoung is cynical and doesn't believe in love, San takes care of kittens and humans better than himself, Yunho is an overly generous dance teacher, Hongjoong is a nocturnal musician, Seonghwa waters plants for a living, Jongho is a THC gummy bear-dealing arm wrestler, Yeosang is the proud owner of the world’s gayest fish tank, and Mingi is… well, Mingi.
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Summary
“I’m San,” San says, voice dropping in a force of habit, something that has latched onto him from years of living the same humdrum life and his lifelong acquaintance with introducing himself to people who truly didn't give a fuck about him or anything he did, introductions serving merely as a necessary evil.
The stranger looks at him for a brief moment before he tilts the disinfectant bottle into the ball of cotton, soaking it as he leans forward and presses it against San’s stitches. San grabs his wrist.
“I’m gonna need a name before you treat me, pretty boy,” San says, making sure that it doesn’t come off sounding like a request.
The stranger raises his head to meet his eyes, something like sadness pooling in his eyes, smudged black and purple distracting San for the umpteenth time this evening and whispers softly, “Wooyoung.”
It’s a pretty name for a pretty face, but San is presented with an even prettier smile, shy and curling at the edges of his mouth, lilac field for his hair and cherry blossom cheeks, as he repeats it under his breath.
Or, San is working in the task force as a mercenary for an intergalactic law enforcement authority, and Wooyoung's the anomaly he doesn't see coming.