j0514x - Tumblr blog

[j0514x]

quick lovey wyll & astarion sketch ~

[j0514x]

i love that if you show astarion kindness when he's vulnerable he just

[j0514x]

we go around each other, it’s pretty dangerous we get attracted to each other, yeah, yeah, yeah… — beautiful liar, kbs music bank ⟨230113⟩

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kihyun performing bad liar for mic in the scene

[j0514x]

1993.11.03 HAPPY MINHYUK DAY!!!!!!!

happy birthday to the human embodiment of the sun!!! you have the voice and heart of an angel. thank you for always smiling for us. you bring us so much happiness and inspiration with all that you do. we love you minhyuk!!!!

[j0514x]

Shownu x Wonho - A gift I cannot erase hurt/comfort + soft smut | ongoing | ao3 all

┌───────── · · · · ♡ Chapter 1

There's a small crack in the ceiling. Staggered trails separate the plaster, branches of lightening in the abysmal off-white sky. An arm raises up, t-shirt sleeve softly falling, fingers tracing the pattern through the air. Shownu wonders how long it's been there, watching over his bed. Perhaps they should be better acquainted, given their intimate living arrangements. A sigh, arm falling back against the mattress with a dullened thud.

The cold had hit Seoul earlier than usual this year, autumn merely a blink in the presence of winter's bite. Clouds often smothered the sky while sun was yet to set, drawing days unnaturally short, shrouding the city in darkness. Time had abandoned them, left them floating, left them detached. Shownu doesn't remember the last time his feet were on ground.

That's a lie, he does. He remembers the puddle he stepped in yesterday, a lapse in judgement really, given the fabric shoes he wore. He remembers the trembling reflection of Seoul in the water, the fragments of lights shattered by his step. Shaking droplets from his foot, he lingered to watch the puddle settle, restoring the picture. An oil painting dressed in concrete frame.

He should tell their landlord about the crack; the thought of being awoken with plasterboard on his face is less than appealing. Maybe he should sleep with one of the others for now. Bringing his eyes back to focus, he ponders the ceiling once more. It is, admittedly, a very small crack, and almost certainly nothing structural. It's the weakest excuse he's thought of recently by far. He hates how cold his bed feels alone.

In a moment of indulgence, of self-pity, he allows his thoughts to spiral unsupervised. Curiosity, perhaps, to see where they go. He watches the ceiling, backseat to his own mind, until it lights up. A glow from beside him, phone screen beaming, Shownu reaches for it.

02:08AM Incoming call...

"...Hoseok?"

"It's cold tonight, isn't it?" Wonho muses through the phone; Shownu can hear the gentle crackle of wind in the background. "I left the gym and the sweat on my nose froze immediately." He laughs.

"Can't sleep?"

Shownu hears the scuffing of shoes, feet coming to a sudden still, wind a growing backdrop. He doesn't need an answer, he asked rhetorical, but he awaits in silence nonetheless.

The voice that responds is small, a fraction of what it was a mere moment previous.

"I didn't know who else to call."

"Where are you?" Shownu throws his legs over the edge of his mattress, feet tangled in the duvet pulling it to the ground in a heap. "I'll come meet you."

"No- no, don't. It's too cold and too late. I shouldn't have woken you, I'm sorry." Wonho chuckles lightly, awkwardly.

"You didn't, Seokie."

"Oh."

Crouching to tie laces, Shownu places the phone to the side. Level with his ear, he can hear the sound of a bench creaking, a bag hitting the floor. Softly, he smiles to himself.

Keys and phone in hand, he heads for the door.

-

The dull tedium of indicators echo, impatient while engine idles. Thumb between teeth, Shownu chews at the skin beside his nail, eyes fixated on the red glow stagnating him. The square of a window lights up in one of the buildings resting upon the horizon; a silhouette walks past and the light goes off once more. A car pulls beside him, drawing to a slow roll. Catching the blue haze of city lights, of billboards and neon lettering, the yellow taxis stand harsh against the night sky. Most sit idle along street edges, white light of their sign a beacon for the stumbling bodies leaving clubs. There is no rest in Seoul, merely moments of waiting.

Amber - the soft thunk of gears shifting into place, foot hovering over pedal. A silhouette dashes across the road, outpacing the changing lights.  Hands ready against the steering wheel, wheels turning as green light spills across the dashboard. Headlights throw shadows through the bollards into the lane opposite as he turns the corner.

He hasn't driven these roads in a year or so, and admittedly he knew them better on foot. There's a gym, tucked on the corner of downtown backstreets. It was never close enough to be convenient, but that was the point, he supposed. It was the place he went to be away from everything, until Wonho caught onto him, then it became the place they went to be away from everything. It defeated the purpose, but he liked it better that way - the pieces of him left there, the ghosts in the changing rooms, eternally companioned. The changing rooms became his confessional, nails picking at the edge of the wooden slats he sat on. He remembers the way the laminate coating began peeling, the piece he accidentally pulled off when he first talked to Wonho about-

They used to frequent the gym a year after debut, finding their feet in an industry of quicksand, finding their feet as a group, as friends, as... more. Shownu became a pillar well lent upon, but with none of his own; he wasn't sure he even knew how to ask of others. A locker door clatters shut; they had finished their chest workout, Wonho whining before every set but completing them with unquivering determination.

"When- How... How-" Shownu begins speaking, startling Wonho half-changed into his t-shirt. Neither know where this is going.

The sentence ends there; Wonho watches as Shownu's brows knit, assessing his words. He moves to sit beside him, gentle murmur of 'Hyunwoo?' on his lips. A sigh, Shownu drops his head. Wonho strokes a hand against Shownu's back, skin hot through his clothes. They sit in silence.

"No, nevermind. It's... stupid." Hands pressing on his knees, Shownu stands, reaching to sling his gym bag over shoulder. "We should get going, see if Ki's made dinner." He smiles to himself at the thought of hot food.

The strap of his bag catches on something, yanking him backwards as he attempts towards the door. Turning to unhook himself, he comes eye-to-eye with Wonho.

"Tell me."

"Hm?"

"We're not leaving until you tell me, Hyunwoo." His arms cross over his chest, small flinch as his muscles protest.

This would've been easier before they were face-to-face, Shownu laments. Fixing his gaze on the floor, he mentally traces the curves of Wonho's shoes.

"How do I-you find someone to..."  A hand gestures vaguely. "to top you, when everyone wants you to top them?"

Wonho laughs softly, in both amusement and fondness. "Asking is normally a good choice." He teases.

"Mhm... But who?" Shownu picks at the cuticle on his thumbnail, thinking.

Wonho's smile drops, eyes rolling. A palm rests gentle against Shownu's jaw, cradling. Lips fall against his own before Shownu can look up. Somewhere in the expanse of his mind, a lone penny drops.

His car slows, at the mercy of traffic lights once more. The car in front seems to be a taxi, two passengers in the backseats. The harsh red illumination of the brake lights ahead pull their dark silhouettes from the shadow, a stage framed through the back windscreen. One sits elbow against the window, head resting against their knuckles while the other speaks in animated gestures, hands painting stories in the air between them. The watcher laughs, reaching to cup the cheek of their companion. Lights change, brakes off, and the scene before him ends. Curtains pulled, stage lights dim.

The remaining streets pass in a blur, details lost on Shownu, until the one bench he searches for fades into view. It faces the gym, and sure enough, Wonho sits there alone; a soft beep from Shownu's watch alerts him of elevated heartrate.

The handbreak clicks into place, car halting; he leans to throw the passenger door open. Wonho laughs, standing and walking towards the car. Damp hair falls over his eyes as he throws his gym bag over his shoulder, goosebumps dotting the smooth skin of his legs.

"Shorts?" Shownu questions as Wonho slides into the passenger seat.

"Ah, I was in a rush." He laughs, sheepish.

Shownu laughs alongside, eyes crinkled. He reaches to turn the heating on, warm air blowing against their skin. Appreciative, Wonho warms his hands over the air vent beside the car radio. The handbrake remains on.

"I wish you could see the stars at night here." Wonho mumbles.

"Hm?"

"The city's too bright. You have to go far out to see them."

"Mh..." Shownu ponders this. "Camping."

The engine stirs quietly, sitting in waiting for call to action. Shownu leans to the side, looking through his window up to the illuminated night sky. He sees nothing but dull grey, smog of light sitting between him and the stars. He doesn't remember the last time he went camping. Beside him, Wonho reaches down, thawed hands rubbing up and down cold shins.

"I miss being with you."

Wonho stills, head turning to look at Shownu, who simply continues gazing at the sky. Processing, Wonho briefly turns his attention back to his cold legs, hands moving slower. He admits this to no one, least of all himself, but adjusting never ends. There is no moment where things settle, where turbulence dies; you are haunted forever by fragments of what if? Moving on, but forever leaving a part of yourself behind, fiaxted on what could've been. That's not a bad thing, he thinks. It may be painful, but it's necessary to hold on to things of importance even when lost. In giving them up, you give up yourself.

"Winter always reminds me that I never got used to an empty apartment." Wonho mutters to his knees - adjusting never ends.

Shownu scrapes a nail against the leather of his steering wheel, tracing the stitching. "I don't remember how your skin feels, or what your legs look like wrapped in my sheets." His hand slides down the steering wheel, falling into his lap. "I don't even know what scent you wear anymore."

"Creed. Royal Water."

"Oh."

A beat of silence, Shownu's hand slips to lower the handbreak, shifting into gear. Feet ease the car to motion.

The streets that pass are growingly familiar to Wonho, a building dread with each sign, each broken slab of paving he knows too well - he's being driven home.

Shoulder a shield, he preoccupies himself with the view from his window, the blurred lights as his waterlines burn. Clenching his jaw, thumb tight between fist, he wills himself to accept this without tears.

It's a cruel irony that what hurts the most is that he understands. Their foundations were lost; chasing something so unsustainable is a battle without victor. It was foolish to expect any different.

Shownu pulls into the parking garage, slowing into a spot marked 방문자. Visitor.

[j0514x]

Changkyun x OT7 [+ strangers] - Gimme a shot to over everything angst + nsfw + dead dove | ongoing | ao3 previous chapter | all

┌─────── · · · · Ch.2: All that's left of you is the regret in my veins

CW: sex in exchange for drugs, dub-con; drug abuse; implied withdrawal symptoms; minor violence

It's curt; the door to his studio slamming open, bookcases trembling. Something heavy falls off. Kihyun beelines for the bathroom.

Harsh cracks of light stream from the doorway, steam flooding out in plumes around Changkyun's silhouette. A damp towel hangs loosely around his hips, haphazardly secured; it's ill-fitting, Kihyun notes, and likely only a hair towel given the crass amount of thigh it fails to cover. He tries to catch a glimpse of the towel rack behind Changkyun, tries to gauge the last time he did laundry, only to see the gleaming metal bars lay bare, flickers of light catching in the condensation. For the amount of times they've seen each other laid bare, he questions to himself why Changkyun tried to cover himself with what little he had clean. For a moment Changkyun feels like a stranger.

Anger and adrenaline drain from his body, veins left desolate, cold. Changkyun is but a foot or two from him, but he's never felt further away. Beads of water drip from the ends of Changkyun's hair, soundlessly hitting the floor. Watching them, Kihyun realises neither of them have moved, have spoken a word. They exist in purgatory, oppressively silent. A drop of water hits Changkyun's collarbone, trailing down his chest, detours dictated by the curves of his torso. Kihyun outstretches a hand, wordless but expecting. Changkyun frees the towel from his hips and places it in Kihyun's grasp. Towel pulled from palm to palm, Kihyun steps a pace closer, reaching to catch the trickles of water, to dry Changkyun's hair. It's callous, Kihyun rougher than needs be, but slender fingers drag through the knots left behind, combing through swaths of drying hair.  Head hanging, Changkyun swipes away tears he hopes Kihyun overlooks.

Leaning back on the heel of his shoe, Kihyun reclines from Changkyun, job deemed finished. He folds the towel, habitual, before offering it back. It's accepted; Changkyun unable to meet Kihyun's gaze, fingers anxiously kneading at the sodden towel in his grip.

"You didn't need to come here." Breath held, he dives, crashing through the still of the room. Changkyun knows ripples bore crashing waves, and perhaps that's what he seeks.

He is met, instead, water that will not move, with Kihyun's silence.

"I said I was fine." Pebbles thrown to lakes that never hit; Changkyun lifts his gaze to meet Kihyun's. It's scrutinising; he snaps to look away.

"Four days." Kihyun mutters; the tide begins. "Four fucking days."

Changkyun begins padding through his studio, stripped bare, false confidence his blood. "Jooheon spends longer at his studio." He lowers himself onto the sofa.

A sigh, gritted teeth, Kihyun turns to face Changkyun. "Jooheon isn't spending the time letting strangers use him like a piece of cheap plastic for some shitty powder pulled from their jean pocket, Changkyun."

It's biting, cruel even, but spoken with such soft pity Changkyun's ribs cave, chest a hollow cavern. He forgets how to breathe. A beat passes, the water unnervingly still; Kihyun rapidly burns with regret.

"For uh, what it's worth, Joo does occasionally..." Changkyun trails off.

"I know what Jooheon does."

2015... 2015 was the last time things felt this painfully awkward between him and Changkyun. A twitch of the neck, he tries to shake the memory from his head. The watch on his wrist sounds small ticks, small reminders of time continuing without them. A worry grows that perhaps there is simply nothing left to say.

"I thought you stopped being the mom of the group." The words tumble from Changkyun's lips before he can claw them back. He hears the clack of Kihyun taking a step back, shocked; he doesn't look up.

Kihyun stands taken aback, slow blinks as he regains composure. There is no shortage of responses, of things to say to Changkyun, words to cuss, questions to yell.

Instead, he simply leaves. Nothing to gather, to take home, Kihyun simply walks through the door.

It isn't slammed this time, but quietly clicked shut. Changkyun hates how it's more painful this way. Body wracked with turmoil, pain radiating through every fibre of tissue. Knees to chest, he curls into the sofa, squeak of skin against leather. It's a cruel fate, he concludes, to feel both nothing and everything in equal measure; overwhelmingly numb and numbly overwhelmed. Duality.

Whether a mercy or surrender, he allows himself sleep.

-

Sometimes Jooheon thinks about how it began; in plastic bags the size of his palm, in powders and pills. A sly smile on Changkyun's face, eyes always miles away. The dull thud of bass shaking through the studio floor, the desperate hands tearing past clothes, skin sticking to skin. Breath so thick you could drink it from the air. The carnal desire to reach a place that felt further and further away. Changkyun always bought it closer, somehow.

He remembers the first line, eyes watering, caught off-guard as his sinuses stung. Changkyun laughing fondly, wiping the tear as he continued sniffing in cold air. The first pill, the taste of Changkyun's fingers slipping it under his tongue. The way his head fell back when it finally hit, breathing so deep it felt like the first time his lungs had ever been sated. The first drink, glass shattering between Changkyun's grip as he opened the vial, pouring it into Jooheon's soda. A raised eyebrow, a soft 'Trust me.', a hand on his thigh. God, his hand was so warm, burning through his jeans. Changkyun was setting him alight.

He doesn't remember how long ago it began, just that it did. Maybe that was the first mistake.

Peeling sweat-soaked skin from leather, nights passed in studios with nothing but panted breath and muffled moans. It became routine, scheduled almost. Enough days would pass for Jooheon to get... agitated, itchy. He hated the way he grew nauseous, room spinning whenever he tried to focus, the look of concern on his members' faces. The whispers as he left the room.

He always went back to Changkyun, dragging his feverish body up the staircase to the studio door. He doesn't remember when Changkyun started looking at him with pity, with guilt; when he started asking 'Are you sure?' before handing it over. The corner of Kyun's mouth twitches, pulled sideways, when he pours the vial in now. Jooheon doesn't care, barely even sees it.

And then, Jooheon went to someone else. No one could find him til Changkyun saw him behind a nightclub, stuck down some damp fucking alley on his knees. For a brief moment, veins running cold, Changkyun saw only himself, knuckles white against a porcelain sink.

Collar in fist, he pulls Jooheon off of the cock between his dripping lips, cum fresh on his tongue, yanking him to his feet. The confusion, questions, were answered with carelessly tossed money from Changkyun's pocket, whatever crumpled notes he had to hand.  He drags Jooheon away, into the streetlight, trailed with frustrated muttering.

"What the fuck, I didn't even get-"

Grounded once more on pavement, Changkyun slows, snapping to face Jooheon.

"What the fuck are you doing, hyung?"

Jooheon stops dead in his tracks, scuffing the toe of his shoes. He doesn't like the title, not like this.

"You were busy." Jooheon shrugs, deflecting.

"I wasn't busy, I said no."

"Same shit."

"You need to slow down, Joo. You're gonna fucking kill yourself."

"Like you're not loose enough to take two at any given moment for whatever crumbs they pull out their pockets."

A muscle twitches in Changkyun's jaw. He lunges at Jooheon, spine smashing into the cold concrete of a wall. A cry is cut off, dying in dry gurgles as Changkyun wraps his hands around Jooheon's throat. Nothing is said, aside from one brief choked-out moan.

-

Changkyun awakes with sheen of sweat, skin tacked against the hide of the sofa. Before eyes open, he's dry heaving, hanging over the sofa edge. His body is collapsing beneath him. Slipping from the grip of leather, he tumbles to the floor, feeble attempts to clamber to the bathroom. Standing brings nothing but the spinning of the room, sweat dripping from his temples, stomach lurching.

With moments only to lift the toilet lid, Changkyun drags himself to the bathroom before vomiting. Bitter waste gushes past his lips, chest heaving as his organs refuse what he gives them. There's not enough substance in him to hold back the bile, violent green hues burning his throat, tears streaming down his face. A shaky hand reaches to brush the hair from his sweat-slick face, and holds it, a makeshift hair tie. Changkyun lets out a sob. He wonders if Kihyun would hold his hair back if he was still here.

He knows the answer is no.

[j0514x]

Changkyun x OT7 [+ strangers] - Gimme a shot to over everything angst + nsfw + dead dove | ongoing | ao3 previous chapter | next chapter | all

┌───────── · · · · Ch.1: I wonder if my reflection laments

CW: incredibly dub-con | described drug use

He can't see his own hands, violent white strobes replaced with the dull flicker of vibrant red. He sees the silhouette, the width of his palm, the protrusions of the knuckles resting amid each finger, the ghost of something vaguely his. The lines on his palm, the small scratches, callouses, the mementos his hands collected as proof of living are gone, drowned in the cardinal flood of light.

He pushes himself from the booth, leather tacky under his touch, pulled taut towards the button patterning the seating. It wouldn't surprise to sit one day on these only to discover them sheen with their own sweat. There's something uncannily intimate about the material. Skin on skin, one inanimate, an object for the other.

Feet stumble. He wonders what he's searching for. A hand slams to wall, stabilizing himself where legs fail. A tattered array of stories, of art, of mistakes, the walls sit covered in graffiti. Fragments of people he'll never know. A hand drifts up to touch a sticker; square, white, inconspicuous all things considered. He can't even tell what design it bears, but doesn't care enough to try. Fingernails scrape against the wall, dislodging small flakes of cracked paint. It's upsettingly dry, the same matte as a chalkboard, Changkyun the chalk that cries out so violently against it. A corner of the sticker folds over, yielding. He runs a nail against it again.

Limbs phantom, waves of numbness crash through him, a heated buzz resting in his lower stomach. Someone grabs him by the jaw, rough, careless. Comradeship with the booth seating, Changkyun's nothing more than an object here. Moans spill from him as lips crash against his. Something sickly coats Changkyun's tongue, rum and coke, he thinks. He imagines he doesn't taste much better. Hungry, the tip of his tongue runs along a row of teeth, enticing. It's gritty, there's the remains of powder coating the stranger's gums.

The hand on his jaw tightens, stranger pulling away with a trail of spit-strings, and Changkyun finds himself being dragged away.

He knows this dance well, reciting the steps in his sleep. He doesn't exist until someone picks him from the shelf. He forgets how many times he's been taken. Part of him wonders if there's anything left.

Part of him already knows there isn't.

They don't bother with stalls for him anymore, cold porcelain of the sink smashing into his hip, there's nothing left to hide. His head is wrenched up, forced to watch himself in the mirror.

He hasn't been to an art gallery in a long time. Hyungwon took him once, maybe it was the last time, maybe it wasn't. It's the only time he remembers. It was cold, hard pine floors and hostile white walls; every painting quarantined from the next, a foot of limbo between worlds. Hyungwon wore one of his overcoats, near-ankle length and the same shade of black as his hair. Changkyun envies the people who look upon blank canvases, stretching a wingspan, only to find possibility and not fear.

He watches himself on the canvas before him, light catching on the edges of the glass, bleeding. It's so distant, he thinks. A film playing on loop.

"What do-" Changkyun starts, the stranger yanking his trousers to the floor, "what do I get in return?" He doesn't recognise the voice that comes from his lips.

"This." He feels something warm, wet, tap thrice against his ass; he begins fighting the grasp that holds him.

"Come on, not like you need incentive." The figure behind him sighs. "Fine, whatever. Fucking-"

Rustling, the stranger searches the pockets of the jeans resting around his ankles. Small plastic pouches crumple between his fingers; Changkyun feels his cock twitch.

"It's fucking- it's powdered, not liquid. Take it or leave it." The figure leans over the the sink, over Changkyun, making show of crushing his hips against the sink. A rough line of powder is tapped out, barely visible under the light.

Changkyun's hands tremble, sniffing hard before reaching to press a nostril closed. Leaning down, a pause, he steels himself. The flood of red fades as he lets his eyes slip close, inhaling the powder sharply. He winces, throwing his head back, sniffing violently. A hard swallow, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, gently rubbing. Gritty, just like the remnants on the stranger's gums.

"Done?" The voice behind him asks, rhetorical.

Changkyun goes to nod, but finds himself cut off, wincing once more as he's stretched brutally around the stranger's girth. Stepping foot to foot, he readjusts his hips, but is granted no time to accommodate; the stranger pounding Changkyun relentlessly, folding him over the damp sink. Muffled melodies blur into the background, bathroom full instead of humiliatingly obscene sounds of skin hitting skin. It's a mercy, Changkyun finds, that he rarely needs prep. There is use in being left gaping and full of cum from the person before.

And the person before that.

Hands grip the edge of the sink, teeth gritted; knees weaken as white hot pressure builds, threatening to drop him to the floor. A beat of sweat trickles from his brow. The stranger reaches his slender hands to find Changkyun's throat, curling around, squeezing tight. Changkyun's legs shake, muscles twitching uncontrollable as moans cascade from his liquor-slick lips. His head feels heavy, lolling gently from side to side, the room slowly disappearing into a blurred haze. A swallow, and he chokes, throat caught by the stranger's grip. In some other room, some other life, he hears the ricochet of his voice, keens of 'shibal' . It's euphoric, indulging in the weight of his limbs, feeling his body lose strength. A string of spit falls from his lips, body twitching. A cry as his cock jumps, pumping rivulets of cum that splatter against the floor, against his shoes. Eyes drifting shut, his vision allowed to desert him.

-

Veins sear cold with panic as he gasps himself awake, throat dry and spit thick, he chokes. It takes a moment to stop, sharp inhales and wide eyes swapped for the soft heaving of his chest. Changkyun pulls his sweat-soaked skin from the leather of his sofa with painful sting, legs swinging round till they find the stability of ground. Head in hands, he holds himself, lungs filled with shaky deep breaths.

He should get a new rug. This one has been through too much. Gaze tracing the matted tufts of fur, the "unknown" stains. He stretches his toes; it still feels good against his skin, soft despite everything. A fond scoff escapes as he recalls a flickering memory of Jooheon, film reel crackling. It was maybe 3AM, no more than 4AM. He doesn't remember what they were doing, what they were supposed to be working on. All he remembers is the soft glow as Jooheon laughed, drunkenly swaying at every joke Changkyun told; Johnny Walker, just for Honey. The only time his rug ever felt coarse, felt harsh to the touch, was after his fingertips had drowned in the soft skin of Jooheon's jaw.

He looks away from the floor, reaching for his phone, yanking it from the charger.

10:17AM 8 missed calls Kihyun: 12 messages Instagram: You might know these accounts... monstas: 54 messages

A sigh, eyes scanning through the notifications, weighing options, before landing upon one to open.

>Kihyun [00:12}: Kyun >Kihyun [00:12]: Where the fuck are you >Kihyun [00:15]: It's been four days >Kihyun [00:16]: Again >Kihyun [00:37]: Fucks sake >Kihyun [02:41]: You selfish bastard >Kihyun [02:42]: Just come home >Kihyun [02:42]: Please >Kihyun [05:14]: I don't understand >Kihyun [05:15]: Why won't you come home? >Kihyun [05:15]: We love you. >Kihyun [08:39]: If the next time I see you if to identify your body, I'll never forgive you Changkyun.

Thumbs hover over the letters on screen, twitching towards sentence starts only to abandon them just as fast. His shoulders ache.

>Me [10:23]: im fine

The message begins its journey, bouncing through small animations, small illusions of physic it never gets to complete before Changkyun's screen lights up with a call. He hesitates over the red circle.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

"Studio... just woke up." His voice comes out hoarse, unintentional emphasis to his point.

"I'm coming to get you." He hears the clash of keys, a door slamming. Stairs.

"No. Go- go get yourself a coffee. Or something, I don't know..." Changkyun trails off, hand through his crusted hair.

"What? No. I'm on my way, don't fucking hang up."

"Shit, I need to shower, Ki - my hair's knotted to shit. I'm gonna hang up-" A car door slams shut.

"No." Kihyun snaps. "You take the damn phone in the shower with you if it's that fucking important."

"Fucking hell... What happened to you, Ki?" There's a beat of silence, violent in its desolation. Changkyun's frame crumples, concrete wall of regret crashing from the skies.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO M-"

"Yeah... yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry. I-" I know what happened to you. I did. The sentence dies in his throat.

The click of an indicator echoes through the phone.

"Hey, uh. I'm... I'm gonna shower. I'll keep y- I'll keep the phone with me."

"Good."

A knot pulls, ribs caving around the cavern of Changkyun's chest hearing Kihyun's tone so utterly fed up. He feels nauseous.

[j0514x]

Changkyun x OT7 [+ strangers] - Gimme a shot to over everything angst + nsfw + dead dove | ongoing | ao3 next chapter | all

┌───────── · · · · Prologue

CW: drug use + addiction / vomit

Dark mats of hair lay stuck to the chill concrete; dried vomit, cum, and alcohol soaked an adhesive. The layer of crust covering him is the first thing Changkyun notices as he stires, pain as he opens his caked eyes. The cold air sets his lungs alight, stinging, unforgiving. Curling into himself, Changkyun coughs, desperate attempts to displace the remnants of the night stuck in his throat. A hand braces on the stained streets, he staggers to his feet, swaying unsteady. He glances at his watch, some attempt to frame himself back in reality but gives up with a sigh, numbers spinning in a blur he can't read. His hand reaches behind him, patting his back pocket. A small mercy as his palm hits his phone.

03:17am

Stumbling over feet that no longer feel his own, Changkyun drags himself to the nearest building before sliding down against the brick. A sigh, tongue attempting to lap moisture back into his lips. The taste of metal floods his mouth, eyebrows knit. A finger pads at his upper lip, only to get caught on a tacky patch of drying blood spilled from his nostil. A sharp sniff, Changkyun recalls a hazy image of rolled paper and lines of powders. His head drops, hands snapping to rest on the back of his neck.

"Fuck."

"Rough night, huh?" A body slumps beside him, clouded in the small of tobacco. Unflinching, Changkyun extends a hand, index and middle finger expectant. A chuckle, then a gift, placed gentle in his hold. He brings the stranger's cigarette to his blood-stained lips. Ribs opening, he inhales, drowning every crevice of him in smoke. He holds the breath, cherishing the burn from a drag too long. Exhaling slow, he extends his hand once more, returning a favour.

"Always is." He blows out, nothing else to add.

"Saw you earlier," The stranger speaks through smoke, holding his lungs full. "in there." He gestures to a club, red lights soaking into the thick ink of night.

Changkyun doesn't see, head still hung, eyes burning holes into the ground.

"Looks like you can handle a lot."

Silence. Changkyun can't tell what he's implying, excess all he knows. Excess in the creak of his bones, the ache in his muscles, the strain on his veins. Part of him hopes the stranger refers to drink, maybe dance. The burning shame in his guts reminds him he's long past such mercy.

"Must've spent more time in those bathrooms than at the bar. And you spent a lot of time at the bar." Another cloud of smoke. It's not meant to degrade, there's a hint of admiration in the stranger's voice.

"Mhm." It's a courteous response more than anything, Changkyun barely coherent enough to follow the conversation. He doesn't care enough to try; he moves to scratch his arm. Enough of the night has evade his memory, what capacity to think he has left is focusing on a way home, wherever that is tonight.

Soft beige hallways flash through his mind, the squeak of the wooden floor, plush sofa. He contemplates returning to the apartment, it would be the safest bet were it not for Kihyun's growing suspicion. Too many nights his bed has laid empty, returning home in this state would lead to conversations.

Changkyun groans.

A darker room flashes by, dim glow of violet lights, bottles of whiskey scattering the light across the foam on the walls. He imagines himself cradles by the sofa in his studio, drowning in his own self pity, but with a door that at least locks.

"Running from something, huh? Yeah..." The stranger exhales, cigarette stub burning his fingers. "Life will do that to you. Especially this life."

Silence, again. Changkyun listens this time.

"There was someone here earlier. Looking for you. Rough guy, angry guy. Had some twink by the arm, one of yours I presume. Shook him so violently security intervened, kicked the guy out. Lucky." He throws the butt to the floor, lifting the toe of his show to stomp out the fading orange embers. "Think you were busy getting your guts torn apart again. Certainly came out covered in some other guy's mess. Again."

"Fuck you." Changkyun spits.

"Yeah, yeah, you tried that once. It was pitiful, pathetic even." The stranger stands from the ground, turning to leave, hands wiping the dust from his trousers. Changkyun turns to look at him, frantically trying to piece together his shattered cabinet of memories enough to recognise the man beside him.

He sees only a silhouette, back turned, towering.

"What happened to you, Changkyun?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, he knows it won't come.

Changkyun watches him fade away, frame dissipating into the darkness, a piece of the night itself.

A small voice, hoarse and scared, is screaming at Changkyun to follow, quickly, before he leaves again. A shake of his head sends it away, crusted knots of hair brushing against his face. Sighing, Changkyun finds his feet once more; he walks back to the club.

[j0514x]

Shownu x Wonho - A gift I cannot erase

hurt/comfort + soft smut | ongoing | ao3

┌───────── · · · · ♡

Shownu tops. Of course he does, he enjoys providing what people need. It has nothing to do with not allowing himself the same vulnerability. Except Wonho sees through him, he's known enough gay men to read Shownu like a textbook. It's endearing, and Wonho offers him the safety to ask for care, to be led instead of leading.

Yet as the years unfurled in rubble, distance grew, and they lost each other in the chaos of clashsing schedules, clashing lives.

-

ao3 | tumblr tag

chapter 1

[j0514x]

WONHO ▰  DON’T REGRET MV TEASER

[j0514x]

sometimes you just have to clarifiy the mood of a draft u know

[j0514x]

Changkyun x OT7 [+ strangers] - Gimme a shot to over everything

angst + nsfw + dead dove | ongoing | ao3

TW: drug use + addiction / dub-con, rape / all bodily fluids

┌───────── · · · ·

There's something Changkyun used to romanticise about the Korean clubbing scenes: the bass trembling through his bones, the heavy breath on his skin from a stranger, the promise of a small bag of white powder in exchange for a favour... It seems less romantic when Changkyun is left scrambling for the cold porecelain of a sink, pulling his defeated frame from the sticky tiles of a club bathroom, vomit dripping from his mouth, cum dripping from his ass. Night after night.

He ignores the missed calls, the missed texts; the concerned looks from those he used to call brother. It's easier to let himself be used, fucked, if he doesn't think about those he disappointed, those he's running from.

-

ao3 | tumblr tag

prologue | chapter 1 | chapter 2

[j0514x]

Kihyun x Shownu - In this night dyed red

NSFW | 1.7k | ao3

Kinktober: Wound fucking / knives / clothed ejaculation cw: blood

┌───────── · · · · ♡

It's hot. Steam rising, glasses fogging, a sheen of sweat laid upon brows, upon noses. Fluorescent flickers of cold white light illuminate the kitchen, harsh contrast to the soothing flood of sunset engulfing Seoul outside. A pan is simmering, broth spluttering bubbles, lit by the crackle of blue flame underneath. Lungs fill with the soothing warmth of jjamppong. Hip resting against the side, Hyunwoo pushes his glasses to the top of his head, defeated by steam; he watches Kihyun work, the sound of metal scraping against wood, meticulous. Kihyun didn't cook often, not anymore. There is no pressure of necessity, no hunger pangs in the night. They eat well; they eat knowing food will be there, shared between them on their dining table, tomorrow night too. He finds himself cooking for fun now, for moments where the autumn chill sets in, sun abandoning the day too soon. The door opens, scarfs and coats cast aside, a pleased sigh as the heating warms cold bones, an exchange of looks, of 'Jjamppong?', fond laughing. Hyunwoo keeps him company, smiling as they talk, his eyes crinkled and cheeks glowing. It's mundane, but to be afforded such moments is a treasure itself.

A bowl sits to the side, the tentacles of a squid haphazardly tossed in. The metal of his blade catches the light, throwing fractured spots of light on the walls, as Kihyun slips it between flesh and skin. The membrane is mottled, freckles of violet, but near transparent draped over the knife. He works his way through, mind carried away in the stories Hyunwoo weaves for him. The first fin is removed. Kihyun cocks his head towards the pan; Hyunwoo steps closer, chopsticks dragged gently through, stirring the broth. The room is suffocated in the steam, of garlic, ginger, shellfish. Hyunwoo thinks briefly of the beach.

"Yeah, I mean I did say that," Kihyun continues the conversation, Hyunwoo chuckling. "I said they - fuck, this bit won't budge -" His knife halts, the membrane around the second fin unyielding. A shift in the wrist, he places more strength behind the blade's edge. "they should tell management before-"

The pan bubbles away, occasionally spitting hot droplets against Hyunwoo's skin. Kihyun doesn't continue his sentence.

"Before what?" Hyunwoo offers, gaze fixed on watching the pan, the promise of comforting food. He doesn't remember the last time he had jjamppong, or the last time Kihyun cooked with him. Well, for him, he supposes. He helps where he can, but a lesson learnt long ago tells of Kihyun preferring a kitchen under his control. He draws a figure of eight in the pan, chopsticks held loosely.

"Fuck."

Attention pulled from the task awarded to him, Hyunwoo turns to face Kihyun. He stands frozen, knife in a hand trembling. The squid lays torn, skin pulled unceremoniously from flesh. A clatter, and he drops the blade down on the chopping board.

"Ki?" A jigsaw with no pieces, Hyunwoo scans over the situation. A chill rests on his back, shoulder blades pulled together trying to displace it. Something's wrong and his panic grows every moment he misses the clues. Kihyun's head drops down, and Hyunwoo follows the path.

He sees it.

A blooming stain, resting above hip, crimson flooding the white cotton of Kihyun's shirt. He pulled too hard, slipping when the skin didn't give, and drove the back of the blade edge into himself.

"Shit," Hyunwoo steps closer, bending nearer the wound, "let me see."

Fingertips reach for a hem. Kihyun begins lifting the fabric, wincing as it catches, pulling from the wound.

"Oh fuck." The words escape Kihyun before he can process them, mind preoccupied with watching the spill of blood down the skin of his abdomen. It's not the papercut he expected, instead sitting two, maybe three, inches long. And at least half an inch wide.

"That's uh, yeah. That's bad. That's really..." Hyunwoo looks around, eyes searching as his speech dies on his tongue. He leaves, feet padding against the hardwood floor in jog, returning with their first aid kit in hand. He doesn't know why they keep it in the bathroom, shit goes wrong in the kitchen far more often. Maybe he'll move it after this.

A wad of kitchen towel is pressed against the wound, Kihyun trying to slow the bleeding. The paper is sodden in his grip. Plastic clacks, he turns around, resting against the side as Hyunwoo begins pulling things from their medical supplies. Latex squeaks, fingers slipping into a glove, the rip of a wipe packet being torn open. Frantically, Kihyun lunges towards the stove, kitchen towel dropped from hand as he reaches to turn a dial, to kill the flame. A sharp inhale, the wound bleeds once more.

A warm hand reaches to cup the small of Kihyun's back as he settles against the side once more, an anchor. Crouched down, Hyunwoo begins dabbing at the wound with a sterile wipe, tenderly mopping up the new spills of blood. It takes a moment, steam dying down in place of heated breaths, Hyunwoo trying to clean the wound well enough to see the damage. It's a clean cut, no torn flesh. The knife is sharp enough, after all. Clean cuts are good, easier to heal, but this...

"We... should go to the hospital. It's deep."

Kihyun turns to face the stove, watching the dying simmer, the chopping boards full of preparation, of food yet to be cooked, sat to the side. He sighs.

"No. Not unless we really have to."

Hyunwoo looks up at him, only to see a forlorn gaze resting on the pan. "Okay."

Biting a packet between his teeth, Hyunwoo rips open a second wipe, a third, a fourth. Kihyun's skin glistens with disinfectant under the kitchen light; the wound continues to bleed. Hyunwoo presumes an artery would probably be gushing blood in greater quantity, but the constant flow unnerves him. Fingers fold up a large pad of gauze, and press it to the wound. Using the hand on Kihyun's hip as leverage, Hyunwoo pushes on the wound hard. A moan guised as whimper falls from Kihyun's lips.

The pan dies quietly, broth resting peacefully, a moment of pause from its turbulent boil. Heavy breaths from Kihyun is the only sound left in the heavy air, an elbow atop the counter, head fallen back. He wonders if you can bring food to a hospital waiting room, wonders if he could let this pass under the radar from the company. It's just a skin wound, his manager doesn't need to know-

The gauze is pulled away, dyed scarlet, and discarded. Hyunwoo leans closer, breath ghosting against Kihyun's skin. A gloved finger reaches up and runs softly against the length of the wound, pulling the skin just enough to gauge depth. Teeth already clamped against his bottom lip, Kihyun can no longer stifle his moans. He watches as Hyunwoo lifts his head to look at him, eyebrows raised, a silent tease of 'Oh?'. Holding Kihyun's gaze, he runs his finger along the wound again, less trepidation in his touch. Kihyun winces, but the muscles in his thighs twitch, legs tremble. It's unspoken but obvious; Hyunwoo takes joy in playing obtuse.

Slipping from tshirt to trouser, he moves his hand lower, pulling Kihyun closer with a palm resting on his ass.

"I need to see how deep it is. Tell me if it hurts too much."

A fingertip strokes over the wound, easing it wider, a touch slipped in. A strangled cry is yelled out, Kihyun trying to hold himself still. Hyunwoo stops, looking to Kihyun, gauging.

"I-I'm fine."

Hyunwoo cocks his brows.

"Please." Kihyun whines, softly, quiet. Ashamed.

Movement resumes, Hyunwoo drawing blood from the wound once more; whimpers and cries spill in tandem. A hand blindly searches for his shoulder, gripping with white knuckles when found.

"You're bleeding again." Hyunwoo mumbles, removing his bloodied finger. He wipes the blood on a crumpled disinfectant wipe.

Kihyun feels the waistband of his underwear dampen, fabric soaking up the warm trickling blood.

Resting back on his heels, Hyunwoo demands Kihyun's gaze, waiting until it's met. A droplet of sweat beads on the side of Kihyun's nose, tear stains around his eyes. The skin on his cheeks is flushed, a stark contrast to the drained pallor sitting elsewhere on his face.

Knowing Kihyun watches, Hyunwoo lets his eyes drift closed, leaning his face towards the wound. Trailing his waistband, Hyunwoo laps at the trails of blood, chasing them higher before stumbling into the gorge. He laps the length flat, corner to corner of torn flesh under his tongue, before parting the skin. The taste of iron floods his mouth, warmth of Kihyun's flesh enveloping his tongue.

"F-fuck, it hurts. It hurts." Kihyun cries out. A hand reaches to Hyunwoo's hair, fingers woven in hair, grip firm. He keeps Hyunwoo's head in place, pushing him closer to the wound.

Spurred, Hyunwoo slips a finger into the wound, alongside his tongue. It trails the edge, teasing depth and pulling down the skin. Hyunwoo shapes the wound around him, stretching the gore around his tongue, his finger; the blood a morbid lubricant to the latex touch.

Droplets fall on the cotton tshirt, small dots of grey blooming as Kihyun sobs. He bites back the sounds, the wet choking, the snot spilling from his nose. He fights the urge of his hips to buck, to plead deeper. He loses himself in the pain, sweat coating his skin.

Hyunwoo adds another finger. Index and middle rounded scissors, parting the tissue for his tongue to lap deeper, to taste more. A glass-shattering cry spills from Kihyun as his legs give out, body convulsing, collapsing into Hyunwoo.

Startled, Hyunwoo tries to ease the fall, keeping his fingers buried in Kihyun's flesh to minimise tears. He removes them only once he supports Kihyun's weight, slowly easing the latex-clad digits free. Kihyun's frame crumples into Hyunwoo's hold.

A soft swaying rocks Kihyun, mind wandering lost miles from here. Drums sound in his ear, pulse racing as he drifts down from his high. The sweat on his skin suddenly feels uncomfortably cold. A pressure warms his abdomen, Hyunwoo holding gauze to the wound once more.

"You definitely need stitches, by the way." Hyunwoo murmurs. He feels Kihyun shift, eyes unfocused, chest still heaving.

"Okay." A breath is shared, silent moments pass, a hand to help Kihyun stagger back down. "I... I want to change underwear first, though."

♡ · · · · ─────────┘

[j0514x]

221006 ✦ whether it’s hurt or pain, let’s bring it on…

happy birthday, jooheon!

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10·06 ➼ HBD LEE JOOHEON

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HYUNGWON DAZED KOREA