#this isnt about avenging a fallen brother. this is revenge. this is making the men who hurt aiden; who hurt lambert; pay. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

happycakestories · 5 years

Text

old mx fic dump pt. 7

some particularly notable aus -- they stand out for the imagery/themes or how much i personally invested in the story

rusalka au - still love the idea of a drowning kind of love, myths of alluring water creatures, and the wet, decaying rot of old eastern european mansions - the kind that still seem to grow, wholly alive, within the marshes

cowritten w a friend who made a cool graphic :)

honey’s mom is a rusalka and his father is a korean ambassador or whatever, she was supposed to lure the dad in and kill him but she falls in love with him and gets married to this mortal, he builds a house for them near the lake she came from, she hears the voices of her brothers and sisters calling her and telling her to go back, slowly driving her insane the longer she keeps away from the water

This undead rusalka is not invariably malevolent, and would be allowed to die in peace if her death is avenged. Her main purpose is, however, to lure young men, seduced by either her looks or her voice, into the depths of said waterways where she would entangle their feet with her long red hair and submerge them.

when honey is born she gets remorseful bc he’s half a fae and she condemned him to be shunned and also his nature is supposed to be inherently dangerous so she tries to keep him away from bodies of water of any kind

but rusalki need water to live so she has to stay in the tub for a loong time very often

lots of childhood memories of him grabbing a stool and scooching to the edge of the tub as she blew pink bubbles at him

honey wonders why he’s not allowed to go near water bc he’s a child and children are nosy and during a family outing when his mom is distracted he explores and gets lured into the water bc the other rusalki kinda want to kill him to get revenge on his mother but he’s half fae and he manages to escape

when he comes back he’s changed, he has blue eyes and her fears are confirmed

so that night after saying goodbye to her husband and son she goes back to the lake and makes a deal with her brothers and sisters, she goes back with them but they must promise they’ll leave her son alone

everybody tells honey his mother drowned, but he’s suspicious bc she never went near any body of water, so he investigate and approaches the lake and sees young, beautiful rusalki floating under the water, his mother is there too but she looks so different and totally not human, he runs away in fear and after this he develops a terrible phobia of water bodies

every night he hears his mother sing and call him, trying to lure him in, so his father for fear of his mental health decides to move, but everywhere they go in russia, honey’s mother finds them and haunts him, so his dad decides to go back to korea, where he marries hyolyn who is the daughter of some fancy ass noble family and honey comes to love her like a good stepson but he cant forget about his mom, who is like a ghost to him, and he cant help but wonder if the memories he had of her before she drowned are even real

then he’s introduced at a fancy ass party, and honey is super shy bc he doesnt know anybody and his korean isnt that good, but at the party there’s ck too, the son of a general, and he’s a little nerd and also doesnt have many friends and he sees this super pretty boy with the most unusual eyes

and he notices this super pretty boy with the most unusual eyes

and he's shy bc his korean isnt too good also living in russia he doesnt have any friends here

who is looking around nervously since he doesn't know anyone or the language well enough

and ck falls in love at first sight bc he's shy too and a bit nerdy and doesnt have many friends

for the first time he's the one that approaches someone else

he goes over coughing out an awkward "hi" as he leans against the wall next to the other boy

blue eyes perk brightly at his prescence and the other boy also lets out a soft hi in return

it's thick and clumsy and ck immediately recognizes the slavic accent

he takes a chance and switches to russian, re-introducing himself again in the other language

he's immediatly bombarded by rapid fire russian, the blue eyed boy jabbering away with relief in his eyes AND LIKE IM IMAGINING THIS 1910's SALON YKNOW, and the two boys huddled in a corner speaking in russian

and i was thinking that they become friends and ck notices his friend is weird, he doesnt want to go swimming in the pond in summer and sometimes he looks at water with authentic terror in his eyes

but he doesnt know he's afraid to see a face under the surface

i'm figuring they're around 12-13 at this point?

jooheon's still fully draped in a high colored blouse and pants

manyeo0

YES and at first he didnt want to let ck go into the water because he was afraid his mother would snatch him

happycakeycake

won't even take off his shoes near the water

OOH GROWING UP TOGETHR

but Ck is also so genuinely enthusiastic about going to swim

so he decides to follow him to at least watch over him

but he is NOT GOING IN

"i don't understand, i mean its just pool water..." changkyun mutters even as instant regret fills his chest at the other's shaking form

happycakeycake

there has to be a scene where jooheon totally looks feral and ck is actually scared

i want dangerous jooheon sorry woops

manyeo0

that we can get man, maybe the one time honey (as an adult tho) gets into the water

and ck is scared and turned on at the same time

happycakeycake

omg DUDE what if he almost gives into his instinct

and drowns ck

manyeo0

also my dude i want this fic to be FILTH Y

happycakeycake

but he snaps back in time

manyeo0

and then cue underwater sex like in movie

happycakeycake

to push ck back to the surface and onto the bank

manyeo0

happycakeycake

HOHA

manyeo0

yes man

i want the filth

manyeo0

romantic, pretty filth

happycakeycake

AND HE LOOKS UP INTO BRIGHT EYES, PUPILS SLITTING INTO THIN LINES OF BLACK

LIKE AN IDLE BOAT DROWNED INTO TWO ENDLESS POOLS

HE CAN'T LOOK AWAY

manyeo0

YES

happycakeycake

BUT HE GREW UP SO MUCH

manyeo0

WAHAHAH AND THATS THE ONE TIME JOOHEON ISNT THE SUB

happycakeycake

OH POWERBOTTOM JOOHEON COUGH

manyeo0

OOOH MAN

manyeo0

YES

happycakeycake

OMG OF COURSE

manyeo0

fucking on the riverbank

happycakeycake

like reeds and fallen petals from the water clinging to his body as he pulls onto the bank

pushing ck down onto the mossy ground

he can feel the wetness sinking in through his clothes but he can't bring himself to move

not with jooheon sat naked and wet as the day he was born, staring down at him

manyeo0

joklkllflfklfkfdlkd

happycakeycake

and then he gets ridden an inch withinhis life woops yep i can't write porn anymore

manyeo0

AND HE'S LIKE "I SHOULD BRING U TO THE RIVER MORE OFTEN WHOOPS"

happycakeycake

and all he gets in a response is sharp teeth against his neck, biting harshly before pressing a soft kiss against it

he shivers but makes no move to shrink away

manyeo0

my aesthetic for this fic is lots of water and lots of filth

happycakeycake

i love that please

and dark green moss

dark woods with decaying trees sticking out of rivers

manyeo0

maybe ck gets sent to one of those military schools

happycakeycake

nooOOOOOO

omg but when he comes back

manyeo0

and honey keeps studying at home and they only see each other when ck is back home but they write letters

happycakeycake

both of them would 've changed so much

YES

and ck gets progressively worried as the letters become rambled and messy

manyeo0

MGMGD

happycakeycake

jooheon's thoughts jumbling into conflicting opinions about the rivers and lakes

JOOHEON KINKILY DROWNS GUNHEE

happycakeycake

there's something so satisfying in the way the other man's eyes dull and his heartbeat lulls to a stop against jooheon's own chest

manyeo0

IOFOFJSMSMDN

he'd be horrified if he knew man

also i posted the thing

happycakeycake

he can't hold himself back from stealing the man's last breath of air with a searing kiss

swallowing his last gasp and sealing their mouths together until he grows completely limp in jooheon's hold

happycakeycake

oh my god but like what if changkyun totally saw that poor man walk into the lake

manyeo0

OJJDJDDDKKS

happycakeycake

and jooheon rises out of the surface, only able to whisper out a "hi" as changkyun's eyes widen in horror

and then the whole sex scene happens

manyeo0

OGHH HIT

YES

happycakeycake

except he totally forces him during it to promise to forget about it

i just want a scene of jooheon reveling in the extent of his full powers, breathing in the scent of the waters as the moon drapes across his skin

and changkyun can only watch to the side, terror and awe all mixed into one

-----------

The dry gravel gives way under Changkyun’s boots into the ever-familiar softness of wet moss, as he makes his way back home.

Hoseok always jokes that he’s going to become a forest hermit one day, but what with the continually mounting stress at work, the younger sergeant is starting to seriously consider it as a viable option.

Even the annoying scratch and tug of wild branches against his uniform seems almost playful and comforting this evening. His uniform coat, brocaded with a once-flourishing embroidery of a yellow bird, is slung casually over his shoulder as the forest gives him its usual clinging welcome.

It wouldn’t be quite an exaggeration to say that he was forest-dweller, since he had literally settled down inside a patch of quiet, secluded woods, easily buying up an acre or two of unused land to live on.

The dense underbrush finally opens to a quiet grass bank. It’s perpetually secluded - the forest hunching inwards like a mother, leafy arms spreading wide to block out almost all traces of sunlight. Everything flourishes in the dark, moss and mud squishing wetly underfoot as they appear in larger and larger pieces towards the pond.

Well, it’s more of a lake than anything: deep and dark enough to hide any man’s secret. Dilapidated trees, raised half mast in the water, reach with stiff branches for any kind of light, even as they inevitably rot deeper into the water with each passing day.

And all of this is Changkyun’s home.

He plops down at the edge of the bank with a content sigh, relaxing fully even as freezing wetness seeps through his trousers. His reflection is clear and unbroken when he leans over the water, a perfect mirror image of serious brows and slim cheeks.

He leans closer, enough so that his nose could kiss against his mirror self’s, his hair could dip against the dark surface, and his lips could press a cold greeting to his home.

His face is only a millimeter away from touching the lake when he’s grabbed and pulled face-first into the water, pale wrists and outstretched palms flashing across his vision to latch onto his collar.

The initial panic and breathlessness soothes over when a familiar softness fastens itself wetly over his frozen scream. His vision shadows over, and Changkyun can’t tell if his eyes or closed or if it’s the unreachable darkness of the water.

Either way he pushes back, hands coming up to grope for full cheeks and bare shoulders as he bites against a plush mouth. A gasp comes out, muffled into tiny air bubbles, rising and popping towards the lake surface.

In a few seconds he follows, gasping and collapsing onto the bank, mouth raw as it’s assaulted by the chilling air. He sits up as quickly as possible, lungs protesting and limbs groaning when he raises himself up to glance toward the water.

Vectored ripples streamline across the surface, flowing into a direct stop in front of his dangled legs. The bottomless reflection breaks into a pale face and lake-slick hair - slitted pools of blue that sit atop of round cheeks which bunch into dimpled glee.

“Darling!” pierces through the air as a happy shout from pink lips, cupid’s bow arching in obvious delight. The cooed syllables roll off in thick Russian, curling gutturally through a taut throat.

“How was your day?” Changkyun replies simply, switching abruptly to Korean and exaggerating each word teasingly as he watches his lover frown in immediate discontent.

“I- miss - missed you,” Jooheon slowly replies, choosing each word with careful consideration as he forces away the Slavic sounds fighting to escape through his throat.

It all started many, many years ago, in Russia, Vladimir district, in a villa next to a lake.

---

The thing Jooheon liked the most about his mother was her hair.

Most of the time she wore it pinned on top of her head, or coiled in elegant braids that framed her face. When she let it down it fell in heavy, wavy tresses, red and shiny as polished copper. She let him run his little hands through the silky locks, and sometimes he helped her untangle the most stubborn knots with her favourite silver brush. It was difficult to choose the thing he loved the most about her, because in his mind Mother was absolute perfection: she was beautiful and wise, she had strong and nimble hands and the softest voice he had ever heard.

Jooheon had inherited her pale hair and pale skin and her heart shaped lips, but the cut and shape of his eyes, their colour, those were like his father’s, Mr. Lee. He was an ambassador from Korea, which was very far away from Russia, and didn’t look like his wife at all. He even spoke a different language, and hired a teacher who taught Jooheon how to write and speak it correctly. It sounded strange to Jooheon’s ears, and so different from the lazy drawl of Russian, but he did his best because it made Father proud and Mother happy.

Not that his father was home much: he spent most of the year in Moscow to tend to his business, which made Jooheon’s mother sad, though she tried not to let it show. She wasn’t very happy in that big wooden villa all by herself, with only her little son, his teachers and a couple of maids to keep her company. Jooheon was very young at the time but he understood that his mother felt lonely and he always tried to do his best to cheer her up.

She especially got a wistful, far-away look in her eyes when she glanced at the lake next to the house, which was strange, since she never even walked close to it.

In fact, she seemed to have a deathly, unbreakable fear of all bodies of water, not just the lake, but rivers and small streams too. Jooheon was forbidden to go near water, not even on hot summer days when he would’ve loved to take a swim in the mossy lake to refresh himself. His doctor had suggested it once and Mother had been so upset she had almost thrown the poor man out of the door.

One day, Jooheon had asked her about it. He was sitting on the cold tiled floor of her bathroom, his fingers idly tracing the shape of one of the bath’s clawed brass feet, while his mother blew rose-perfumed bubbles at him. “Mother, why are you afraid of water?” His mother had let out a very unlady-like snort “Why do you ask that, pchelka? I’m taking a bath in water right now, am I not?” Little Jooheon had scoffed, knowing she didn’t intend on answering his question seriously. “I don’t mean that! I mean, why are you scared of the lake, or the streams and rivers? Why don’t you ever want to go swimming in the lake?”

This time, his mother had glanced at him through narrowed, impossibly blue eyes, so different from his own, and he had felt a sort of chill go through him. It felt like looking down a well full of icy cold water, knowing it could suck you in at any moment.

“I’m not scared of anything, pchelka. I just don’t like moving water too much. You never know what’s hiding beneath the surface. Something might grab your pretty little foot while you’re swimming and you’d never see the light of day again!” She had started tickling him then, his laughter bouncing through the tiled walls, and every thought about water and its mysterious depths was momentarily forgotten.

It all came back to him one day, a couple of years later.

At seven, Jooheon was still a small, pudgy boy with round dimpled cheeks and curly blonde hair. His mother and all the maids doted on him, they called him pchelka, solnyshko, angel. His father - those rare times he saw him, for he still spent the best part of his time in Moscow - wasn’t as affectionate, but he seemed satisfied with his progresses and always brought him presents from the city, such as intricate egg puzzles, imported sweets and books.

Mother received silver combs shaped like dragonflies, silk dresses that floated around her figure like gentle waves, and more diamond necklaces and earrings than she could possibly wear in that secluded house in the forest, where nobody could see them. Her only chance to show her off where the fancy parties Ambassador Lee attended in Moscow. On some occasions, he brought his family along, his wife (“my lovely Dar'ja” as he would introduce her) as radiant as ever, his little son adorably awkward, nervous from all the attention he would get as a mixed child born of an Asian man and a Russian woman.

Jooheon didn’t like those parties much, they felt so fake and stifling, and he was always immensely glad to be back to his quiet villa by the lake, with its creaky wooden floors and the fading paintwork on the walls.

There was something about the perpetual wetness of the wood - the way it creaked and gave way underfoot, as if the water in it had made it alive, shift, and grow with every slap of his chubby feet.

The city maids always shook their heads at the mess, stomping their heels in disgust at clumps of rich moss creeping up in damp corners and whispering about how it’s not good for the mistress nor the young master, for that matter, to be in these kinds of conditions. For all their hard efforts though, one rainy day later and the lake would be back to its original state: creaky, wet, rich, and alive.

As much as his mother guarded against lakes or any form of wild contact with water, Jooheon can see the unfiltered want behind the frenzied fear in her pale eyes. He understands the feeling - the same pull rising up within him every time his bare toes gripped dewed grass, every time the splatter of rain on his windows sent him into a panic, nerves driving him into a state of suspended alertness.

It’s these moments where he and his mother sought each other out, simultaneously as if on instinct. She would cradle his pulsing head to her chest, wrapping her own thinly clad, nightgowned body around his own, their hearts pounding to the same erratic rhythm. It’s the only thing that can calm him down enough to sleep: the fiery curtain of his mother’s loose, long hair soothing him safely back into the land of dreams.

"pet” / mafia au

GENERAL AESTHETICS: “it got her on her knees like religion” “every saturday night i get dressed up to get ready to ride for you baby” “movie stars and liquor stores and soft decay” “so imma care for you, you, you, you, yeah” “if i cannot move heaven, i will raise all of hell for you”

PET AU: jooheon’s a quiet pet but he watches everything his master does with wide, brown eyes. They say he’s too docile, too vapid, too silent, but well - he just wants to be good for the man he loves. https://ton.twitter.com/1.1/ton/data/dm/920057578448670730/920057561562451969/D8Lvlc_K.jpg:large

https://ton.twitter.com/i/ton/data/dm/920750240050933765/920750232492822536/3Wm36U-f.jpg:large

https://ton.twitter.com/i/ton/data/dm/920750283805904900/920750273085280261/xQ7RY3nU.jpg:large

https://ton.twitter.com/i/ton/data/dm/920750203677921285/920750186447753216/vTzzE4p6.jpg:large

https://ton.twitter.com/i/ton/data/dm/920750190239330316/920750166130520064/kFTbt0ay.jpg:large

Playlist: “le noir” by bap, “ribbon in the sky” by bap → only for action scenes maybe, “Galaxy” by Ladies Code, “All about You” by Taemin → beginning 1st part of video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEURku1dTfU), “move” by taemin, “in the night” by the weeknd, “Wires” by the neighborhood-Minhyuk?, “White Noise (Chinese Version)” by EXO - in Jooheon’s absence, MAYBE TAEMIN STUFF IN GENERAL (Press It album - song → sexuality→ Until Today (it's perfect!!!) → Ace → Experience), “Burning Desire” by Lana Del Rey, “Gangsta” by Kehlani, BANKS MUSIC,

Scenes:

Confrontation: “We only wanted to rough him up a little for show,” Minhyuk sighs, nudging a hard toe against the soft, pale flesh of Jooheon’s thigh. The pet whimpers, warbling and desperate, and tries to shuffle away on bound, bloody knees. The same shiny black dress shoe comes stomping down over bare skin a second later, dragging out a raw cry of pain from between Jooheon’s torn lips. Jackson digs stinging half-moon crescents into his palm with the bloody tips of his blunt nails. Still, he stays silent.

“But, well-” the slender man kneels down on one leg, all coiled grace and deadly power as he takes Jooheon’s stained cheek in hand with feigned tenderness. “He made it a little too hard for us in the process,” a thumb digs into the exact spot where Jackson knows a dimple would sit during a deep smile, and Minhyuk smiles benevolently, “didn’t you pet?”

Minhyuk + jooheon interactions:

The bargain: Jackson reaches for the man, the leader’s outstretched hand, making sure to keep his fingers strong. Judging from the other’s pointed grimace, it’s a little too much. He bares his teeth in a smile anyway.

“Welcome, Wang Jia Er.” He keeps his expression open. “Please, call me Jackson.” Whispers arise immediately, like the chirping of crickets on a late summer’s night, and a laugh bubbles in the back of his throat. Jackson finally relaxes his grip, smile poised even as Howon’s hand comes to wipe casually against his fitted trousers. It’s bargain day, he reminds himself.

Howon nods, the cutting edge of his jawline turning to jerk towards the second room, bordered by the casual exoticness of an imperial era styled door, intricate lace-like designs carved out of fine mahogany and painted a fading red. Red for luck, his mother’s voice twines like threads of yarn knit with slender fingers through his hair. Red for marriage, his father’s crumbling visage breathes from behind his shoulder, the choking smoke of cigarettes winding a loose remnant around Jackson’s throat.

Red for power, he tells himself, a quiet echo within the blank space of his own mind.

He’s led into the intricately designed room, two rows of men flanking him loosely from both sides in a uniformed wall of black lapels and sharp white button-downs as they go. Inside, his nose is invaded by the curling scent of smoke, sweeping him into a momentary lapse of forgetfulness as images of decadent 19th century opium dens rip off from his wrinkled textbook pages and balloon inside his mind. Jackson huffs out a heavy breath at the decaying pictures, tasting the filmy sensation of marijuana clinging like a summer’s cup of sugary lemonade against his tongue.

The sunken-eyed, emaciated stare of poppy-drugged prostitutes have been replaced by the straight backs of bare-legged pets, kneeled so obediently in front of their masters Jackson’s arrival barely turns any of their steady gazes. He can’t say the same for his own impulsive curiosity.

Howon strides forward with calculated, casual steps, weaving past stained upholstery and scattered silk cushions until Jackson finds himself presented before a simple rectangular table, bare, save for a spotless china ashtray, surrounded by wood-backed recliners that all boast the same exotic design carved into the doorway border. They’re grouped into seats for two at the short sides of the table, then a seat for four lined up against the top edge, and finally a single chair placed directly on the opposite side to finish up the quadruplet seating. The hard tip of Howon’s shiny dress shoes stop right at the edge of the rigid circle, the rest of his men flocking behind him like a pack of well-dressed deadly penguins.

Jackson carefully seats himself in the single chair, spreading his legs and leaning forward with his elbows against his knees, shoulders relaxed and open. The wood of the chair shakes and creaks loudly on its spindly legs.

A pause. Howon’s dress shoes click in deliberate movement.

Howon’s penguin men begin shuffling in, taking up their invisible spots around the table with waddling gaits as their boss stalks among them, a panther among their midst. They all settle into the same position, legs bared, smiles plastered, all leaned in towards Jackson as Howon places himself directly opposite of him, hooking his legs together with a quiet shift of slightly too-tight fabric. Jackson notes the way the other man’s slacks pull and wrinkle like a fan’s folded edges around his crotch. He twitches testily within his own seat, looking up to catch Howon’s glowering expression with his cheery own.

Finally, the fine china of the untouched ashtray seems to come into use as the other man lights a simmering cigarette, roiling smoke unfurling from the slit of his mouth as he takes in a choppy inhale, releasing it in the same brisk manner. Smoking was always absolutely prohibited when training with weapons, but Jackson admits he quite likes how hazy it makes Howon appear in the seedy lighting of the underground den. Now, on his father’s harsh breath, that’s a completely different story. He keeps his smile pleasant, eyebrows rising just a fraction in surprise when a waft of cancerous fog brushes his way. He waits, and the cigarette is stubbed out against white china with a sizzling hiss, the red of its embers fading into black tar that spreads itself out along the pristine bottom of the previously untouched tray like a malignant tumor.

“So,” Howon puffs out one last trace of wispy smoke, “What’s your deal?”

Jackson can’t stop his smile from twitching, widening just a fraction across his face. He leans forward even more, back curved, fingers interlaced loosely at the knuckles as he rattles off every detail from the tip of his tongue: “167 shipments of illegal firearms to your district the minute our supply arrives from overseas on the first of each month - that’s roughly around 2000 per year entirely for your group alone. Free access through our subway tunnels for anything you need, and of course - solidarity for any-” Jackson flicks a hand at some invisible dust mite in the air, “-power struggles.”

Howon sits there, eyes grey, legs poised in his too-tight pants as he works down the last bit of smoke in his system. Despite everything, Jackson can see the purring glimmer of satisfaction in the other’s stone-cold gaze. “

And?” The other man prompts, shifting forward, hands clasped in front of his thin lips as he finally faces Jackson. “What do you want from me?”

Jackson’s words rattle off his tongue, smooth and rehearsed: “Complete and free movement through your district, all the way past the Gyeonggi-do station.” Howon’s single arched eyebrow reads something akin to that’s it? and Jackson’s mouth immediately gets the better of him as he finds himself blurting out, “Maybe one your pretty little pets as well,” motioning towards the boys and girls, lounging, supple and silent, outside of their tense bargaining ring.

Howon’s straight mouth finally twists, the man unable to keep the amusement off his face at the younger man’s brazen request. “Why not?” he chuckles dryly, bending deep at the waist before pushing himself upright on strong thighs. “A symbol of our union: your guns in exchange for a warm body to keep you company on cold, lonely nights.” He smiles openly for the first time since their meeting, teeth straight and canines sharp. Jackson has the distinct feeling he’s being made fun, but well, Howon isn’t exactly wrong.

This time, it’s Howon stepping out first through the ring of carved chairs, all his men rising to follow, leaving Jackson to exit last. He’s led through another rigid set of dusted hallways, only made worse by the rotting tapestries draped over the walls with fading beauties clad in kimonos, hanfus, and the like. Jackson has to admit, the other man’s sense of appropriation is quite elegant, even though it lacks something to be desired in the cleaning department. He keeps his pace even, lagging towards the bottom end of the group as he watches Howon pull a man forward, conversing with him in hushed tones and subtle motions. There’s nothing left for Jackson to be worried about, but he finds himself anticipatory for the first time in the long months since his assumption.

The room they come to must be the heart of the den, Jackson considers, stepping inside, practically pushed towards the middle of the circle by an imperceptible pressure. It’s covered entirely in silk drapery, tapestries and knotted curtains slipping down the walls onto the floors, floors that are a pool of various cushions and round beds, barely a hint of grey cement able to peek through the garish colors of the silk. Jackson wrinkles his nose for the barest of seconds; the musk of sweat and perfume permeates like a fog throughout the room.

“Namjoon,” Howon’s voice echoes throughout the room, nodding slightly at the man Jackson watched him converse with before. “Bring them in.”

The other man-Namjoon, bends almost imperceptibly at the waist before striding out the room, slipping out through an easy chink in the circle’s armor. Jackson blinks once in vague surprise, and the circle is formed once again, no weaknesses to be found. Howon turns toward him with a patient grin, and Jackson shoots back his own tight smile.

The mind-numbing incense of the pressure in the room grows, and he shoves his hands into his pockets, steadying his fingers against sweaty palms. He waits.

The familiar tap of dress shoes sound, muffled over the scattered layer of cushions on the cement floor. Jackson looks up, hands tensed within his pockets to see the penguin ring rearranging itself into lumped bunches as Namjoon re-enters the room, the hard pound of his boots followed by an unfamiliar string of soft brushing footsteps, the imprint of their sound pressed like dandelion dust into silk by light, bare feet.

Bare feet, long legs, all pale flesh on show as Jackson watches, breath caught, as a line of collared boys and girls kneel onto the floor of cushions, turning to him the open edge of their cheek with wide eyes and ramrod straight backs. The last one files in, presenting himself in the same fashion, but, huh - the entire curve of his porcelain collarbones to his arched throat is noticeably bare of any thick bands of leather. He lingers, just for a moment, on the pet’s bowed head and turns back to face Namjoon with a relaxed smile plastered over his face again. It’s time to negotiate.

“This is it?” he prompts, leaning back a little, rolling his shoulders ever so slightly in the tight confines of his suit jacket. The other man responds to his jibe with a quick flash of short canines, light dimples dipping into an angled jaw as he casually pushes the starched sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. Tattoos, Jackson notes, with a jaunty raise of an eyebrow. The Virgin Mary winds her way up the man’s veined forearm in a picturesque coloring of black and grey, save for the sickly green tears rolling down her 2D cheeks. Religious? No can’t be it, Jackson decides, dampening a snort as he notes the two stark lines that form the upside down cross adorning the knuckle of Namjoon’s middle finger.

“I’ll have you know,” Namjoon comments, calm and frank, stepping beside the first pet and lightly running the crook of his finger over her cheek, “our pets are trained thoroughly in all aspects of behavior.” A response comes almost immediately as she dips her head back against his touch, the perfect picture of pretty obedience. Jackson’s stomach jumps at her unreadable glance. Satisfied, the other man lifts away his tattooed hand, straightening himself with a smug, dimpled smile.

“Of course, that’s not to say they don’t have any personality - isn’t that right Youngjae?” He moves onto the next pet, a boy with pink, perked lips who shoots Jackson a puffy, dark glare as Namjoon’s inked fingers come to rest under his sharp chin. Instead of following the tilt of the man’s hand, the kneeled pet bites, jerking a tan digit into his glossy pout, catching it in a hard flash of white teeth. Still, Namjoon only chuckles, wrenching back his thumb and wiping it casually up Youngjae’s flushed cheek in a long, possessive motion. There’s barely a hint of the bite against the skin of the other man’s finger, and Jackson watches the pet settle back down against the cushion, lidded gaze once again fixed upon the silk in front of him without a sound of protest. What a show, he considers carefully as Namjoon moves on to the next kneeled pet.

Of course, he’s thoroughly interested, perhaps even fascinated by these pets, almost inhuman creatures that bare themselves so transparently before an entire room of black-eyed men, before his own stare without a moment of hesitation in their absolute submission. Even for the ones like Youngjae, feigning at spitefulness, the automatic reaction of their bodies when Namjoon approaches, quickly gives them away in their convincing play. Still, to give credit where credit’s due, Jackson can’t help but wonder, just exactly how the other man has got all these wispy, pretty things turning towards him like he could somehow hand them the moon on the string with just a simple brush of a blasphemous finger at their jaws, under their throats, through fluffed hair, and against pouted cheeks. He can’t say his own pocketed hands haven’t begin to itch, urged, just slightly to touch, with the careless affection Namjoon gives and inexorably receives with every passing pet.

It’s been too long on his own, too cold without at least the casual embrace of another human body. Jackson had thought himself stronger without it, but, scanning over the blatant display of soft, bared flesh before him, he considers the possibility of self-sabotage.

The end of the chain of murmured introductions finally reaches the last kneeled pet, and Jackson looks down, a short spark of remembrance tripping in his mind. He was the only one without a collar, Jackson notes, eyes traveling over the open skin along a pale neck all the way down to exposed collarbones. The pet wears the same half-unbuttoned dress shirt, spread across wide shoulders to show off an expanse of unmarked flesh, paired with black silk shorts, barely a hint of its hem peeking out beneath draped linen, and the rest of it practically swallowed by the thick muscle of bared thighs. He looks up at Jackson now, gaze a hazy mix of brewed coffee, hazelnuts, and a clear night’s sky, and Jackson swallows around the sudden lump in his mouth. He does his best to stare back, steady but not demanding, and all he receives is a dreamy blink from sleepy fox eyes.

There it is again - the twitch in his fingers, the hot irritation against his palms. Peach round cheeks call for the lightest of pinches, the glossy curve of a sharp cupid’s bow tempt an errant finger. Jackson has never met a cherub with such inky black hair, swirling in wisps of silk across gently fluttering eyelashes. The pet tilts his head, baring the translucent vein of his collarless neck in the dusty yellow lighting of the drug den, and Jackson is compelled to cover the spotless skin there with his own calloused, scarred palms.

What is something so vulnerable, so soft doing here, trapped, in a place like this?

The compulsion grows stronger, to do more than watch - rather to touch, to cover, to protect, and Jackson realizes it’s too late when Namjoon’s gone silent, when the whole room has fallen into a smoky hush because somehow, suddenly, there’s a warm cheek pillowing itself into the curve his palms, black silk nuzzling over his jumping pulse, and the innocent brown light of two upturned orbs drawing him in like a silent siren’s song. He can’t breath for an eternity of uncountable seconds.

“I see Jooheon has already introduced himself to you.” Namjoon’s deep baritone rings through Jackson’s jumbled thoughts, and his hand inadvertently flinches against the lenient curve of the pet’s - Jooheon’s - proffered flesh. A soft chirrup echoes over his palm, and his attention is drawn down to a pair of full lips, pulled into an expression Jackson would call a strangely petulant pout.

“Feeling forward today, hmm?” the other man hums, so sweet it’s like a mother cooing to her baby, and Jackson watches the same tattooed hand that had caressed so many others, thread itself into gleaming locks, pressing and kneading until Jooheon’s porcelain neck is arching backwards in plain submission. His own hand falls empty to the side, only a heated imprint left along its flattened palm.

Jackson forces himself to speak, to keep up an unfazed pretense, even as Namjoon’s ink-stained finger begins winding its way down the stretch of Jooheon’s bared neck, the upside down cross of his middle knuckle pressing against the hollow indent at the base of the pet’s collarbones. “So,” he prompts, voice raw and rough, “why no collar?”

It’s like he hasn’t been heard at all as Namjoon’s reverent touches continue for a few moments, arched gaze completely focused on the slight part of the pet’s supple mouth. He’s about to dislodge the awkward cough in back of his throat, when finally, the other man straightens with an age-old sigh, hand slipping, reluctant, from Jooheon’s unmarred throat. He slips the same hand into his pocket, shoulders flat, a perfect mirror of Jackson’s posture as his voice hardens into the same deep register from before.

“Simply put, he doesn’t talk.” He glances back down, meeting Jooheon’s diaphanous gaze, eyes softening for the barest of moments before looking up again. “We know he can understand us, but ever since we found him three years ago, he hasn’t uttered a single word. The clients are, to say the least, a little put off by his muteness.” Namjoon sighs again, body depressing with the strong exhale as if from some sense of personal disappointment, and Jackson’s heart picks up pace again as he picks through the hidden implications behind the other man’s statement.

Broken, not good enough, a simple piece of decoration, abandoned, pushed off to the side - and perhaps his for the taking.

“I want this one.”

Jackson is brazen, unflinching as he steps forward, the remnant of heat on his clenched hand drawn, magnetized, to Jooheon’s tilted stare, and he boldly declares his newfound intent with his gaze directly on Namjoon’s and his grip at the side of the pet’s sluggish pulse. A vibration sounds against his palm, and he finds himself stroking his thumb absentmindedly over the edge of a rounded jaw, soothing away what suspiciously sounds like whines under the rough pad of his finger.

Namjoon’s sharp gaze shifts minutely towards his boss, who’s lit up another acrid cigarette between his stern lips, some kind of invisible assent passing between the smoke curling through the room before he’s turning back to Jackson, eyes narrowed with an unpleasant twist to his mouth. “Don’t be brash. I mean, I’ve just told you what’s wrong with him - are you absolutely sure?”

An ugly twitch convulses through Jooheon’s previously smooth pulse, and Jackson tightens his grip around the back of the pet’s neck until the minute shaking finally subsides into his touch. “Of course.” He smiles, baring his teeth in what Kihyun calls his absolutely shit-eating grin.

Namjoon frowns, a dark shadow flitting over the hard edges of his expression, and Jackson tenses in preparation for another growled protest, but then Howon’s cold-steel voice is ringing through the thick air between them, dispelling the argument with the sharp incense of his smoking cigarette.

“Let him have what he wants. After all-” he takes another drag of the burning cancer stick, its flaring embers illuminated in his dead gaze, “what more could you want than a pet that would never talk back to its master? Perhaps,” he blows out another trail of gray smoke, pinched eyes turning on Jooheon for a second, “maybe even more should learn from his example.”

Jackson smiles, the lines of his face tight, and he nods his silent thanks. Howon returns it with a minute twitch of his own lips, and motions with a careless sweep of his hand for everyone to file out of the room. His men blend into an amorphous grouping of plain back as they sweep out the door, and the pets rise to their bare feet, following after them in a line of pure white. Jackson strains his neck, catching Jooheon’s hazy coffee and stardust eyes with an attempt at a genuine grin. He receives a slight perk of lips, complete with a hint of dimples, before Jooheon (pet, his mind whispers) is gone, the curled crown of his jet black head melting back into a sea of black and white.

Namjoon stares as he stalks past Jackson, the last one out of the room save for Jackson himself and Howon. His stringent gaze is unreadable, and the young boss watches the hunched lines of his back disappear out through the carved doorway before deciding to wipe away the worry in his mind for other much more pressing thoughts. Namely, thoughts about his newly acquired pet with the face of a cherub, the stare of an oracle, and the voice of a trapped songbird. Jackson is determined to hear him sing somehow.

Howon flicks the cigarette to the floor, grinding it into ash with the heel of his shoe as he regards Jackson with something akin to acceptance as he finally strides towards the empty doorway. “He’ll be sent your way shortly. Please feel free to wait outside.”

He gestures with an upturned palm towards Jackson’s direction, and they shake hands again, meeting each other’s gazes with unfiltered intentions. Howon smiles, broad lines indenting themselves into each cheek, the top row of his teeth glinting like a full moon on a dark night.

“It was good doing business with you.”

Sleep with me: (it’s after the first afternoon of the bargain)

Jackson's brought Jooheon home, got him all soft and settled in his room with a big fancy upholstered bed as he sits behind his desk to finish up some work, quietly observing the pet occasionally the entire time. Jooheon is technically allowed to roam free, but he only sits at the foot of Jackson's bed dozing with his head and arms propped against a corner, looking up ever so often out through the open windows and over at Jackson. Jackson gets up every 30 minutes or so, just to squat down next to the pet, looking him in the eyes only to receive a sleepy blink and he can't help but run his hands through fluffed locks as Jooheon coos contentedly into his hand. He always wonders if Jooheon needs anything, if he ever wants to get up, but it doesn't ever seem like it so the come and go kinda cycle continues until it's dark and Jackson's stripping messily out of his jacket and pants to go to bed - all nightly rituals forgone for today due to the big deal. And there's Jooheon, still propped against the bed, watching him out of the corner of sleek eyes, pale thighs a creamy contrast against the dark wood of his floor and jackson's plodding over on bare feet, squatting again for a last time, patting lightly at chubby cheeks as Jooheon props his head up to smile at him and Jackson's like "...I'll be going to bed now"

And Jooheon's plain smile only continues, nodding a little as Jackson begins slipping under his covers, and of course Jackson can only sit there, warm and suffocating in bed as he watches Jooheon's dark head lay back down against the corner of the mattress, legs still coiled against the cold hardwood floors - and it its him, he hasn't given permission yet. So then he's throwing back the covers, and scooching to the edge of the bed and cradling his palm under Jooheon's cotton soft cheek again, lifting the pet to look up at him and there's little red wrinkles of sheet imprints against Jooheon's round cheeks and jackson's heart twinges w such a sore ache he doesn't know how to reach out without immediately forcing himself onto the pet and scaring him off. Jooheon just blinks at him, brown eyes liquid and hazy with sleep, almost pouting indignantly. and Jackson, just reaches the same hand through his hair, smoothing back rumpled bangs, over and over again, scratching lightly at the pet's scalp as Jooheon's neck arches in his grasp and he's wiping a thumb over the red marks on Jooheon's face as he whispers "Sleep with me?" patting lightly at the silk clad body of his bed. Jooheon's cocking his head for a few seconds, staring at Jackson with soft open eyes and the older man is almost scared he wasn't understand - but then there's a sleeved hand pulling around his arm and he's automatically hauling up jooheon by his waist, the light weight of arms looping around his neck as the sweet scent of warmth and strangely dried flowers blooms through his nose. Jooheon's cradled in his lap, smooth legs curled up over his tanned own and jackson looks wonderingly down at his hands, practically melting into the curve of Jooheon's waist (Ref: https://ton.twitter.com/i/ton/data/dm/920418165968003077/920418148964212736/eph4Vr04.jpg:large ) All curled in Jackson's lap, wisps of hair brushing against the other's cheek Jackson is casually just holding Jooheon, feeling the way a warm soft body is shifting against his and of course Jooheon is still clad in the "uniform" of the other pets a plain loose white dress shirt and a pair of fine silk shorts. He's roughly fingering the edge of said shorts, looking over when a breathy whine comes past his cheek and he hikes the pet up higher in his lap, securing both hands around his waist and asks slowly, calmly "what kind of clothes do you like Jooheon?" He's receiving that same tilted stare again, eyes slit in an unreadable moment of consideration and jackson finds himself stroking casually at the pet's flank, some kind of strange reassurance he supposes. (like even getting a pet in the first place was only a power play, but now that he has one that's so soft...he's not sure how to handle him) Then there's a rounded finger poking, tracing down his bare chest and he has to stop himself from reacting at the sudden thrill that runs through him, following the pet's lidded gaze towards his own bare chest and he can't help but sigh, even as he tightens his grip around the other's supple waist like "You really don't talk, do you?" but the finger keeps poking, insistent, and there's a high whine reverberating at the edge of his cheek as Jooheon adamantly pushes up against Jackson's bare chest and Jackson really doesn't understand, no clothes? His chest? Naked? But then frustrated, a little huff of breath tickles along the column of his neck and the finger turns to point at the scattered pile of loose t shirts on the back of a dressing chair at the other corner of his room and Jackson tentatively tries "...My clothes?" and suddenly there's a happy coo of approval, sliding like silk over his collarbones and Jooheon's dark head of hair is bobbing eagerly as he re-situates himself back into the cradle between Jackson's legs. The next morning Jackson is pulling a droopy Jooheon by a limp wrist over to his closet and opening the entire thing as he gently pushes Jooheon in front of him and he's stating calmly into Jooheon's ear, lips brushing past wayward curls, pressing the center of his palm into the small of the other's back like “Choose whatever you want" and then there's a small sound of wonderment in the back of Jooheon's throat and he's carefully approaching the vast closet. Pushing and pulling things aside so slowly if Jackson closed his eyes he wouldn't be able to hear a thing, but he waits, patient, watching as he carelessly rifles through his own suits and pulling a pair on. But when there's finally a soft pair of footsteps behind him, he looks over to see Jooheon clad in one of his old, ratty oversized winter sweaters, collarbones entirely on show, still bared neck too vulnerable in the warm morning light. The hem of the sweater is most definitely too long, falling midway to bare thighs that all jackson can see is leg and more leg, he gets the cocked head look for the third time since the bargain, and all he can focus on is the long stretch of skin at Jooheon's neck. The only thing he can do to distract himself from Jooheon's suddenly more scandalous choice of fashion, is to draw the pet close, wrapping the callused skin of his palm over the other's dimpled cheeks as he mutters "We've got to get you a collar soon." in which he receives a purring sound of approval sleeved fingers come up to clutch gently at his wrist, keeping his hand there as Jooheon presses himself happily into Jackson's grip.

Outside perspective: Word spreads fast that the boss is entirely enamored, even obsessed, with his new pet. Kihyun notes the daily gossip with a blank face and open ears. He can’t refute it; Jackson practically brings Jooheon with him wherever he goes - regardless of societal propriety.

You like sweets?:

He needs glasses: probably kihyun again?

A pet for a pet: kitty

“You really don’t talk, do you?”: probably the whole “jackson” “master” thing

What else would it be used for?: kihyun being mean

“I need to be careful tonight - for you”: the party

--- cowritten with and conceived with the brilliant @deardystopia

Blind/mute magic au

in one of those fantasy universes where everyone happily coexists and the humans live well in the world w/ other magical creatures

and jooheon's just your typical neighborhood witch

but what if he was cursed somehow when he was younger and so he's blind

but he still manages to get around well enough and every week there’s a delivery boy to help get him materials and to send off the charms he makes

its like a quiet and domestic life but what if his usual delivery boy gets switched for someone else

because they're doing their new spring reshuffling thing so older employees get a new route and the new ones get to learn the old ones

and so changkyun is one of the new delivery boys and its one of the few jobs he feels safe enough doing w/ his disability - he's deaf

and so the old delivery boy knew about Jooheon's disability and knew how to work with that, knowing which wards on the door he should purposefully set off to let the witch know he was there

RIGHT LIKE IM JUST IMAGINING jars with dried flowers and crystal sunlight filtering through open windows as jooheon makes some tea for ck

ok so like usually jooheon's used to the right wards going off and so the delivery boy will just leave the package and then take the already pre-wrapped and pre-set charms to ship off

but like this time it feels completely different and so he gets up to go an d check

so like ck standing there awkwardly cause he doesn't see a doorbell and decides to knock on the door but then it swings open on its own to reveal the owner of the house

i kinda think jooheon would wear like soft browns and whites, like a white turtleneck probs

and changkyun probably layers w/ a ton of jackets and plaid and jeans?

that’s what i was thinking

like this kinda look w/o the kiddy stuff for jh and ck's hairstyle for that too

ck would totally wear a ton of hoodies and loose jackets

this hairstyle w/ the middle part for jh

soft flower witch jooheon

omg yesss

yeah the middle part is what i was thinking

and like a simple silver necklace or smth w/ a little bee charm

or a flower i honestly can't decide

i think it'd just be really cute to have a scene where jooheon gently feels around changkyuns face to get an image of him and he doens't realize he's kinda looking directly into ck's eyes and is a little too close

i totally want them to go for a walk together on a rainy day

and jooheon puts a charm on their umbrella so nobody gets wet

its cute and ck taps against his wrist to guide him away from big puddles

and whispers lowly because he totally wants to describe how pretty it is outside to jooheon even though he doesn't usually like to speak cause he doesn't know what he sounds like

delivery boy outfit totally needs a snapback

dude but like what if ck always wears a ton of layers and pulls his hat down low cause he always feels so unsure of himself w/ his disability and tries to shield himself w clothing

but after meeting jooheon

and seeing how open and happily he lives w/ his disability, always smiling and never hiding his eyes even though he can't see

he kind of starts gaining his own confidence

like one day he comes and like jooheon always physically greets him to makes ure its the right person and he's like "oh, no hoodies today?" cause the fabric under his hand is usually thick, but today its just bare skin

and changkyun just smiles shyly and taps out "yep" against jooheons wrist

THIS IS THE TEA JOOHEON MAKES FOR CK IN THE OTHER AU WITH CRUSHED PETALS OR SMTH, And Changkyun s like asks you're blind and yet everything you do is so beautiful

Jk wait that's too early

Like "the tea and the cup match so well" and jooheon just laughs tapping blindly at Changkyun s head and just says "witch senses", the words flowering beautifully across Changkyun’s charmed board as jooheon settles down with his own cup, AND FLOWERS TOTALLY RESPOND WELL TO HIS TOUCH AND IT WORDS SO NATURALLY HE JUST STICKS TO THAT AREA

Like turning up their faces just subtly everytime he walks by, Responding naturally to him and it's very easy for him to use flowers, more so than any other material

Ck would totally be able to see all this sitting at a table and he's just so lovestruck watching the flowers crowd adoringly for Jooheon's attention, Omg what if he usually makes packages of homemade tea with some simple spells integrated to help w sleep or relaxation, Yeeeesssssss but they work really well so he has a good customer base

And also KIHYUN helps design an online page and process Orders

And takes a ton of sample photos to put up on the page

Also in the like about section there's a cute pic of jooheon doing a peace sign w muddy fingers next to some flowers and that's like the only pic of him ever, And there’s definitely an online group dedicated to his tea, like freaking out when a new sample comes out

And also like screaming about how there's only one pic of him but definitely a confirmed cutie bc there handwritten notes that are shaky and messy but super sweet in every package

Ok but like what if minhyuk was blessed w the gift of visual arts so of course he draws

But he also loves running his aesthetic blog and he posts artsy pics of his drawings and cafes and shit

And like one day there's a pic of him and at the corner is boy with softly curled hair and a pink sweater, facemask pulled below his chin as he cups both hands around his cup of coffee, sipping it through a straw as he looks blankly to the side, And his fans are like ???!?!?! And someone is LIKE OH FUCK THAT’S JOOHEON YO

And then minhyuk’s secretly laughing about how adorable jooheon looks and didn't know he took a pic

When his phone suddenly is just like blowing up w alerts, And jooheon sighs "hyung please check your alerts"

And minhyuk is like wtf is going on

And he's getting DM s like

OMFG THATS JOOHEON

YOU KNOW JOOHEON?

PLEASE POST MORE WITH JOOHEON

And then minhyuk Fits the phone against Jooheon's palm, And jooheon can feel the phone continuously vibrating like not stopping at all and he's like "hyung what's going on"

And minhyuk just chuckles at the lost look on his face and says "my followers love you"

And it's the 2nd time he's only ever seen jooheon this red

Followed only by the first time minhyuk had teased him about that new delivery boy and his oh so deep voice, And so jooheon face bursts into flames as he squeaks out "what!!?" before snatching his hand away and desperately sucking at his coffee adamantly ignoring minhyuks guffaws

jh would have this phone case

When Jooheon gets knees deep in fresh spring earth he of course has to change into more suitable clothes. He doesn’t actually know the material or (ha) color of those nice sweaters Minhyuk always forces him to buy, but they’re beautifully soft against his skin. He wants to keep them that way, and as much as he loves the press of wet dirt under his fingers, his sweaters probably wouldn’t appreciate it to the same degree.

So one day Changkyun comes on his usual delivery route, and there’s a note left in Jooheon’s blocky script, I’m out back! with a round creature resembling a bee drawn at the bottom. He finds the witch completely kneeled on the ground on all fours, dressed in tight leggings and a black hoodie, as he digs at an already significantly deep hole. He taps lightly on the ground with his foot, alerting Jooheon of his presence.

“Changkyun?” Jooheon immediately looks up, eyes blindly flickering towards his general direction. The delivery boy hums lowly and taps again in affirmation, and Jooheon’s smile widens even more, eyes crinkling shut into thin slits, the indents of dimples forming like two shadowed ponds on his cheeks.

Once he’s sure of the right person, the witch turns back to the task at hand, fumbling for the shovel as he starts digging again. The pit’s deep enough Jooheon has to sink his upper body forward, raising his lower half in the air in a meager attempt to keep balance. Changkyun’s eyes are inevitably drawn to his pert bottom, tightly clad in leggings he’s never seen before.

He shuffles over and sits down next to Jooheon, clearing his throat as he prepares to speak. “I’ve never seen you wear this before,” he comments casually as Jooheon pauses to pay attention to his words. “That’s right,” the witch ponders, and the shape of his mouth corresponding with the letters scrawling across Changkyun’s charmed board. “I don’t usually wear this kind of….” he grimaces, searching for the right word, “tight clothing?”

He sighs, ruffling dirt crusted fingers in his hair and Changkyun watches, scrutinizing as the wet earth sticks adamantly to shining locks. Their disabilities make them sensitive towards certain forms of contact, and brushing the other’s cheeks clean of dried earth would definitely be a violation of Jooheon’s comfort zone. He keeps his fingers clenched and still against his lap.

“My friends alway watch out for me, bringing me clothing and such. This one,” he gestures at the lycra stretching over his legs, “was from a friend who modeled for an exercise brand. I guess he thought he would send me some to try…” He plucks at the fabric, letting it snap back against his skin, laughing nervously. “It’s not really my kind of thing, well as much as possible to figure out what “my thing” is, but at least it's good for dirty labor?”

Changkyun laughs at his vaguely apologetic expression, the sentence ending itself on his board with a question mark, and he nods sagely in response, tapping once to show his agreement. “You look, you look good.” he forces out, his voice catching tightly in the middle. He doesn’t need to look at his board to understand Jooheon’s reply, all of it completely apparent in the pink in his cheeks and the “o” of his mouth before fumbling quickly into a “thank you.”

Like "you look amazing in pink" and jooheon sighs "I don't know what it even looks like" and minhyuk just flounders to describe it "it's just light, and soft, and....pink??" He ends up stubbornly pushing a pile.of sweaters into Jooheon's hands anyway

Maybe like cursed when he was still in the womb or smth

Cause eventually I want like a scene where he and Changkyun are hanging and he just realizes how happy and comfortable he is w the other and he blinks

And the next moment piercing rays are flooding his eyes and it hurts so much he hides his face in his hands as tears leak out uncontrollably

I need a good reason for why he got that kind of curse put on him tho

Then he gets to match a voice to a face when Changkyun urgently asks, "are you okay"?" leaning over to grasp his wrists

Pink lips pressed into a worried line and almond eyes gazing directly into his own tear stained ones, jooheon can't help but cry even harder

Changkyun flails in panic, wrapping an arm around his back, trying to soothe him as he asks again "what's wrong?"

His board stays empty for a few moments more before they fill with 3 words that leave him perfectly stunned

“I can see.”

Changkyun immediately goes to draw away, some part of him panicking at Jooheon's newfound sight

But the witch turns and immediately lunges to embrace him, both of them landing harshly against the ground as the other hides his face in changkyuns neck

I want to like do something where ck gets to hear like they're made for each other and them being together breaks it but hmmmmm. Changkyun stays still, relaxing his body as Jooheon shakes against him. His neck is wet with tears and its soaking through to his jacket, but he only pulls the other man closer to himself, wrapping both of his arms around the other's middle. Suddenly, something is filtering into his brain, the ever static silence interrupted by pin pricks of hiccuped cries. It can't be, he panics, hands leaving Jooheon's middle to cup around his ears. He can hear the echo of sound against his palms, and curls up, completely overwhelmed. Jooheon sits up confused at the sudden shift of the body below him, and sees with his newfound sight, Changkyun's face scrunched in pain as he turns away from him. Jooheon hurriedly wipes away the gathered moisture, before leaning over to shadow over Changkyun's prone form. “Changkyun, Changkyun-ah! What happened?” He whispers urgently, completely forgetting the other’s charmed board. Neither of them realize it for a moment, when Changkyun looks up at him, comprehension immediate in his eyes.

“I...I can hear,” he stutters, hands dropping incredulously as a world of sounds flood through his ears; the chirp of birds, the whistle of the wind, but most importantly Jooheon’s shocked gasp as he sits up, toppling back onto the ground.

The witch presses a hand over his mouth, muffling any other sounds that could unwillingly escape his throat. It’s silent between them, but for Changkyun it’s more than he’s ever heard all his life.

Jooheon waits hesitantly, before asking as quietly as possible, “Is...is this real?” His voice, light and almost whiny, fits perfectly with the curved script that had written itself across Changkyun’s board many times.

“It,” he chokes at the low rumble of his own voice, “it is.” The shock sets in for the both of them, Jooheon still squinting furiously at all the colors and shapes passing rapidly through his retinas, and the echo of sobs still bouncing in Changkyun’s ears. They lock gazes, newfound senses tingling with every movement, and it’s not definite who moves first, but they simultaneously meet in the middle, bodies crashing in a locked embrace.

#happycakewrites

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