sessho08: ([Arashi] Ohno~)
[personal profile] sessho08
Hundred years ago I sorta participated in a certain tropes meme at tumblr and when I posted some of the fills I said I'd be splitting the snippets in two posts and post the second batch whenever I finish all the prompts. Months later seeing as this is never happening I figured I'd just post what I wrote and get it over with. The stuff here is the usual mix of weird and angsty. Enjoy?

handcuffed together | for tili-mili-tryamdiya

Yunho steals a glance at the man whose wrist is currently linked to his own with a steel ring of handcuffs. Shim Changmin looks...gentle. His hair is slightly too long but nicely cut and clean, his eyes are big and surrounded by barely there wrinkles caused by laughter. The corners of his mouth are slightly downturned but the overall vibe is of softness, not sadness.

Shim Changmin was found a month ago at his house, amidst the bloody corpses that used to be his family members just several hours before. Caught literally red-handed, he was basically filthy with their blood. Later, during the investigation his finger prints were discovered on the murder weapon as well as all over the crime scene. His DNA on the victims’ clothes and under their fingernails, under what was left from them.

The evidence didn’t get more damning than this and coupled with Shim’s refusal to speak, it’s what has led him to where he’s at the very moment. More precisely - to him being handcuffed to Yunho as they await his turn.

Shim Changmin’s been found an irredeemable criminal and guilty of a serial murder. He doesn’t look the part. Then again, Yunho muses, serial killers rarely do. The ever smiling neighbour that you used to hold pleasant conversations with, not every time you’ve seen one another but often enough to keep things a tad warmer than just civil. The old lady who baked the best bread. The young mother who always boasted about her children. He’s seen them all and more, revolting things unbecoming of such seemingly good people and yet.

He’s no exception, no. This man with a pretty face, soft quirk to his lips, hands that look as if they’ve never known manual labour, smooth skin and clean nails.

Yunho’s wristwatch beeps once and then twice.

"It’s time," he says, his pull on the small metal rings of the handcuffs’ chain gentle but alert - you never know how they’re going to react at their last moments. Shim Changmin doesn’t turn violent, he doesn’t pounce at him with desperation in the brightness of his eyes, sharpness of his nails. He follows in Yunho’s wake, flanked by two more guards. He stays silent. Their footsteps and the sound of handcuffs clinking is all that can be heard in the empty corridor.



apocalypse | for [livejournal.com profile] haeym

they go out for a walk at one pm. yunho says he’s curious and let’s go, changmin, don’t be such a wet blanket! aren’t you curious too? no, not really, hyung, i’m not. but he indulges him because this is what changmin sometimes does, indulging yunho with his silly requests and grand adventures (as long as no one’s looking).

they go out and the streets are crowded. finding their way around and through the sea of black and grey winter coats with occasional splashes of colour isn’t an easy task but they manage. they keep close. they’re not holding hands but they could if they only wanted - the distance between their bodies is that small.

there are passers-by rushing into and out of the crowd. there’s a lone figure at the end of the road screaming something incomprehensible, something jumbled and desperate about end of the world. they see a priest in front of a big white building with small windows and red roof, people huddled around him, listening to his sermon about sinners and eternal condemnation with amused curiousity etched on their faces.

yunho is tugging at the sleeve of changmin’s winter jacket, gesturing for them to change directions and a deafening sound pierces the air, clear and shrilling and painful. close. changmin shrugs off the hold automatically, hands going up to cover his ears in a vain attempt to drown out the ringing that refuses to stop, jarring, horrid.

he turns to his side and catches yunho midfall. (he doesn’t catch him.) yunho hits the ground with a dull thud, with his fingers reaching blindly for changmin and missing barely. there’s red blooming on the grey of his tshirt (his jacket unbuttoned as always), traces of red when yunho coughs. changmin’s knees collide painfully with the wet, muddy pavement as he joins him, as he latches at his jacket, as he looks around wildly.

there’s a man, his greying hair in disarray and his chin and cheeks unshaved. he’s holding a gun, his whole body trembling as words start spilling from his lips. changmin doesn’t understand them at first, too fast, too loud, too unfathomable.

we’re all going to die anyway! and changmin sees red and he’s halfway up, about to tear at the man’s throat when his attention’s redirected by a feeble whimper. yunho, there’s only yunho again and god, he should call police—no—he should call an ambulance. there’s so much crimson liquid seeping from the wound, turning grey almost into black.

he peels the glove from one of his hand with his teeth, presses the other to the opening, trying to staunch the bleeding. hyung, yunho, look at me, don’t close your eyes, don’t you dare— he can feel his palm getting warm with the hot liquid that’s seeping through, still seeping through. he fumbles with his phone, hitting the keyboard so hard his finger pads hurt. his call isn’t getting through, he tries again and again. yunho, yunho, stay with me, look at me. yunho’s not looking at him, yunho’s not breathing but changmin doesn’t care, no. he’s still pressing at the wound, there’s still more new blood to stain his fingers, he still hasn’t managed to get anyone to pick up his call, no.

no, yunho’s not breathing anymore, his hair is dirty and wet and his mouth open, his eyes are open and changmin swallows a hiccup that threatens to escape. no, yunho’s not breathing anymore and his chest is red and it’s all his fault and it’s not true. changmin presses at the wound.

it’s december 21st 2012 and the world has just ended.



sharing bed | for anon

yunho’s ribs haven’t healed fully yet so the sudden weight dropped onto his chest comes with a jolt of excruciating pain and a short scream that immediately gets muted with a hand held to his mouth. he’s about to start struggling when he hears a familiar voice whisper, “hey, mate.” it’s him, the nurse that’s been taking care of yunho as well as many other fellow wounded soldiers. yunho stills, letting his composure speak, inquire for him. there’s a lump of a young man lying on top of him.

"hope you don’t mind some company?" the man grins at him in the semi-darkness of the room. it doesn’t manage to conceal the tiredness of his drooping eyes. yunho nods and the guy’s smile dims slightly. "this guy? i don’t know his name, he wasn’t conscious long enough to tell us that. no major external damages but a granade went off close enough to knock him out." his face scrunches with frustration as he continues, "we want him to rest at least until he regains his consciousness so we can gauge his state better i wish we could put him in a single bed but—"

"i can—" yunho makes as if to lift himself from the bed and drops back down, hissing in pain.

"sure you can, mate," the other man gives him a look that’s half-amused, half-stern. "now, be good and— wait." he helps yunho to move into a more comfortable position that’d accomodate the unconscious man and not be as painful for yunho himself. "that’s better. though i’m afraid it doesn’t get actually good. listen, i’ve got to go now. i’ll check on you both in the morning. and if this fellow wakes up before that, try to explain the situation to him?" with a last skillful fluffing up of yunho’s pillow and a wave, he’s gone.

yunho’s left with the nameless man half-lying on top of him, a bandage around his head, a shallow gash on his cheek. it’s too dark for yunho to see him properly but he looks even younger like this, when yunho lets his eyes sweep over the high cut of his cheekbones, over his closed eyes, over his required buzzcut hair. his face is boyish, almost childlike, especially now with features softened up by sleep. yunho wonders how it’s going to transform, just how hard of an edge it’s going to gain when the man rouses. he sighs lightly, trying to ignore his aching ribcage and will himself to join his new company in blissful unconciousness.



next-door neighbours | for [livejournal.com profile] isaofdoom

old mr. shim dies and his grandson takes his place, inheriting his house and his role. it’s only by accident that yunho catches a glimpse of the man when he’s walking slowly, his arms weighted down by duffels filled with the few personal belongings he brought with himself.

the sun is setting and the last rays of bright orange and pink and red blind yunho, preventing him from seeing the newcomer’s face. he’s curious nevertheless. next day, it’s half this, half cordiality that leads him to the neighbouring doorstep, his shoes on the concrete, the knuckles of his hand retreating after a knock on the familiar wood, a pleasant smile ready on his lips.

the door open to reveal a tall man who schools his face into a genial expression at the sight of yunho’s friendly countenance, his outstretched hand.

"hi, i’m jung yunho," he plunges on. "you’re shim donghoon’s grandson, aren’t you?" his smile intensifies.

"yes, shim changmin, nice to meet you," he bows his back slightly and yunho’s hand stays empty. when he rises his head to meet yunho’s gaze, yunho sees it.

changmin’s lips are ripe with regret, there’s remorse etched onto his eyelids when he squints against the midday sun. yunho knows then - too much, too soon would be a grave mistake. instead of asking changmin about his role, about his experience and preparation, he makes a silly irrelevant remark about weather instead.

"i hope you’ll assimilate easily," he dims his grin a little, pours more warmth into it instead. "the people here are all nice and helpful."

changmin meets his words with a twitch of a hand resting on the doorframe. yunho notices the shortest glimmer of relief around changmin’s eyes, catches the barely there hint of restraint on his palm. they bid their goodbyes.

back home yunho presses his thumb to the solitude imprinted on the inside of his wrist and puts the kettle on. as he waits for the water to boil, he averts his eyes from the metallic surfaces of his kitchen. he doesn’t wish to see the sorrow on his cheeks right now. the suggestion of surrender on his ring finger as his digits curl around the empty mug is enough for today. he sighs quietly even though there’s no one to hear the noise.


(and another take on this idea as a bonus:
when he claims his lips with a kiss, he encounters no resistance. he already disposed of it with a delicate press of his mouth to changmin’s knuckles. he coaxes them open with the tip of his tongue and pours all of his softness into it. he melts his own sharpness and lets it slide into sensuality. he allows changmin’s caress to stroke away the solitariness from his shoulders. with slow touches, he draws out the sweet imprint of recklessness on the small of changmin’s back.)





As always comments much appreciated~ ♥
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