🎂 Stumbled upon a set of memory fragments 🧩—in the clear clouds, glowing lights dance playfully. From little prince WINWIN’s pen flows a grand wish, like magic 🪄.
Xiaojun hates losing, especially to Yangyang.
Yangyang is a master at bringing Xiaojun out of his sour moods
Just a small drabble based on their Unbelievable episode where Yangyang shared that Dejun kicked him out because he lost a game and on this gif that look suspiciously like Xiaoyang
Dejun was a sore loser. Especially when it came to gaming and even more particularly when it came to Yangyang. There was something about his smug face when he was winning that absolutely drove Dejun insane. And he was always so good at it, no matter what game it was; no matter how much Dejun practiced, he could never seem to get one over him.
Yangyang watched as Dejun got up from his bed, turning off the console and the main lights, only the small bedside lamp staying on, before turning back to him and pointing at his door.
“Get out.”
“Oh come on, we were having fun,” Yangyang whined, looking up at Dejun, softly pulling him closer by the leg of his shorts, hoping to be giving him his best puppy eyes.
“I wasn’t,” Dejun sighed, trying to pull away from Yangyang, “leave.”
“ Junjun ,” Yangyang said, wrapping both arms around Dejun’s small waist, “don’t be like that, I missed hanging out with just you,” he continued, burying his face in Dejun’s stomach, tightening his hold when he felt him struggling.
“Let go of me,” Dejun said with a huff, arms instinctively wrapping around Yangyang’s shoulders, hands playing with his hair.
“Only if you promise not to kick me out”
Dejun took a moment to sigh before finally agreeing to not kick Yangyang out of his room. He watched as Yangyang let go of him, scooching backwards on his bed before patting the empty place next to him. God, his little smile was so cute and irritating and Dejun couldn’t stop himself from halfheartedly rolling his eyes before lying down next to him. He tried to keep a serious face as Yangyang suddenly moved, hovering over him.
“Stop pouting,” Yangyang said, with a pout of his own.
“No,” was Dejun’s dry response.
Yangyang let out a small huffy laugh before leaning down, rubbing their noses together a few times. He took a moment to look into Dejun’s dark eyes and then quickly kissed his cheek, hoping to catch him off guard. It seemed to work, his pout cracking only a little but that was enough for Yangyang; he smiled as he nuzzled Dejun’s cheek before coming back to his original position hovering above him and then kissing him on the lips.
“Fuck you,” Dejun said quietly, his cold expression completely disappearing, replaced by a small smile.
He wrapped his arms around Yangyang, flipping them so they were both on their sides, facing each other.
“You’re so annoying, you know that?” Dejun whispered, one hand brushing Yangyang’s hair away from his forehead.
“Yes, super annoying” Yangyang said proudly, showing off his gummy smile, “maybe you should kiss me to keep me quiet,” he continued, voice dropping lower as he pushed closer to Dejun, their noses rubbing together again.
“Yeah,” Dejun breathed out, eyes so dark it was hard to say where the iris stopped and the pupil began, “maybe I should.”
Yangyang let his eyes flutter shut as Dejun got closer, body relaxing when he felt his soft lips on his, their kiss translating all the love and affection they had for each other that wouldn’t always show in their words.
“Stay the night?” Dejun asked, breathless from their kiss, arms and legs intertwined with Yangyang’s.
“Of course,” Yangyang replied against Dejun’s lips before diving in for another kiss.
Masterpiece - Ten/Yangyang // Serial Killer AU // Dead Dove (Pt 1/?)
Ten knew right there and then he had found what he had been looking for.
His masterpiece.
The story of two men's descent into madness. It might not end well.
Ten slowly lifted his eyes from his coffee, eyes traveling up and down the man in front of him. Probably a few years younger than him, small, platinum blond hair, shining eyes. Beautiful. Perfect.
Ten knew right there and then he had found what he had been looking for.
His masterpiece.
He watched as the man left the coffee shop, steaming cup in hand. For the first time in months, years even, he didn’t know what to do. His body thrummed in excitement telling him to go go go , but he waited. Waited one second, then five, then ten before finally downing his coffee and walking out the door, wrapping his scarf around his neck when the biting cold hit him. Immediately he spotted his bright hair, shining in the soft morning sun, and followed him from a distance, slowly, slowly, not making a sound, heart thumping in his chest. He couldn’t lose him. He followed him to a butcher’s shop, watched as he walked in, waving nonchalantly at the man working behind the counter before entering a door marked as ‘Personnel only’.
Oh, a butcher. Ten would have never guessed, such a pretty face he had, such dainty hands. He let his thoughts travel, imagining what the man would look like in his final moments; would he cry, would he beg? Maybe reach out to him with his pretty, dainty, mangled hands. So many options.
Ten shook his head, trying to rid himself of those sinful images, it did him no good to dwell on them out of the comfort of his home. Besides, he would start to call attention to himself if he stayed put in front of the store much longer. He knew where he worked, that would have to be enough for today.
— —
Ten sat in the same coffee shop, eyeing the door every couple of minutes, it shouldn’t be long now. The man had shown up everyday for the past three days, always around the same time; he would order his coffee to go and leave right away, only staying long enough for Ten to memorize one of his features. Today, he hoped he could concentrate on his neck, a vital part of his masterpiece.
The sound of the bell caught him by surprise, he looked up expectantly, waiting to see the blond mop of hair that had been plaguing his dreams lately. But no, it wasn’t him.
“Hey, turn - turn it up,” a man had said from the queue, pointing at a quiet TV in the corner.
Ten watched as the barista turned up the sound, the somber news anchor's voiceless speech being replaced by words that seemed to quiet everyone else in the room, the flashing of the words “BREAKING NEWS” leaving everyone in a trance.
“Police have not yet made a statement but our sources confirm the latest victim is a young man in his late twenties who was said - “
Another one.
Ten tuned out the rest of the report, not interested in speculation so early in the morning. He wanted the details, the true gory details of how the man had been killed, the kind of details one doesn’t get from the news. Maybe he should give Johnny a call later tonight.
Around him, people thrummed with an uncomfortable, terrified energy, it came out of them in waves. Ten loved it. He knew everyone in that coffee shop was imagining themselves as the next victim - Ten was imagining it too. Imagining them, that is. He looked from person to person, all of them so terrified, so small and insignificant, some hiding it better than others and then his eyes nearly bulged out of his head when they fell on him. He hadn’t seen him walking in, hadn’t heard the bell chiming as the door opened, the noise drowned by the news anchors still speculating who could have been the culprit. His eyes were fixed on the television screen, same as everyone’s, but there was no fear. There was something, an emotion Ten couldn’t pinpoint, a glint in his eyes that intrigued him. Maybe he was one of those true crime lunatics who loved to soak up a good gory murder but Ten wasn’t too sure. Still, he let his eyes travel down to the man’s neck, long and slim and so so pretty. How good would it look with Ten’s hands around it? How delicious would it look being slit open from one end to the other, letting his blood drip all over Ten’s awaiting face. He looked back up to see the man already looking at him, eyes boring into his soul. Before he could soften his hungry gaze, maybe even smile at his muse, the man looked at the clock on the wall, letting out a low curse before bolting out of the door without ordering his coffee.
Ten’s heart was still rapidly thumping inside his chest. The man always looked beautiful but there was something special today. He couldn’t wait to get back home and keep working on his new painting, the details of the man’s beautiful neck still fresh in his mind.
— —
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re selling info to the tabloids,” Johnny said as he took a sip of his beer, eyes tired and shoulders sagging against the chair.
“But you know better,” Ten purred over his glass of wine, a weird glint in his eye as he let his foot slide across the floor, poking at Johnny’s ankle, “tell me about it.”
“What do you want to know?”
Ten didn’t bother replying, staring at Johnny with a raised brow. This wasn’t the first time they did this, Johnny should know by now what he wanted to hear.
“Male, believed to be in his late twenties,” Johnny started with a sigh, “cause of death was probably blunt force trauma but we’re still waiting on the full coroner’s report.”
“You don’t know who he is yet?”
“You know I can’t give you his identity…”
“I’m not asking for it, I’m asking if you know it,” Ten explained, rolling his eyes, “you said ‘believed to be in his late twenties’, means you don’t know either.”
“Ten, it was absolute carnage, this guy’s face was caved in, couldn’t find one tooth still attached to his gums,” Johnny replied, rubbing his face with his hand, sounding even more tired than when he had arrived.
“Hey, I know you’re doing your best,” Ten said, forcing his voice to be lower, softer. He let his hand land on Johnny’s hand, his thumb rubbing circles in the skin. Inside, his blood was boiling, he didn’t have time to play therapist, he needed to know more, “you really are, but ‘The Butcher’ is just too out of control.”
“Do you actually believe in the butcher theory?”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t know, Ten,” Johnny said with another sigh, “I find it weird that all of a sudden the city is being attacked by two serial killers.”
“The alternative is the city being terrorized by one serial killer and then many isolated extremely violent murderers, how can that sound more logical to you?”
“It’s just - it goes against all we are taught…victimology, murder weapon, no killing looks alike, at least with ’The Artist’, you can tell when he’s the killer, it’s obvious, but the others? If it weren’t for timeline and location no one would have tied them together.”
Ten hummed softly, taking one last sip of his wine. He hadn’t found out enough but he could tell it wasn’t a good night. Johnny was tired and frustrated, it was better to just drag him to bed and cut his losses. He would try to hear more about it some other day.
“You had a shitty day, officer Suh, let me take care of you,” Ten purred as he pulled Johnny up by the wrist, walking backwards towards his bedroom, putting on his most alluring face. Not that he needed it, Johnny never needed much convincing to slip into bed with him.
“It’s Detective Suh to you,” Johnny said with a tired smile as he let himself be pulled along, cock already starting to fatten inside his slacks.
scrolled through some of her tumblr posts and most of them were about rape between family members and i kinda didn't get her obsession with it but then i found out she's a jeff buckley fan and it all made sense to me. i mean jeff buckley has nothing to do with rape and incest it just made sense to me in a twisted way nobody would understand
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