fic: it's a fire [block b; zbomb, jaeco, jaebomb; nc-17]
it's a fire
block b; zbomb, jaeco, jaebomb; nc-17; 3000
minhyuk is black smoke, curling around jiho like a claw, choking.
it's a fire
There is a fine line, Jiho thinks, between what it is he needs and what it is he wants.
Jiho thinks that if this is the case, things shouldn’t really be so muddled. He knows what he wants: Minhyuk pressing against his body until Jiho can’t breathe, trapped under his smouldering gaze, caught in his orbit of devastation and debauchery.
He knows this but he also knows getting involved with Minhyuk won’t end well. There is a reason Jaehyo drowns himself in alcohol on a nightly basis, a reason why he hurls his words like spitfire at Jiho in the dead of the night when Jiho’s only just trying to get him to stop.
Kyung’s watching him watch Minhyuk, who sits in half shadows, wicked white gleam of his smirk flickering like gunshots.
Bang, bang, bang.
Jiho may as well be dead, bleeding heart pitter pattering in his ripped open chest. He swallows, taste of copper exploding across his tongue. He’s been biting his lip too hard again. He’s been thinking about Minhyuk too much again.
“Come on, let’s go,” Kyung tells him, downing the rest of his drink; head tossed back, little adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, face scrunching up just momentarily at the taste of pure vodka.
Jiho stares at the shot glasses in front of him, empty and scattered and he thinks of that night, empty and scattered, Minhyuk’s name like echoes on his lips, whispered back to him by Jaehyo.
“Jiho,” Kyung stresses, hand wrapping around Jiho’s arm. Jiho doesn’t look up at Kyung, eyes drifting back to the corner. Predictably, Minhyuk’s not there.
“Jaehyo, fuck, come on, get up,” Jiho sighs, struggling to lift Jaehyo up off of the floor. He has soju bottles at his feet; a reek of alcohol so strong that Jiho can feel the bile rising up his throat.
“He left, Jiho, he fucking left,” Jaehyo slurs, a terrifying smile on his face. Jiho can see the tears building behind his eyes, tears Jaehyo will keep under lock and key.
Jiho wants to tell Jaehyo he knows, wants to tell him that he’d been there. People didn’t just disappear and if they did, Jiho thought, he’d want them to have the decency to stay away. Minhyuk was never that decent though, fingers straying from Jaehyo’s waist to dance along Jiho’s spine, leaving trails of ghosting shivers and impossible promises.
“He wasn’t real,” Jiho reminds Jaehyo, as if this makes sense, as if a person could exist one day and vanish the other.
Jaehyo laughs, howling as he clutches at Jiho’s shirt, clawing at Jiho’s skin and Jiho does what he always does, let’s the marks skin in, angry and red, bruising.
Minhyuk’s husky chuckle rings through his ears every time, far too amused, far too gone for rescuing. But Jaehyo’s still here, still bearable and Jiho can throw Jaehyo over a shoulder, carry him on his back like a child when he needs to.
The bar owner is giving him a dirty look now and Jiho apologises with his eyes, hoisting Jaehyo up finally, as the hiss of his splintering skin aches in his ears. Jaehyo’s nails need cutting.
He follows Jiho like a nightmare, hiding behind every corner, lurking just over his shoulder. Jiho can’t even see him all the time, but there are those nights when he sits in front of Jiho, lips pressed into a knowing smirk as he winds deft fingers into Jaehyo’s hair and tugs.
Jaehyo never feels anything. He lies on his pillow, half-gone to the world, half-destroyed. Jiho’s not much better, just lucid enough to know that Minhyuk couldn’t possibly be real.
But then Minhyuk will shift, like fucking magic, looming over Jiho like the boogieman his mother used to scare him with. Jiho will whimper, inching backwards, stumbling as Minhyuk grins, feral and ravenous. Jiho will try to hide the broken bits and pieces he’s managed to salvage from the destruction, but Minhyuk has the eye of a hawk. Jiho can’t win.
Not that Minhyuk wants him to. No, Minhyuk wants to devour Jiho, bite by bite, leaving nothing but nasty bruises on Jiho’s skin like a conqueror’s trophy. Kyung will ask about them later, eyes worried, fingers on the verge of pressing into Jiho’s burning flesh. Jiho will hiss, catlike, as he’ll shrink away. Kyung will back off, long enough for Jiho to wrap himself in his blankets like a cocoon, reminding himself that he can’t hide. Minhyuk will always find him.
Jiho works from home, writing silly commercial jingles for his advertising firm. Sometimes Minhyuk will hum them to him, as he fucks into Jiho, slow and burning and Jiho will feel the overwhelming urge to spit in his face.
He’d had dreams, settled on the tips of his horizon, mixed purple-red-blue with the clouds of his sky. Shattered dreams. Jiho couldn’t afford the luxury of creating music, not when Jaehyo was a volcano ready to erupt. Jiho had to delay the explosion for as long as possible, had to tuck Jaehyo into his arms and protect him for as long as he could, because Minhyuk - well, Minhyuk was gone.
“What’re you looking at?” Jaehyo will ask him when he’s sober enough. Jiho will imagine what he must feel like, will imagine that his head probably feels too small for all the noise inside of it. He will let his fingers linger over Jaehyo’s too tight skin, pale and yellowing, as if Jaehyo were paper fraying away. Perhaps he was.
“Nothing,” Jiho will answer, always the same. Minhyuk will always chuckle, amused, eyes dark and sinister.
“Really,” Jaehyo will drawl and for a moment, Jiho will feel like he’s got his old friend back. Snarky and sarcastic, sweet and sincere. But Jaehyo will flicker back to yellow and grey, too quick for Jiho to catch, too quick for him to interject. “That’s too bad. You’re a bit boring, aren’t you, Woo Jiho?”
“Yeah, I guess I am,” Jiho will reply, pressing chaste, non-existent kisses onto Jaehyo’s bare arms. They are covered with scars, the impact of glass slicing through sinew and veins, leaving nothing behind but Minhyuk. Minhyuk caused these scars, ruined poor Jaehyo’s too perfect skin. In the back of Jiho’s mind, where he still lets himself dream small nothings, where Minhyuk hasn't reached yet, he dreams of kissing all of Jaehyo’s scars away.
Jaehyo will laugh instead, hollow and brittle as he’ll turn toward Jiho and kiss him. Sometimes Jiho wonders if Jaehyo imagines him as Minhyuk. Bright, grinning Minhyuk; too ready to pick a fight, too ready to take flight.
They will kiss, lying in Jiho’s too small bed, Jaehyo’s legs tangled in Jiho’s. They will breathe the same air, rancid and stale, taste the same sweat accumulating on each other’s skin. But only Jiho will feel the press of Minhyuk’s eyes all over his skin. Only Jiho will feel Minhyuk’s too cold hands ripping him apart later, digging for whatever remains of him to wolf down.
“Jiho,” Minhyuk says to him, fingers as cold as ice raking down his naked back.
“What,” Jiho replies, already lost somewhere between neverland and reality, an image of Jaehyo’s smiling face sending churning guilt rushing up his throat. The hotel room is empty but somehow Jiho can hear Jaehyo’s screaming hurt hurtling at him at hurricane speeds, wanting to tear him apart. But Minhyuk’s already began that process.
Minhyuk kisses the back of his neck, shivers running down Jiho’s spine like electrons through a wire, his hand slithering up the plane of Jiho’s abdomen. “What if I told you a secret?”
“Later,” Jiho mumbles, the press of Minhyuk’s palm against his belly somehow soothing, pushing away the mutated image of Jaehyo forming in his head: angry, red eyes and razor sharp teeth.
Jiho feels Minhyuk press against him, closer, as if they have much of a distance between them to begin with. He can feel Minhyuk’s hot breath against his ear, arousing but Jiho’s just on the verge of completely blacking out. Minhyuk’s hand wanders lower, tracing strange patterns against Jiho’s skin, which make him quiver with delight, soft sighs escaping his lips with abandon.
“What if I told you I wasn’t real?” Minhyuk whispers and Jiho can feel rather than see the knowing smirk he must be wearing, telling Jiho wild absurdities.
“What?” Jiho laughs, own hand unconsciously guiding Minhyuk to his now hardening cock. When he feels Minhyuk’s fingers wrapping around him, he lets out an undignified whimper, thrusting into Minhyuk’s palm wantonly.
Minhyuk chuckles behind him, lips pressing soft kisses into Jiho’s shoulder, hand jerking Jiho off tantalizingly, as if Jiho isn’t already spent and ready to pop. “Jaehyo makes the same little noises, you know. Calls me ‘hyung’, asks me for more. Just like you, Jiho.”
Jiho feels like Minhyuk’s just shoved him off of a cliff, howling wind rushing past his ears as jagged rocks decorating the seaside drag him downwards, ready to tear him apart. His eyes burn, burn with Jaehyo’s name, with Minhyuk’s treachery.
“Fuck off,” Jiho spits, attempting to shove Minhyuk away from him but while Jiho’s mind is screaming awake right now, his body is as dead as ever. It’s a futile struggle, Minhyuk far more coherent than him, far more determined. He feels the sink of Minhyuk’s teeth, scraping down his shoulder, as his hand continues to pump Jiho’s cock.
Jiho tries not to imagine Jaehyo panting underneath Minhyuk, tries to block out the image of Minhyuk’s too perfect mouth wrapped around Jaehyo’s dick on his bed, tries and fails. Jiho gasps, loud and stuttering, tears burning in his eyes as Minhyuk squeezes the base of his cock to stop him from orgasming. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Jiho?”
“Hyung,” Jiho croaks, suffocating guilt and want coiling around his neck, tighter and tighter.
“I’m not real, Jiho,” Minhyuk tells him again, and Jiho’s eyes widen as he sees Minhyuk flicker in front of him. There one second, hand wrapped around Jiho’s dick once more the next.
“What…” Jiho chokes, but Minhyuk’s grin is wild, eyes alight with something too terrifying for Jiho to completely understand. But before Jiho can shove Minhyuk off of him, before he can do anything, he blacks out.
Minhyuk had been driving, Jaehyo tipsy and giddy and Jiho all but passed out in the back. He couldn’t bare the idea of Minhyuk picking Jaehyo over him sometimes, wanted to simultaneously punch Jaehyo until his pretty boy face was nothing but a knot of scar tissue and kiss him until Jaehyo didn’t even remember who Minhyuk was.
It wasn’t fair that Minhyuk would slide into Jiho’s bed, long after he’d fucked Jaehyo to sleep, to use him as his filthy seconds. But Jiho never could say no, never could remember anything but Minhyuk’s deft hands plying Jiho into what he wanted him to be, lingering words like smoke telling him that he wasn’t real.
Jiho still wasn’t sure who wasn’t real and who was. Him? Minhyuk? Jaehyo? Fuck.
But Minhyuk always flickers in front of Jiho’s eyes. Long enough that Jiho can go back and pinpoint exactly when and where but never why. Sometimes Jiho wonders if he’s created Minhyuk out of his imagination, put him together like a God to use and abuse and toss away.
Jaehyo’s laughter is ringing in his ears, sounds like dreadful screeching as it rips through Jiho’s ears, fingers on chalkboard. Minhyuk flickers.
Once, twice, gone.
Jiho feels his head erupt as he feels his skin set itself on fire, bone and muscle and tissue dripping like melted wax until he feels like Jaehyo has bleed into his veins just to cement himself there.
Everything stops.
The deafening roar of his broken bones, of Jaehyo’s voice filtering through to him in broken sobs of pain that Jiho’s mind is attempting to numb out of him, ends.
The whole world is upside down, shattered glass scattered all around him, stretching beyond Jiho’s eyes. Jaehyo’s body lies, twisted and bent and Jiho’s stomach lurches, bile rising up his throat too fast, too slow, burning fire erupting to scorch his skin.
Jiho crawls out of the car, left leg limp and useless. Glass cuts into him, embedding itself farther than Jiho’s obsession with Minhyuk, with Jaehyo, festering under his skin like a bubbling disease. He winces, loud, bright lights scalding, Jaehyo’s wrecked voice calling his name over and over and over again.
He heaves himself up, a pain like a knife plunging into him shooting through his side, as if searching to destroy something more than just Jiho’s body. He follows Jaehyo’s voice, now gasping, barely audible over the din of screeching in his head.
Thud, thud, thud, the invisible gong in his head plays, tearing down his resolve. He falls to his feet when he reach’s Jaehyo, pulling him recklessly out of the carnage.
“Jiho,” Jaehyo says, small and fading, eyes barely open as they stare up at him. Jiho rests Jaehyo’s head in his lap, his face blackening out one second only to pop up again. The colours are too harsh, Jiho thinks, blinking several times in quick succession.
He wonders where Minhyuk is.
“Where’s…,” Jaehyo starts, breathing becoming shallower. Jiho can feel blood trickling down his cheek, thick as molasses.
“Minhyuk,” he finishes and Jaehyo nods, ever so slightly. There are tears forming in Jiho’s eyes, sharp sting mixing in with the open cut on his cheek. Jiho raises his head, looks at the empty road, cars ton apart and scattered.
“Minhyuk,” he calls, but there is no response returned to him and when Jaehyo repeats his name after Jiho, Jiho wonders who Minhyuk even was to begin with.
Sometimes Jiho thinks he’s even more far gone than Jaehyo - imagining Minhyuk in every shadow he passes but then he will feel Minhyuk’s breath ghosting over his ear, whispering lies and truths as he distracts Jiho long enough to press him into the nearest wall.
Jiho’s breath will hitch as he feels the familiar tug of wants and needs collide inside him; he will allow the taste of Minhyuk’s lips against his to blind him, and he will record the feeling of Minhyuk’s huffs of his name sliding across his ears.
He doesn’t understand.
Minhyuk will roll his hips, grinding against Jiho like Jiho had once seen him grind against Jaehyo. Minhyuk will bite kisses down his throat and Jiho will shudder as Minhyuk sinks his teeth into Jiho’s collarbone. He will leave imprints of ‘mine’ written across Jiho in purple and black, fingers more like claws as they will dig into his hips, holding Jiho in place.
Jiho will hiss as Minhyuk thrusts a finger into him, almost scream when a second is added but Minhyuk is relentless, chewing Jiho’s cries and spitting them out. He will whisper Jiho’s name in his ears, lulling, seducing and when Jiho finally will feel the head of Minhyuk’s cock pressing at his entrance, Jiho will already be nestling on the edge.
Minhyuk will finally drive up into him, familiar smirk returning and Jiho will be unravelled, nails digging into Minhyuk’s non-existent body, back arching off of the wall like clockwork. He will whimper, Minhyuk’s name squeezing out of him in short, tight gasps, offbeat to Minhyuk’s grunts as he pushes into Jiho, harder, deeper, faster.
“Min-minhyuk,” he will stutter, gritty bricks digging into his shoulders, leaving behind a dusty residue he won’t be able to explain to Jaehyo later. Jaehyo who will shove him aside, scream profanities at Jiho until one by one they hit Jiho dead center in his heart, like darts meeting their target.
Jiho doesn’t understand.
How much more can he give, what more is there left for Minhyuk to steal and for Jaehyo to console himself with?
But Minhyuk loves to take, loves to set Jiho’s teeth on edge, skilled hands wrapping around his cock to jerk him off. And Jiho will let him like he always does, will spread his legs as far as they go, will never understand Why.
He will swallow, vile taste of guilt and ash and Minhyuk coating his mouth, never leaving. He will come all over Minhyuk’s hand, spunk shooting up and soaking Jiho’s own t-shirt. He will wait until Minhyuk’s done, finished thrusting into him until Jiho can feel his insides burn, can feel the self-loathing settle in and tell Jiho what a worthless, little shit he is.
Minhyuk will pull out just as quickly, will kiss Jiho as soft as a lover, let Jiho hope for someone kinder.
He will disappear and Jiho will sink to the ground, knees shaking, tears soaking through his skin.
When he wakes up, white hospital walls blending into white hospital floors blending into white hospital sheets into white ghosts lingering through Jiho’s mind like phantom fingers hovering over his skin, Jiho feels a pair of eyes on him.
His head reels, the outline of a man blurring between his watery eyes, the sound of his voice garbled but Jiho feels bubbling fear at his presence. There is a frantic rushing need to get away, to run away but Jiho’s legs won’t move, heavy and stiff, and bound tight as if Jiho were already in a coffin.
“Sssh,” the voice of the man murmurs to him, cold, icy fingers tracing his jaw as if consolingly. The sharp twist of his head away from the hand sends a hissing pain crashing through his head, exploding like fireworks behind his eyes.
“It’s okay, Jiho, you’re going to be alright. I’ll make sure of it,” the voice tells him, Jiho’s bed sinking as the man sits down.
When Jiho opens his eyes, his breath catches in his throat, eyes widening.
Because Minhyuk is black smoke, curling around Jiho like a claw, choking.
He is a fire, a fire Jiho cannot put out.
- um. sometimes i write things that are mostly just meant to be mindfuckery.
- for hotpixel because she likes creepy fic and i like her.
- happy hallow’s eve everyone.
- tbh, i'm not even sure what's going on with minhyuk so it's open to your interpretation :) - - also, title is from nerina pallot's sophia.
block b; zbomb, jaeco, jaebomb; nc-17; 3000
minhyuk is black smoke, curling around jiho like a claw, choking.
it's a fire
There is a fine line, Jiho thinks, between what it is he needs and what it is he wants.
Jiho thinks that if this is the case, things shouldn’t really be so muddled. He knows what he wants: Minhyuk pressing against his body until Jiho can’t breathe, trapped under his smouldering gaze, caught in his orbit of devastation and debauchery.
He knows this but he also knows getting involved with Minhyuk won’t end well. There is a reason Jaehyo drowns himself in alcohol on a nightly basis, a reason why he hurls his words like spitfire at Jiho in the dead of the night when Jiho’s only just trying to get him to stop.
Kyung’s watching him watch Minhyuk, who sits in half shadows, wicked white gleam of his smirk flickering like gunshots.
Bang, bang, bang.
Jiho may as well be dead, bleeding heart pitter pattering in his ripped open chest. He swallows, taste of copper exploding across his tongue. He’s been biting his lip too hard again. He’s been thinking about Minhyuk too much again.
“Come on, let’s go,” Kyung tells him, downing the rest of his drink; head tossed back, little adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, face scrunching up just momentarily at the taste of pure vodka.
Jiho stares at the shot glasses in front of him, empty and scattered and he thinks of that night, empty and scattered, Minhyuk’s name like echoes on his lips, whispered back to him by Jaehyo.
“Jiho,” Kyung stresses, hand wrapping around Jiho’s arm. Jiho doesn’t look up at Kyung, eyes drifting back to the corner. Predictably, Minhyuk’s not there.
“Jaehyo, fuck, come on, get up,” Jiho sighs, struggling to lift Jaehyo up off of the floor. He has soju bottles at his feet; a reek of alcohol so strong that Jiho can feel the bile rising up his throat.
“He left, Jiho, he fucking left,” Jaehyo slurs, a terrifying smile on his face. Jiho can see the tears building behind his eyes, tears Jaehyo will keep under lock and key.
Jiho wants to tell Jaehyo he knows, wants to tell him that he’d been there. People didn’t just disappear and if they did, Jiho thought, he’d want them to have the decency to stay away. Minhyuk was never that decent though, fingers straying from Jaehyo’s waist to dance along Jiho’s spine, leaving trails of ghosting shivers and impossible promises.
“He wasn’t real,” Jiho reminds Jaehyo, as if this makes sense, as if a person could exist one day and vanish the other.
Jaehyo laughs, howling as he clutches at Jiho’s shirt, clawing at Jiho’s skin and Jiho does what he always does, let’s the marks skin in, angry and red, bruising.
Minhyuk’s husky chuckle rings through his ears every time, far too amused, far too gone for rescuing. But Jaehyo’s still here, still bearable and Jiho can throw Jaehyo over a shoulder, carry him on his back like a child when he needs to.
The bar owner is giving him a dirty look now and Jiho apologises with his eyes, hoisting Jaehyo up finally, as the hiss of his splintering skin aches in his ears. Jaehyo’s nails need cutting.
He follows Jiho like a nightmare, hiding behind every corner, lurking just over his shoulder. Jiho can’t even see him all the time, but there are those nights when he sits in front of Jiho, lips pressed into a knowing smirk as he winds deft fingers into Jaehyo’s hair and tugs.
Jaehyo never feels anything. He lies on his pillow, half-gone to the world, half-destroyed. Jiho’s not much better, just lucid enough to know that Minhyuk couldn’t possibly be real.
But then Minhyuk will shift, like fucking magic, looming over Jiho like the boogieman his mother used to scare him with. Jiho will whimper, inching backwards, stumbling as Minhyuk grins, feral and ravenous. Jiho will try to hide the broken bits and pieces he’s managed to salvage from the destruction, but Minhyuk has the eye of a hawk. Jiho can’t win.
Not that Minhyuk wants him to. No, Minhyuk wants to devour Jiho, bite by bite, leaving nothing but nasty bruises on Jiho’s skin like a conqueror’s trophy. Kyung will ask about them later, eyes worried, fingers on the verge of pressing into Jiho’s burning flesh. Jiho will hiss, catlike, as he’ll shrink away. Kyung will back off, long enough for Jiho to wrap himself in his blankets like a cocoon, reminding himself that he can’t hide. Minhyuk will always find him.
Jiho works from home, writing silly commercial jingles for his advertising firm. Sometimes Minhyuk will hum them to him, as he fucks into Jiho, slow and burning and Jiho will feel the overwhelming urge to spit in his face.
He’d had dreams, settled on the tips of his horizon, mixed purple-red-blue with the clouds of his sky. Shattered dreams. Jiho couldn’t afford the luxury of creating music, not when Jaehyo was a volcano ready to erupt. Jiho had to delay the explosion for as long as possible, had to tuck Jaehyo into his arms and protect him for as long as he could, because Minhyuk - well, Minhyuk was gone.
“What’re you looking at?” Jaehyo will ask him when he’s sober enough. Jiho will imagine what he must feel like, will imagine that his head probably feels too small for all the noise inside of it. He will let his fingers linger over Jaehyo’s too tight skin, pale and yellowing, as if Jaehyo were paper fraying away. Perhaps he was.
“Nothing,” Jiho will answer, always the same. Minhyuk will always chuckle, amused, eyes dark and sinister.
“Really,” Jaehyo will drawl and for a moment, Jiho will feel like he’s got his old friend back. Snarky and sarcastic, sweet and sincere. But Jaehyo will flicker back to yellow and grey, too quick for Jiho to catch, too quick for him to interject. “That’s too bad. You’re a bit boring, aren’t you, Woo Jiho?”
“Yeah, I guess I am,” Jiho will reply, pressing chaste, non-existent kisses onto Jaehyo’s bare arms. They are covered with scars, the impact of glass slicing through sinew and veins, leaving nothing behind but Minhyuk. Minhyuk caused these scars, ruined poor Jaehyo’s too perfect skin. In the back of Jiho’s mind, where he still lets himself dream small nothings, where Minhyuk hasn't reached yet, he dreams of kissing all of Jaehyo’s scars away.
Jaehyo will laugh instead, hollow and brittle as he’ll turn toward Jiho and kiss him. Sometimes Jiho wonders if Jaehyo imagines him as Minhyuk. Bright, grinning Minhyuk; too ready to pick a fight, too ready to take flight.
They will kiss, lying in Jiho’s too small bed, Jaehyo’s legs tangled in Jiho’s. They will breathe the same air, rancid and stale, taste the same sweat accumulating on each other’s skin. But only Jiho will feel the press of Minhyuk’s eyes all over his skin. Only Jiho will feel Minhyuk’s too cold hands ripping him apart later, digging for whatever remains of him to wolf down.
“Jiho,” Minhyuk says to him, fingers as cold as ice raking down his naked back.
“What,” Jiho replies, already lost somewhere between neverland and reality, an image of Jaehyo’s smiling face sending churning guilt rushing up his throat. The hotel room is empty but somehow Jiho can hear Jaehyo’s screaming hurt hurtling at him at hurricane speeds, wanting to tear him apart. But Minhyuk’s already began that process.
Minhyuk kisses the back of his neck, shivers running down Jiho’s spine like electrons through a wire, his hand slithering up the plane of Jiho’s abdomen. “What if I told you a secret?”
“Later,” Jiho mumbles, the press of Minhyuk’s palm against his belly somehow soothing, pushing away the mutated image of Jaehyo forming in his head: angry, red eyes and razor sharp teeth.
Jiho feels Minhyuk press against him, closer, as if they have much of a distance between them to begin with. He can feel Minhyuk’s hot breath against his ear, arousing but Jiho’s just on the verge of completely blacking out. Minhyuk’s hand wanders lower, tracing strange patterns against Jiho’s skin, which make him quiver with delight, soft sighs escaping his lips with abandon.
“What if I told you I wasn’t real?” Minhyuk whispers and Jiho can feel rather than see the knowing smirk he must be wearing, telling Jiho wild absurdities.
“What?” Jiho laughs, own hand unconsciously guiding Minhyuk to his now hardening cock. When he feels Minhyuk’s fingers wrapping around him, he lets out an undignified whimper, thrusting into Minhyuk’s palm wantonly.
Minhyuk chuckles behind him, lips pressing soft kisses into Jiho’s shoulder, hand jerking Jiho off tantalizingly, as if Jiho isn’t already spent and ready to pop. “Jaehyo makes the same little noises, you know. Calls me ‘hyung’, asks me for more. Just like you, Jiho.”
Jiho feels like Minhyuk’s just shoved him off of a cliff, howling wind rushing past his ears as jagged rocks decorating the seaside drag him downwards, ready to tear him apart. His eyes burn, burn with Jaehyo’s name, with Minhyuk’s treachery.
“Fuck off,” Jiho spits, attempting to shove Minhyuk away from him but while Jiho’s mind is screaming awake right now, his body is as dead as ever. It’s a futile struggle, Minhyuk far more coherent than him, far more determined. He feels the sink of Minhyuk’s teeth, scraping down his shoulder, as his hand continues to pump Jiho’s cock.
Jiho tries not to imagine Jaehyo panting underneath Minhyuk, tries to block out the image of Minhyuk’s too perfect mouth wrapped around Jaehyo’s dick on his bed, tries and fails. Jiho gasps, loud and stuttering, tears burning in his eyes as Minhyuk squeezes the base of his cock to stop him from orgasming. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Jiho?”
“Hyung,” Jiho croaks, suffocating guilt and want coiling around his neck, tighter and tighter.
“I’m not real, Jiho,” Minhyuk tells him again, and Jiho’s eyes widen as he sees Minhyuk flicker in front of him. There one second, hand wrapped around Jiho’s dick once more the next.
“What…” Jiho chokes, but Minhyuk’s grin is wild, eyes alight with something too terrifying for Jiho to completely understand. But before Jiho can shove Minhyuk off of him, before he can do anything, he blacks out.
Minhyuk had been driving, Jaehyo tipsy and giddy and Jiho all but passed out in the back. He couldn’t bare the idea of Minhyuk picking Jaehyo over him sometimes, wanted to simultaneously punch Jaehyo until his pretty boy face was nothing but a knot of scar tissue and kiss him until Jaehyo didn’t even remember who Minhyuk was.
It wasn’t fair that Minhyuk would slide into Jiho’s bed, long after he’d fucked Jaehyo to sleep, to use him as his filthy seconds. But Jiho never could say no, never could remember anything but Minhyuk’s deft hands plying Jiho into what he wanted him to be, lingering words like smoke telling him that he wasn’t real.
Jiho still wasn’t sure who wasn’t real and who was. Him? Minhyuk? Jaehyo? Fuck.
But Minhyuk always flickers in front of Jiho’s eyes. Long enough that Jiho can go back and pinpoint exactly when and where but never why. Sometimes Jiho wonders if he’s created Minhyuk out of his imagination, put him together like a God to use and abuse and toss away.
Jaehyo’s laughter is ringing in his ears, sounds like dreadful screeching as it rips through Jiho’s ears, fingers on chalkboard. Minhyuk flickers.
Once, twice, gone.
Jiho feels his head erupt as he feels his skin set itself on fire, bone and muscle and tissue dripping like melted wax until he feels like Jaehyo has bleed into his veins just to cement himself there.
Everything stops.
The deafening roar of his broken bones, of Jaehyo’s voice filtering through to him in broken sobs of pain that Jiho’s mind is attempting to numb out of him, ends.
The whole world is upside down, shattered glass scattered all around him, stretching beyond Jiho’s eyes. Jaehyo’s body lies, twisted and bent and Jiho’s stomach lurches, bile rising up his throat too fast, too slow, burning fire erupting to scorch his skin.
Jiho crawls out of the car, left leg limp and useless. Glass cuts into him, embedding itself farther than Jiho’s obsession with Minhyuk, with Jaehyo, festering under his skin like a bubbling disease. He winces, loud, bright lights scalding, Jaehyo’s wrecked voice calling his name over and over and over again.
He heaves himself up, a pain like a knife plunging into him shooting through his side, as if searching to destroy something more than just Jiho’s body. He follows Jaehyo’s voice, now gasping, barely audible over the din of screeching in his head.
Thud, thud, thud, the invisible gong in his head plays, tearing down his resolve. He falls to his feet when he reach’s Jaehyo, pulling him recklessly out of the carnage.
“Jiho,” Jaehyo says, small and fading, eyes barely open as they stare up at him. Jiho rests Jaehyo’s head in his lap, his face blackening out one second only to pop up again. The colours are too harsh, Jiho thinks, blinking several times in quick succession.
He wonders where Minhyuk is.
“Where’s…,” Jaehyo starts, breathing becoming shallower. Jiho can feel blood trickling down his cheek, thick as molasses.
“Minhyuk,” he finishes and Jaehyo nods, ever so slightly. There are tears forming in Jiho’s eyes, sharp sting mixing in with the open cut on his cheek. Jiho raises his head, looks at the empty road, cars ton apart and scattered.
“Minhyuk,” he calls, but there is no response returned to him and when Jaehyo repeats his name after Jiho, Jiho wonders who Minhyuk even was to begin with.
Sometimes Jiho thinks he’s even more far gone than Jaehyo - imagining Minhyuk in every shadow he passes but then he will feel Minhyuk’s breath ghosting over his ear, whispering lies and truths as he distracts Jiho long enough to press him into the nearest wall.
Jiho’s breath will hitch as he feels the familiar tug of wants and needs collide inside him; he will allow the taste of Minhyuk’s lips against his to blind him, and he will record the feeling of Minhyuk’s huffs of his name sliding across his ears.
He doesn’t understand.
Minhyuk will roll his hips, grinding against Jiho like Jiho had once seen him grind against Jaehyo. Minhyuk will bite kisses down his throat and Jiho will shudder as Minhyuk sinks his teeth into Jiho’s collarbone. He will leave imprints of ‘mine’ written across Jiho in purple and black, fingers more like claws as they will dig into his hips, holding Jiho in place.
Jiho will hiss as Minhyuk thrusts a finger into him, almost scream when a second is added but Minhyuk is relentless, chewing Jiho’s cries and spitting them out. He will whisper Jiho’s name in his ears, lulling, seducing and when Jiho finally will feel the head of Minhyuk’s cock pressing at his entrance, Jiho will already be nestling on the edge.
Minhyuk will finally drive up into him, familiar smirk returning and Jiho will be unravelled, nails digging into Minhyuk’s non-existent body, back arching off of the wall like clockwork. He will whimper, Minhyuk’s name squeezing out of him in short, tight gasps, offbeat to Minhyuk’s grunts as he pushes into Jiho, harder, deeper, faster.
“Min-minhyuk,” he will stutter, gritty bricks digging into his shoulders, leaving behind a dusty residue he won’t be able to explain to Jaehyo later. Jaehyo who will shove him aside, scream profanities at Jiho until one by one they hit Jiho dead center in his heart, like darts meeting their target.
Jiho doesn’t understand.
How much more can he give, what more is there left for Minhyuk to steal and for Jaehyo to console himself with?
But Minhyuk loves to take, loves to set Jiho’s teeth on edge, skilled hands wrapping around his cock to jerk him off. And Jiho will let him like he always does, will spread his legs as far as they go, will never understand Why.
He will swallow, vile taste of guilt and ash and Minhyuk coating his mouth, never leaving. He will come all over Minhyuk’s hand, spunk shooting up and soaking Jiho’s own t-shirt. He will wait until Minhyuk’s done, finished thrusting into him until Jiho can feel his insides burn, can feel the self-loathing settle in and tell Jiho what a worthless, little shit he is.
Minhyuk will pull out just as quickly, will kiss Jiho as soft as a lover, let Jiho hope for someone kinder.
He will disappear and Jiho will sink to the ground, knees shaking, tears soaking through his skin.
When he wakes up, white hospital walls blending into white hospital floors blending into white hospital sheets into white ghosts lingering through Jiho’s mind like phantom fingers hovering over his skin, Jiho feels a pair of eyes on him.
His head reels, the outline of a man blurring between his watery eyes, the sound of his voice garbled but Jiho feels bubbling fear at his presence. There is a frantic rushing need to get away, to run away but Jiho’s legs won’t move, heavy and stiff, and bound tight as if Jiho were already in a coffin.
“Sssh,” the voice of the man murmurs to him, cold, icy fingers tracing his jaw as if consolingly. The sharp twist of his head away from the hand sends a hissing pain crashing through his head, exploding like fireworks behind his eyes.
“It’s okay, Jiho, you’re going to be alright. I’ll make sure of it,” the voice tells him, Jiho’s bed sinking as the man sits down.
When Jiho opens his eyes, his breath catches in his throat, eyes widening.
Because Minhyuk is black smoke, curling around Jiho like a claw, choking.
He is a fire, a fire Jiho cannot put out.
- um. sometimes i write things that are mostly just meant to be mindfuckery.
- for hotpixel because she likes creepy fic and i like her.
- happy hallow’s eve everyone.
- tbh, i'm not even sure what's going on with minhyuk so it's open to your interpretation :) - - also, title is from nerina pallot's sophia.