07; exo; hold too tight
hold too tight | r for inexplicit sex, mature situations
onesided!xiumin/chen, onesided!chen/kris
900 words
oneshot
prompt: leading the only witness to your dreams astray
this is really bad btw
also please check this out, xiumin and chen need more love ;u;
Minseok tries to catch what falls from between Jongdae's fingers.
Like many other people and like a number of their fans, Jongdae wishes for Yifan.
But he isn’t like other people, and he isn't just a fan - what Jongdae has isn't something as complicated as love, or romantic affection, or even any form of long-term emotional investment. It’s just a crush, and not much more. Nothing more.
(Isn’t he good at telling jokes?)
hold too tight
The only one who sees Jongdae’s dreams fall apart is Minseok, if only because the others have no idea what they are seeing and Minseok wouldn’t have known, either, had Jongdae not told him. All it looks like is a Jongdae who is not as happy as usual, or a Jongdae who isn’t smiling as much as usual. Not really a Jongdae who is trying to come to terms with the fact that, to Yifan, he will only be a brother.
He expresses his frustrations only to Minseok, in a manner that Minseok thinks is the worst way to express frustrations that he’s ever seen.
“Hyung,” Jongdae moans, squirming with his head against Minseok’s shoulder, his arms and back against the bed, and the rest of him on the floor.
Under different circumstances, Minseok might have even gotten a hard-on, but this is not a dream, nor is it one coming true. This is one of Jongdae’s mood swing sessions, where he eats enough ice cream to fill an Olympic-sized pool and, on the days when Minseok gets the bright idea to bring some beer along, acts drunk. It’s easier to explain three empty pint-sized containers of ice cream when there are almost twice as many opened cans surrounding them, after all.
“Hyung,” Jongdae goes again, a weak, insistent fist hitting Minseok’s leg.
“Yeah?” Minseok answers, opening another can of beer. It’s just his second - he saves three cans for the worst part, later.
“Did you see what he was wearing today?” Jongdae says, covering his face. “He was wearing a pink. Necktie. With a matching camera.” After a dramatic pause, Jongdae repeats, “A camera!”
After a gulp of beer and a single pat of Jongdae’s hair, Minseok says, “He was.”
Jongdae makes a long, pained, “Why.”
Oh, this kind of question, again. Minseok knows the answer to this one. “Because he’s trying to sexually frustrate you.”
“I know, right?!” Jongdae rolls his head around on Minseok’s shoulder, his skinny legs pounding against the floor with such ferocity that Minseok wonders if Jongdae’s trying to break them. “He knows I like guys with cameras.”
Minseok finds himself becoming a bit disturbed. “He... does? How?”
Jongdae sobers at Minseok’s abject horror and explains, “No, I mean, I have a picture of myself holding a camera, right?”
“…Yeah?”
“Exactly.” And then Jongdae resumes using his miserable office worker voice, leaning against the bed behind him and burying his hands in his hair. “He makes me want to die in a hole.”
Oh, Minseok knows the response to this kind of sentence, too. “So that when a zombie apocalypse begins, you can drag him down with you, right?”
“Right!” Jongdae nods emphatically, palms pressed against his eyes. “And then I can get that pink necktie off - ”
Minseok shuts his eyes. “Oh my god, Jongdae, don’t go there.”
Palms pressing deeper, Jongdae laughs. “Alright - I’ll go for his belt first, then.”
Minseok only finishes his can of beer in response and Jongdae laughs a bit harder, forced and painful to hear.
Then this is the part where Minseok takes his last can of beer and pushes the remaining three towards Jongdae.
“So did you finish them all?”
“I did,” Jongdae answers, sitting on Minseok’s thighs with a careless sway to his movements that is too controlled. With a few, practiced hitches in his syllables, he says, “Want to hear a joke?”
Minseok always shakes his head, but Jongdae’s eyes are always closed at this point, only feeling the fingertips brushing across his skin. Too caring. Too soft. Not like the fingers he dreams about at all.
So Jongdae slings an arm over his eyes, smiles, and says, “It’s just a crush. Funny, right?”
Even if Minseok plays dumb, he knows what Jongdae does with each of his three cans - he makes a show of opening it so that Minseok sees, then somewhere in the middle of the conversation, he sets it aside and pretends that it’s empty and done. It’s a waste, so Minseok saves those last three cans for the worst part, when he’s already dressed and just waiting for Yifan to come back so he can spew some excuse in Jongdae’s defense.
He sits on the edge of the bed, a lukewarm can in his hands. Jongdae’s just sleeping, facing the wall, and his breaths are steady and deep - Minseok’s not sure if they’re as practiced and controlled as the rest of Jongdae’s movements, and he doesn’t want to know.
He tries to smile and whispers to no one, “Want to hear a joke?”
The only reply he gets is an exhale.
But for Minseok, it’s enough. It’s enough.
(He can tell jokes, too.)
“I wish I could hate you.”
And in his mind, Jongdae times his breaths even louder, tries to keep a hold on them so tight that his thoughts spill away. Fifty-one. Fifty-two.
- masterlist + requests - watch - join -
extreme word vomit. all the fics i've been working on recently are more than 4k words so i needed a palate cleanser of sorts rofl. gonna write+post another word vomit tomorrow, probably krishan because the prompt i got for them was hilarious, haha. expect layhan after i finish my aideshou entry, sorry about that! ;u;
thanks for reading! :) leave a comment?
onesided!xiumin/chen, onesided!chen/kris
900 words
oneshot
prompt: leading the only witness to your dreams astray
this is really bad btw
also please check this out, xiumin and chen need more love ;u;
Minseok tries to catch what falls from between Jongdae's fingers.
Like many other people and like a number of their fans, Jongdae wishes for Yifan.
But he isn’t like other people, and he isn't just a fan - what Jongdae has isn't something as complicated as love, or romantic affection, or even any form of long-term emotional investment. It’s just a crush, and not much more. Nothing more.
(Isn’t he good at telling jokes?)
hold too tight
The only one who sees Jongdae’s dreams fall apart is Minseok, if only because the others have no idea what they are seeing and Minseok wouldn’t have known, either, had Jongdae not told him. All it looks like is a Jongdae who is not as happy as usual, or a Jongdae who isn’t smiling as much as usual. Not really a Jongdae who is trying to come to terms with the fact that, to Yifan, he will only be a brother.
He expresses his frustrations only to Minseok, in a manner that Minseok thinks is the worst way to express frustrations that he’s ever seen.
“Hyung,” Jongdae moans, squirming with his head against Minseok’s shoulder, his arms and back against the bed, and the rest of him on the floor.
Under different circumstances, Minseok might have even gotten a hard-on, but this is not a dream, nor is it one coming true. This is one of Jongdae’s mood swing sessions, where he eats enough ice cream to fill an Olympic-sized pool and, on the days when Minseok gets the bright idea to bring some beer along, acts drunk. It’s easier to explain three empty pint-sized containers of ice cream when there are almost twice as many opened cans surrounding them, after all.
“Hyung,” Jongdae goes again, a weak, insistent fist hitting Minseok’s leg.
“Yeah?” Minseok answers, opening another can of beer. It’s just his second - he saves three cans for the worst part, later.
“Did you see what he was wearing today?” Jongdae says, covering his face. “He was wearing a pink. Necktie. With a matching camera.” After a dramatic pause, Jongdae repeats, “A camera!”
After a gulp of beer and a single pat of Jongdae’s hair, Minseok says, “He was.”
Jongdae makes a long, pained, “Why.”
Oh, this kind of question, again. Minseok knows the answer to this one. “Because he’s trying to sexually frustrate you.”
“I know, right?!” Jongdae rolls his head around on Minseok’s shoulder, his skinny legs pounding against the floor with such ferocity that Minseok wonders if Jongdae’s trying to break them. “He knows I like guys with cameras.”
Minseok finds himself becoming a bit disturbed. “He... does? How?”
Jongdae sobers at Minseok’s abject horror and explains, “No, I mean, I have a picture of myself holding a camera, right?”
“…Yeah?”
“Exactly.” And then Jongdae resumes using his miserable office worker voice, leaning against the bed behind him and burying his hands in his hair. “He makes me want to die in a hole.”
Oh, Minseok knows the response to this kind of sentence, too. “So that when a zombie apocalypse begins, you can drag him down with you, right?”
“Right!” Jongdae nods emphatically, palms pressed against his eyes. “And then I can get that pink necktie off - ”
Minseok shuts his eyes. “Oh my god, Jongdae, don’t go there.”
Palms pressing deeper, Jongdae laughs. “Alright - I’ll go for his belt first, then.”
Minseok only finishes his can of beer in response and Jongdae laughs a bit harder, forced and painful to hear.
Then this is the part where Minseok takes his last can of beer and pushes the remaining three towards Jongdae.
“So did you finish them all?”
“I did,” Jongdae answers, sitting on Minseok’s thighs with a careless sway to his movements that is too controlled. With a few, practiced hitches in his syllables, he says, “Want to hear a joke?”
Minseok always shakes his head, but Jongdae’s eyes are always closed at this point, only feeling the fingertips brushing across his skin. Too caring. Too soft. Not like the fingers he dreams about at all.
So Jongdae slings an arm over his eyes, smiles, and says, “It’s just a crush. Funny, right?”
Even if Minseok plays dumb, he knows what Jongdae does with each of his three cans - he makes a show of opening it so that Minseok sees, then somewhere in the middle of the conversation, he sets it aside and pretends that it’s empty and done. It’s a waste, so Minseok saves those last three cans for the worst part, when he’s already dressed and just waiting for Yifan to come back so he can spew some excuse in Jongdae’s defense.
He sits on the edge of the bed, a lukewarm can in his hands. Jongdae’s just sleeping, facing the wall, and his breaths are steady and deep - Minseok’s not sure if they’re as practiced and controlled as the rest of Jongdae’s movements, and he doesn’t want to know.
He tries to smile and whispers to no one, “Want to hear a joke?”
The only reply he gets is an exhale.
But for Minseok, it’s enough. It’s enough.
(He can tell jokes, too.)
“I wish I could hate you.”
And in his mind, Jongdae times his breaths even louder, tries to keep a hold on them so tight that his thoughts spill away. Fifty-one. Fifty-two.
- masterlist + requests - watch - join -
extreme word vomit. all the fics i've been working on recently are more than 4k words so i needed a palate cleanser of sorts rofl. gonna write+post another word vomit tomorrow, probably krishan because the prompt i got for them was hilarious, haha. expect layhan after i finish my aideshou entry, sorry about that! ;u;
thanks for reading! :) leave a comment?