[ exo ] no means no
title: no means no
pairing: n/a
rating: pg-13
summary: “No.” “C’mon, ‘soo. Just once.” “I said no, Chanyeol.”
length: ~1.1k
a/n: a fill for this prompt. idk what i just wrote. word vomit tbh.
“C’mon, ‘soo. Just once.”
“I said no, Chanyeol.”
Kyungsoo shoves the smoking blunt from his face for what feels like the thirtieth time that hour with a scowl on his lips, watching as the taller boy shrugs and takes a deep drag from it before passing it on to the blonde behind him who stares at it blankly for a few moments before doing the same with a sated smile. He blows the smoke from his lips in rings as he leans back against the taller boy’s back and hands off the smoke yet again.
Chanyeol and the rest of his idiotic friends had decided it would be a great idea to invite him out of the house, take him along with them on one of their weekly meetups to get stupidly high together and laugh at stuff that didn’t even make sense. He’d visited their get togethers before just because he likes their company and sometimes it’s amusing to watch how retarded they can act, but today they’re actually trying to shove the cancer stick in his own mouth for him to try and he’s just about fed up.
“You’re so lame,” sighs Sehun, leaning over from Kyungsoo’s opposite side to drape his multicoloured head and hair over his shoulder and dreamily smile (it’s about one of the only times the maknae of their small band of friends actually does smile, so the elder appreciates seeing it despite the reasons behind the expression), “can’t you just try once? For us?”
He considers making his friends happy by taking a little puff that couldn’t hurt for the span of about two milliseconds before Sehun is spilling into lap and spewing endless, broken giggling and he scowls and sneers again, any thoughts of succumbing to their wishes gone as he shoves the younger boy from his lap quickly and watches him tumble onto the turf below them.
Kyungsoo blinks as he watches his friend seemingly not care about all the dirt in his face, in fact welcome it with a small nuzzle.
This is ridiculously stupid.
“I’m leaving,” he announces, starting to get to his feet before he has at least eight pairs of hands on his arms and legs holding him down to the ground and three more reaching out as a large chorus of disapproval ripples through the other eleven boys.
“You can’t go,” whines Luhan, pouting softly with unfocussed eyes.
“Stay,” breathes Jongin, looking completely blissed out as he crawls over to lay his head in Kyungsoo’s lap and closes his eyes.
“Get me something to eat when you come back,” informs Lay with a nod and a palm on his flat stomach.
The rest’s complaints and requests all jumble up and the elder sighs as he settles back into the grass and rips the blunt from Minseok’s fingers as he was just about to bring it to his lips, which scrunch up into a small frown before he settles back comfortably with his face in Joonmyun’s crotch, of whom doesn’t really even seem to care as he stares at the sky with an expression of wonder and jaw ajar.
“Fucking idiots,” he seethes, staring at each and every one of them (although some, much like Joonmyun, are more interested in something else - whether it be sniggering at a dandelion or wondering at a beetle crawl across the same weed) before his eyes avert back to the task at hand.
This is it. Moment of truth. A milestone in his life. Kyungsoo briefly thinks back to those pledges back in elementary, in grade five where he’d sworn he would never touch a drop of alcohol or any part of marijuana(although he’d pronounced it mar-i-joo-wana back then by example of idiotic teachers) and had even said to his mother’s face that no, he would never do drugs. Not ever. Not if it would upset her.
Kyungsoo used to be the perfect son for his parents.
Seemingly, not anymore.
Sorry, mom.
Bringing the rolled pot and paper to his lips he takes a small toke, face contorting into something of constipation at the taste on his tongue as he tries to hold the breath for a few seconds before losing it and buckling over, coughing and hacking with smoke tumbling from his lips quickly. Kyungsoo jerks a little more as his lungs scream protest and Kris’s gigantic hand begins to clap him on the back, soon swatting it away when his bout passes. He hears his friends tittering with laughter around him but chooses wisely to ignore them.
“Why the fuck,” his words are interrupted by another choked cough before he continues, “do you guys smoke this shit? It’s horrible.” Not to mention that he doesn’t feel like laughing or staring at some dumb fucking cloud for three hours as his friends seem to do nearly every time they do this, which is utter bullshit. Wasn’t this crap supposed to mellow you out?
“First time never gets you high,” explains Jongdae almost matter-of-factly, the usual stupid grin on his face as he leans over and wraps long digits around Kyungsoo’s wrist, “so you gotta practice the smoking part for next time,” he lifts the cigarette and practically stuffs it between the boy’s thick lips, of which he really doesn’t have any other choice but to inhale again.
The burn isn’t gone but it might be tamer - or maybe Kyungsoo’s lungs are just dying already and getting number in record time. He tries to calm his coughing quicker this time and hide it from everyone staring at his reactions but before he can even dumb down the ache in his chest Zitao is crawling over from where he’d been enjoying himself in Lay’s shirt and stuffing it back in his mouth, letting him drag once more before crawling away and taking the stick with him.
Kyungsoo’s still choking on his own lungs as he watches Jongin shift from his lap and crawl up under his shirt and his hand finds the top of his head through the fabric to weakly shove him away just as he’d done with Sehun before - and as the latter’d never moved, the pair end up on top of each other as Kyungsoo scoots away a little, staring at his group of friends with disinterest.
How the hell he’d gotten involved with a giant group of stoners he can’t remember.
But as he watches them with some fondness, he can’t help but feel some accomplishment that they want him to fit in with them, want him to be a part of their activities and partake in the things they like to do (no matter how illegal and unhealthy it is for him, it’s still sort of touching).
Maybe another puff or two wouldn’t hurt.
pairing: n/a
rating: pg-13
summary: “No.” “C’mon, ‘soo. Just once.” “I said no, Chanyeol.”
length: ~1.1k
a/n: a fill for this prompt. idk what i just wrote. word vomit tbh.
“C’mon, ‘soo. Just once.”
“I said no, Chanyeol.”
Kyungsoo shoves the smoking blunt from his face for what feels like the thirtieth time that hour with a scowl on his lips, watching as the taller boy shrugs and takes a deep drag from it before passing it on to the blonde behind him who stares at it blankly for a few moments before doing the same with a sated smile. He blows the smoke from his lips in rings as he leans back against the taller boy’s back and hands off the smoke yet again.
Chanyeol and the rest of his idiotic friends had decided it would be a great idea to invite him out of the house, take him along with them on one of their weekly meetups to get stupidly high together and laugh at stuff that didn’t even make sense. He’d visited their get togethers before just because he likes their company and sometimes it’s amusing to watch how retarded they can act, but today they’re actually trying to shove the cancer stick in his own mouth for him to try and he’s just about fed up.
“You’re so lame,” sighs Sehun, leaning over from Kyungsoo’s opposite side to drape his multicoloured head and hair over his shoulder and dreamily smile (it’s about one of the only times the maknae of their small band of friends actually does smile, so the elder appreciates seeing it despite the reasons behind the expression), “can’t you just try once? For us?”
He considers making his friends happy by taking a little puff that couldn’t hurt for the span of about two milliseconds before Sehun is spilling into lap and spewing endless, broken giggling and he scowls and sneers again, any thoughts of succumbing to their wishes gone as he shoves the younger boy from his lap quickly and watches him tumble onto the turf below them.
Kyungsoo blinks as he watches his friend seemingly not care about all the dirt in his face, in fact welcome it with a small nuzzle.
This is ridiculously stupid.
“I’m leaving,” he announces, starting to get to his feet before he has at least eight pairs of hands on his arms and legs holding him down to the ground and three more reaching out as a large chorus of disapproval ripples through the other eleven boys.
“You can’t go,” whines Luhan, pouting softly with unfocussed eyes.
“Stay,” breathes Jongin, looking completely blissed out as he crawls over to lay his head in Kyungsoo’s lap and closes his eyes.
“Get me something to eat when you come back,” informs Lay with a nod and a palm on his flat stomach.
The rest’s complaints and requests all jumble up and the elder sighs as he settles back into the grass and rips the blunt from Minseok’s fingers as he was just about to bring it to his lips, which scrunch up into a small frown before he settles back comfortably with his face in Joonmyun’s crotch, of whom doesn’t really even seem to care as he stares at the sky with an expression of wonder and jaw ajar.
“Fucking idiots,” he seethes, staring at each and every one of them (although some, much like Joonmyun, are more interested in something else - whether it be sniggering at a dandelion or wondering at a beetle crawl across the same weed) before his eyes avert back to the task at hand.
This is it. Moment of truth. A milestone in his life. Kyungsoo briefly thinks back to those pledges back in elementary, in grade five where he’d sworn he would never touch a drop of alcohol or any part of marijuana(although he’d pronounced it mar-i-joo-wana back then by example of idiotic teachers) and had even said to his mother’s face that no, he would never do drugs. Not ever. Not if it would upset her.
Kyungsoo used to be the perfect son for his parents.
Seemingly, not anymore.
Sorry, mom.
Bringing the rolled pot and paper to his lips he takes a small toke, face contorting into something of constipation at the taste on his tongue as he tries to hold the breath for a few seconds before losing it and buckling over, coughing and hacking with smoke tumbling from his lips quickly. Kyungsoo jerks a little more as his lungs scream protest and Kris’s gigantic hand begins to clap him on the back, soon swatting it away when his bout passes. He hears his friends tittering with laughter around him but chooses wisely to ignore them.
“Why the fuck,” his words are interrupted by another choked cough before he continues, “do you guys smoke this shit? It’s horrible.” Not to mention that he doesn’t feel like laughing or staring at some dumb fucking cloud for three hours as his friends seem to do nearly every time they do this, which is utter bullshit. Wasn’t this crap supposed to mellow you out?
“First time never gets you high,” explains Jongdae almost matter-of-factly, the usual stupid grin on his face as he leans over and wraps long digits around Kyungsoo’s wrist, “so you gotta practice the smoking part for next time,” he lifts the cigarette and practically stuffs it between the boy’s thick lips, of which he really doesn’t have any other choice but to inhale again.
The burn isn’t gone but it might be tamer - or maybe Kyungsoo’s lungs are just dying already and getting number in record time. He tries to calm his coughing quicker this time and hide it from everyone staring at his reactions but before he can even dumb down the ache in his chest Zitao is crawling over from where he’d been enjoying himself in Lay’s shirt and stuffing it back in his mouth, letting him drag once more before crawling away and taking the stick with him.
Kyungsoo’s still choking on his own lungs as he watches Jongin shift from his lap and crawl up under his shirt and his hand finds the top of his head through the fabric to weakly shove him away just as he’d done with Sehun before - and as the latter’d never moved, the pair end up on top of each other as Kyungsoo scoots away a little, staring at his group of friends with disinterest.
How the hell he’d gotten involved with a giant group of stoners he can’t remember.
But as he watches them with some fondness, he can’t help but feel some accomplishment that they want him to fit in with them, want him to be a part of their activities and partake in the things they like to do (no matter how illegal and unhealthy it is for him, it’s still sort of touching).
Maybe another puff or two wouldn’t hurt.