happy birthday sonja!
♡ happy birthday sonja ♡
a/n: birthday fic(s) for pressurise, happy happy birthday! ♡♡♡ hope you like these? ;o; (also, writing collab with sorcererweekly with infinite drabbles written by her and exo ones by me \o/)
only heather
sungyeol/sungjong
i. Sungjong can’t contain him in his chest the way he keeps him between his legs and Sungyeol secretly enjoys that. At times they’re a mess of tangled limbs on the bed, knees and ankles touching, proof that they’re there. That they’re together. Sungyeol kisses harder, kisses like he’s running out of air if only he gets to keep him longer.
Sungjong’s just a darn good actor and Sungyeol - well, he’s going to take whatever he can get.
Other times they sit in silence and Sungjong is faraway again. They’re not holding hands. Woohyun isn’t there to tell Sungyeol to watch out, to not fall for the other boy’s spell. But Sungyeol doesn’t admit he’s already enchanted, that Sungjong could be real, his bones could press into the canvas of Sungyeol’s skin. He doesn’t admit that he isn’t in love with him, but in love with the feeling of love itself.
Sungjong doesn’t love so he leaves behind bruises. Lovebites. Crescent-shaped scars. Sungyeol anticipates each moment the younger boy’s lips touch his skin. They push and pull and Sungjong consumes him faster than he can recover. It almost reminds him of how he used to make himself throw up - fingers digging into the back of throat, searching desperately for temporary escapes, alternate realities.
Today, Sungjong buys him flowers. Black roses. Sungyeol thinks they’re really ugly. Fuck you, he mouths against the other boy’s lips.
suho/kai
ii. fall comes with the crisp, sweet scent of autumn accompanied by falling leaves and remnants of summer crunching underfoot. junmyeon trudges through the blanket of redorangegold covering the ground, one hand shoved deep into his coat pocket and the other clutching a large bundle to his chest. a handful of leaves flutter down to land on his shoulders, rustling loudly as he brushes them off. junmyeon thinks that they look a lot like dying butterflies, a myriad of jewel-toned wings quivering with the last fragments of life. how beautiful.
junmyeon thinks that jongin looks the loveliest like this, sprawled out on their bed carelessly with moonlight streaming in from the crack between the curtains to fall across silicone skin and silken hair. leaning forward, junmyeon tenderly brushes his lips along the jut of jongin’s cheekbone, “you’re so beautiful.”
he fucks - no, makes love - to jongin later on, skin on skin sounding out harshly and fingers tangled into soft black locks. jongin is pliant in junmyeon’s hands, head thrown back against the pillows and arms hooked loosely around junmyeon’s neck as junmyeon drives his hips forward in long, smooth thrusts, panting harshly against jongin’s collarbones. it’s not long before junmyeon comes with a low cry of fuck - jongin -, hips still thrusting weakly as he presses his face into jongin’s chest.
they lie in bed together afterwards, jongin quiet as junmyeon curls up next to him, throwing one arm across jongin’s abdomen and lifting the other to trace the soft angles of jongin’s features. “i love you, jongin-ah, do you know that?” junmyeon presses a kiss to the side of jongin’s mouth, fingers moving downwards to map out patterns and constellations into jongin’s chest, nails dragging harshly across supple skin. a choked sob, salt staining mouth and dampness streaking down cheeks. “i love you so, so much.”
jongin is silent.
fall comes with the crisp, sweet scent of autumn accompanied by falling leaves and remnants of summer crunching underfoot. junmyeon trudges through the blanket of redorangegold covering the ground, one hand shoved deep into his coat pocket and the other clutching a large bundle to his chest. a handful of leaves flutter down to land on his shoulders, rustling loudly as he brushes them off. junmyeon thinks that they look a lot like dying butterflies, a myriad of jewel-toned wings quivering with the last fragments of life. how beautiful.
there’s a small smile curving his lips as he steps off the winding path through the cemetery, walking forward to kneel down in front of a gravestone. a bouquet of fresh roses are laid down gently on the dusty marble, followed by the bundle that had been held tight in junmyeon’s arms.
“look who i brought to visit you today?” junmyeon carefully pulls apart the cloth at the top of the bundle to reveal tawny skin, glass eyes and ink-dark hair. “i had him custom-made in japan. and can you believe it, chanyeol called me insane when he and sehun came over the other day! but he doesn’t understand, jongin-ah. they never understand.”
junmyeon raises the hand he’d been using to card through soft, artificial locks; strains his body forward so that he can rub the dust off the words carved into the gravestone.
kim jongin
1994 - 2019
to live in the hearts of those we love is not to die.
disappear always
woohyun/sungyeol
i. Sungyeol had once mentioned, all dark eyes and quiet voice, that loneliness was contagious; and Woohyun had kissed him, fingers running through soft hair, lips meshing, hips grinding. He still thinks of him when he touches himself, Sungyeol’s name vibrating at the back of his throat.
Sometimes, he calls Myungsoo out for a drink. Or Sunggyu. Anybody, really. Sungyeol lingers in his subconscious. Alcohol blurs the images. Like a temporary escape from the struggle to remember, or forget. Woohyun doesn’t admit that he misses him, just asphyxiates himself with foreign substances - drugs coursing through his veins, pipe hanging limp between his lips. Myungsoo fuels him and Sunggyu just punches him against the wall. Woohyun’s just glad he still has them at least.
He sleeps and sleeps and doesn’t register his dreams. Merely existing, not living. Just a body, but maybe he thrives in the gaps of Sungyeol’s sentences, in the spaces between their memories, waiting for him, hoping with all his heart that one day he will come back. Or maybe he wants to vanish, until the tugging at his chest goes away.
The afternoon sun filters through the window. Woohyun could be a singer, a salesman. A chef, a music teacher. He could be at the beach, digging his feet into the sand, watching the waves recede. He could be anything.
So he continues dreaming.
suho-centric // suho/tao // suho/sehun
ii. junmyeon dreams sometimes. he’s never too sure what exactly he’d been dreaming of when he wakes up; only recalls images of feline eyes crinkled in a smile, fingers adorned with countless rings, heavily accented words and mispronounced syllables.
junmyeon wakes up crying sometimes, still-wet tear tracks tracing down his cheeks and his left shoulder aching from where he’d fallen off the bed in the middle of the night. his nose is running, his eyes feel dry and swollen, and when he staggers over to the window to pull back the curtains, the harsh beams of sunlight that flood his roomeyeshead threaten to blind him.
and the worst, the worst of it all is the void the dreams leave behind the mornings after, the loneliness that has seeped into skinfleshmuscle and finally settled down into a dull throb behind his ribcage. the vortex, the empty chasm of desolation threatening to consume him, an undertow of sorts.
junmyeon thinks that it’s silly, feeling this loss of connection (telephone wires ripped apart, landlines severed, satellites knocked out of orbit) from someone he doesn’t know, someone whose face he can’t even recall. he mentions as much to sehun one of the nights they go out drinking together.
the music’s too loud, most of the cocktails are watered down, but the vodka shots this particular bar serves is strong, bitter stuff, and it’s exactly what junmyeon wants to wash away, fill up the gap in himself. the alcohol burns down his throat, and sehun’s face is already starting to blur before his eyes, the younger man’s voice now white noise buzzing beside his ears. the only thing sehun’s saying that junmyeon manages to make out through the haze of alcohol is that dreams are sometimes portals to alternate universes, that maybe the person junmyeon’s been seeing is his partner in a parallel universe. junmyeon doesn’t take much heed to sehun’s words, because sehun always spouts crap when he’s sober, and even more crap when he’s drunk.
but tonight, junmyeon will return home fully intoxicated. tonight, he will fall asleep on his unmade bed in his messy bedroom in his cramped officetel, still clad in the gray button-down and black jeans he’d wore to the bar. tonight, he will dream again, of the tall, faceless man with feline eyes and smile, rings and bracelets clinking noisily around fingers and wrists.
and tomorrow morning, junmyeon will wake up curled against a lean, strong chest, with tanned arms encircling his tiny frame. tomorrow morning, junmyeon will wake up to feline eyes and a wide smile, a sleepy good morning murmured into his ears with heavily accented korean.
tomorrow morning, junmyeon will wake up next to huang zitao, dry-eyed and the void behind his ribcage now gone, filled up instead with the rhythm of two different heartbeats layering and overlapping with each other, falling in place like the missing puzzle pieces junmyeon’s been searching for all this while.
breathing you in when i want you out
sunggyu/dongwoo
Sunggyu almost hates how he can never reject Dongwoo’s affection. Slowly, he starts to crave for hands, slightly callused, traversing the insides of this thighs. Little touches, the younger man’s breath grazing his ear as he moves in to whisper something unimportant. Dongwoo likes to put his hands over Sunggyu’s when they’re clenched (an indication that he’s angry or anxious or whatever) and Sunggyu cannot stand it, cannot stand the effect he has on him.
He also hates how Dongwoo’s smile always reaches his eyes. He hates how their fingers lace and he can’t bring himself to move away. Sunggyu is guarded, organised and he’s supposed to push. Instead, he lets Dongwoo pull him closer, closer, closer, until their lips meet midway.
Most of all, he hates how he can never hate him. Dongwoo is full of love and it’s contagious. It’s in his system and Sunggyu wants to initiate, kiss him harder until the other man is all whispery giggles against his mouth, until their hips are grinding and fuck, he just wants him open, wants their limbs tangled and lips melding and the world to fade into nothing. So he can throw away his priorities, so everything can be just about them.
Dongwoo makes him feel irresponsible. The glimpse of colour in a world he’s always known as black and white. And he thinks that maybe it’s okay, to chase after fantasy, to be knocked dead against his smile. Bleeding gums.
a/n: birthday fic(s) for pressurise, happy happy birthday! ♡♡♡ hope you like these? ;o; (also, writing collab with sorcererweekly with infinite drabbles written by her and exo ones by me \o/)
only heather
sungyeol/sungjong
i. Sungjong can’t contain him in his chest the way he keeps him between his legs and Sungyeol secretly enjoys that. At times they’re a mess of tangled limbs on the bed, knees and ankles touching, proof that they’re there. That they’re together. Sungyeol kisses harder, kisses like he’s running out of air if only he gets to keep him longer.
Sungjong’s just a darn good actor and Sungyeol - well, he’s going to take whatever he can get.
Other times they sit in silence and Sungjong is faraway again. They’re not holding hands. Woohyun isn’t there to tell Sungyeol to watch out, to not fall for the other boy’s spell. But Sungyeol doesn’t admit he’s already enchanted, that Sungjong could be real, his bones could press into the canvas of Sungyeol’s skin. He doesn’t admit that he isn’t in love with him, but in love with the feeling of love itself.
Sungjong doesn’t love so he leaves behind bruises. Lovebites. Crescent-shaped scars. Sungyeol anticipates each moment the younger boy’s lips touch his skin. They push and pull and Sungjong consumes him faster than he can recover. It almost reminds him of how he used to make himself throw up - fingers digging into the back of throat, searching desperately for temporary escapes, alternate realities.
Today, Sungjong buys him flowers. Black roses. Sungyeol thinks they’re really ugly. Fuck you, he mouths against the other boy’s lips.
suho/kai
ii. fall comes with the crisp, sweet scent of autumn accompanied by falling leaves and remnants of summer crunching underfoot. junmyeon trudges through the blanket of redorangegold covering the ground, one hand shoved deep into his coat pocket and the other clutching a large bundle to his chest. a handful of leaves flutter down to land on his shoulders, rustling loudly as he brushes them off. junmyeon thinks that they look a lot like dying butterflies, a myriad of jewel-toned wings quivering with the last fragments of life. how beautiful.
junmyeon thinks that jongin looks the loveliest like this, sprawled out on their bed carelessly with moonlight streaming in from the crack between the curtains to fall across silicone skin and silken hair. leaning forward, junmyeon tenderly brushes his lips along the jut of jongin’s cheekbone, “you’re so beautiful.”
he fucks - no, makes love - to jongin later on, skin on skin sounding out harshly and fingers tangled into soft black locks. jongin is pliant in junmyeon’s hands, head thrown back against the pillows and arms hooked loosely around junmyeon’s neck as junmyeon drives his hips forward in long, smooth thrusts, panting harshly against jongin’s collarbones. it’s not long before junmyeon comes with a low cry of fuck - jongin -, hips still thrusting weakly as he presses his face into jongin’s chest.
they lie in bed together afterwards, jongin quiet as junmyeon curls up next to him, throwing one arm across jongin’s abdomen and lifting the other to trace the soft angles of jongin’s features. “i love you, jongin-ah, do you know that?” junmyeon presses a kiss to the side of jongin’s mouth, fingers moving downwards to map out patterns and constellations into jongin’s chest, nails dragging harshly across supple skin. a choked sob, salt staining mouth and dampness streaking down cheeks. “i love you so, so much.”
jongin is silent.
fall comes with the crisp, sweet scent of autumn accompanied by falling leaves and remnants of summer crunching underfoot. junmyeon trudges through the blanket of redorangegold covering the ground, one hand shoved deep into his coat pocket and the other clutching a large bundle to his chest. a handful of leaves flutter down to land on his shoulders, rustling loudly as he brushes them off. junmyeon thinks that they look a lot like dying butterflies, a myriad of jewel-toned wings quivering with the last fragments of life. how beautiful.
there’s a small smile curving his lips as he steps off the winding path through the cemetery, walking forward to kneel down in front of a gravestone. a bouquet of fresh roses are laid down gently on the dusty marble, followed by the bundle that had been held tight in junmyeon’s arms.
“look who i brought to visit you today?” junmyeon carefully pulls apart the cloth at the top of the bundle to reveal tawny skin, glass eyes and ink-dark hair. “i had him custom-made in japan. and can you believe it, chanyeol called me insane when he and sehun came over the other day! but he doesn’t understand, jongin-ah. they never understand.”
junmyeon raises the hand he’d been using to card through soft, artificial locks; strains his body forward so that he can rub the dust off the words carved into the gravestone.
kim jongin
1994 - 2019
to live in the hearts of those we love is not to die.
disappear always
woohyun/sungyeol
i. Sungyeol had once mentioned, all dark eyes and quiet voice, that loneliness was contagious; and Woohyun had kissed him, fingers running through soft hair, lips meshing, hips grinding. He still thinks of him when he touches himself, Sungyeol’s name vibrating at the back of his throat.
Sometimes, he calls Myungsoo out for a drink. Or Sunggyu. Anybody, really. Sungyeol lingers in his subconscious. Alcohol blurs the images. Like a temporary escape from the struggle to remember, or forget. Woohyun doesn’t admit that he misses him, just asphyxiates himself with foreign substances - drugs coursing through his veins, pipe hanging limp between his lips. Myungsoo fuels him and Sunggyu just punches him against the wall. Woohyun’s just glad he still has them at least.
He sleeps and sleeps and doesn’t register his dreams. Merely existing, not living. Just a body, but maybe he thrives in the gaps of Sungyeol’s sentences, in the spaces between their memories, waiting for him, hoping with all his heart that one day he will come back. Or maybe he wants to vanish, until the tugging at his chest goes away.
The afternoon sun filters through the window. Woohyun could be a singer, a salesman. A chef, a music teacher. He could be at the beach, digging his feet into the sand, watching the waves recede. He could be anything.
So he continues dreaming.
suho-centric // suho/tao // suho/sehun
ii. junmyeon dreams sometimes. he’s never too sure what exactly he’d been dreaming of when he wakes up; only recalls images of feline eyes crinkled in a smile, fingers adorned with countless rings, heavily accented words and mispronounced syllables.
junmyeon wakes up crying sometimes, still-wet tear tracks tracing down his cheeks and his left shoulder aching from where he’d fallen off the bed in the middle of the night. his nose is running, his eyes feel dry and swollen, and when he staggers over to the window to pull back the curtains, the harsh beams of sunlight that flood his roomeyeshead threaten to blind him.
and the worst, the worst of it all is the void the dreams leave behind the mornings after, the loneliness that has seeped into skinfleshmuscle and finally settled down into a dull throb behind his ribcage. the vortex, the empty chasm of desolation threatening to consume him, an undertow of sorts.
junmyeon thinks that it’s silly, feeling this loss of connection (telephone wires ripped apart, landlines severed, satellites knocked out of orbit) from someone he doesn’t know, someone whose face he can’t even recall. he mentions as much to sehun one of the nights they go out drinking together.
the music’s too loud, most of the cocktails are watered down, but the vodka shots this particular bar serves is strong, bitter stuff, and it’s exactly what junmyeon wants to wash away, fill up the gap in himself. the alcohol burns down his throat, and sehun’s face is already starting to blur before his eyes, the younger man’s voice now white noise buzzing beside his ears. the only thing sehun’s saying that junmyeon manages to make out through the haze of alcohol is that dreams are sometimes portals to alternate universes, that maybe the person junmyeon’s been seeing is his partner in a parallel universe. junmyeon doesn’t take much heed to sehun’s words, because sehun always spouts crap when he’s sober, and even more crap when he’s drunk.
but tonight, junmyeon will return home fully intoxicated. tonight, he will fall asleep on his unmade bed in his messy bedroom in his cramped officetel, still clad in the gray button-down and black jeans he’d wore to the bar. tonight, he will dream again, of the tall, faceless man with feline eyes and smile, rings and bracelets clinking noisily around fingers and wrists.
and tomorrow morning, junmyeon will wake up curled against a lean, strong chest, with tanned arms encircling his tiny frame. tomorrow morning, junmyeon will wake up to feline eyes and a wide smile, a sleepy good morning murmured into his ears with heavily accented korean.
tomorrow morning, junmyeon will wake up next to huang zitao, dry-eyed and the void behind his ribcage now gone, filled up instead with the rhythm of two different heartbeats layering and overlapping with each other, falling in place like the missing puzzle pieces junmyeon’s been searching for all this while.
breathing you in when i want you out
sunggyu/dongwoo
Sunggyu almost hates how he can never reject Dongwoo’s affection. Slowly, he starts to crave for hands, slightly callused, traversing the insides of this thighs. Little touches, the younger man’s breath grazing his ear as he moves in to whisper something unimportant. Dongwoo likes to put his hands over Sunggyu’s when they’re clenched (an indication that he’s angry or anxious or whatever) and Sunggyu cannot stand it, cannot stand the effect he has on him.
He also hates how Dongwoo’s smile always reaches his eyes. He hates how their fingers lace and he can’t bring himself to move away. Sunggyu is guarded, organised and he’s supposed to push. Instead, he lets Dongwoo pull him closer, closer, closer, until their lips meet midway.
Most of all, he hates how he can never hate him. Dongwoo is full of love and it’s contagious. It’s in his system and Sunggyu wants to initiate, kiss him harder until the other man is all whispery giggles against his mouth, until their hips are grinding and fuck, he just wants him open, wants their limbs tangled and lips melding and the world to fade into nothing. So he can throw away his priorities, so everything can be just about them.
Dongwoo makes him feel irresponsible. The glimpse of colour in a world he’s always known as black and white. And he thinks that maybe it’s okay, to chase after fantasy, to be knocked dead against his smile. Bleeding gums.