Lu Han remembers late nights spent with his back pressed against cold windows. The blurs of rain washing down the glass tattoo themselves across his skin and the floor and the bed sheets tangled at his feet. A scratched up cell phone sits a few inches away from frail fingers and blunt nails, one bar of battery left but the charger is too far away and Lu Han doesn’t feel like moving, doesn’t feel like wasting the energy.
The slurs of words run through his head; harsh, quick whispers that have Lu Han grasping at the cell phone desperately and pressing it against his chest like it’ll bring the air back to his lungs. He quickly scans through the list of received calls, whimpering when he realizes that there hasn’t been any for days.
“I’ll call you, I promise. Just don’t come looking for me.”
He scrolls through his contacts, eyes blank as he reads through the list under the S.
He scrolls all the way back up and presses on a random contact, watching as the dialing screen pops up. He simply holds it in his hands, arms propped on his knees, and the faint dial tone is too loud in the silent room. No one ever picks up, this much Lu Han knew, Sehun isn’t going to-
The cell phone drops to the floor before Lu Han’s scrambling to pick it up again. He presses it to his ear frantically, fingers wrapped too tightly around the phone.
“Uh, hello, anyone there?”
“Sehun, Sehun, it’s me,” Lu Han gasps and then he’s laughing, too excited to notice how tears are starting to stream down his face. “Sehun, where are you, you’ve been gone for so long, why haven’t you called, you promised.”
“Wait, who is this –”
“You left me, how could you leave me?” His hands are shaking so hard he nearly drops the phone again. His other hand is clenched in his blanket which he brought to his chest, tears dripping off his chin and soaking into the heavy sheets. “You promised me forever, Sehun, didn’t you? You did, I remember, we were together that night, you –”
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know who you are –”
“HOW COULD YOU FORGET ME?” His hand flies to his hair and fingers yank at bleached locks, nails scraping against his scalp. “Lu Han, I’m Lu Han, your Lu Han, you love me, remember, we’re in love and you promised you’ll come back to me. Why aren’t you back, Sehun, why aren’t you calling me, hm? Why aren’t you talking?”
“I’m going to hang up, you’ve got the wrong –”
“Don’t leave me!” Lu Han clutches the phone with both hands, dry sobs racking his body as he screams into the receiver. “Don’t you dare leave me, I love you, don’t you love me? You told me you’ll be back, when will you come back –”
“DON’T LEAVE ME!” But when the phone drops onto the floor again, the screen is back to the menu with a warning of five percent batteries left.
The rain has stopped but the sun hasn’t raised yet, the clouds covering the moon so that only the flickering lampposts are lighting the street. A cell phone sits a few inches away from frail fingers and blunt nails, and Lu Han stares blankly at shadows scattered across his blanket, waiting for a call that will never come.
The couple of times Sehun has contacted Lu Han were through phone booths so that Lu Han won’t have any way of really contacting him back. Lu Han saved all the calls under a new contact for Sehun every time, so basically all he has is a list of phone booth numbers. When he calls one of them, usually no one picks up. The one time that someone does, it’s not who he thinks it is.
This was written for a creative writing project lmfao based off the lyrics of Payphone by Maroon 5.
Smokes in that Cigarette Box | Chanyeol/Baekhyun | PG-13 | ~300 wc | I’m the new cancer, never looked better, and you can’t stand it.
Smokes in that Cigarette Box
Baekhyun has pretty fingers, Chanyeol notices, and they look even prettier with a half-smoked cigarette tucked between them. The smoke curls lazily in the air, and everything slows down when they’re like this, legs twisted in the blankets and the warm skin of Baekhyun’s back pressed against Chanyeol’s bare chest.
He rests his chin on Baekhyun’s sharp shoulders, watches as Baekhyun’s lips press against the filter of the cigarette, and thinks everything about Baekhyun is kind of perfect. He wraps his arms possessively around Baekhyun’s chest, pressing them closer together. Baekhyun turns around, a light smirk lifting his lips, and asks, “Want a smoke?”
“Yeah, I do,” Chanyeol says. Baekhyun doesn’t hand him the cigarette; instead he brings it to his own lips, takes a deep drag, and then his pretty fingers are pressing against the curve of Chanyeol’s neck and their mouths are a hair’s width apart, lips parted as Baekhyun exhales and Chanyeol inhales, the taste of nicotine heavy on their tongue.
Baekhyun captures Chanyeol’s bottom lip with his teeth, smiling as he tugs on it gently, and then Chanyeol’s kissing him with vigor, the scent of smoke still lingering on their lips. Chanyeol’s hand blindly finds Baekhyun’s elbow, and it follows down his arm until Chanyeol can pluck the cigarette out of Baekhyun’s fingers and snuff it out in the used ashtray on their bedside table.
“You’re gonna die early because of that thing,” Chanyeol mutters as Baekhyun nips along his jaw. Their hands find each other’s again, fingers tangling together.
Baekhyun pulls away, smiling languidly as he tucks head into the hollow of Chanyeol’s neck. “Then you’ll die right along with me,” he says against Chanyeol’s collarbone. Chanyeol finds the edge of their blanket with his other hand and pulls it up over their lap. Soon, their breaths even out and match in rhythm just as the morning sun bleeds its light through half-closed blinds.
Bleeding on the Ballroom Floor | Kai/Yixing, Performing Arts!AU | PG-13 | ~1200 wc | You take your chances when you can. You steal away others so they can’t.
Bleeding on the Ballroom Floor
They meet in Juilliard, both dance majors and too ambitious for their own good. They were never in the same class together or the same dorms; they cross paths as frequently as the sun crossing paths with the moon.
Jongin sees him first, baggy grey tank top sitting loosely on thin shoulders and nervous fingers tugging at the rough strands of a ratty backpack, and thinks I’m better than him. But then Jongin sees his first pirouette and the graceful bras croisé and throws silent curses at Zhang Yixing, the new transfer student.
Somehow, Jongin’s teacher got the brilliant idea of putting the two of them together for their semester project. To emphasize the importance of teamwork, Jongin Professor Lee had said. You need to start working with others.
They meet on the same stage where Jongin first saw him, and he thinks it’s kind of funny how it’s the place where Yixing’s first seeing him, too. There are awkward smiles and nodding of heads, a carefully maintained distance between them like some unspoken boundary neither of them were to cross.
Professor Lee pulls Jongin aside and tells him to try harder.
“No, no, putting a bravura right after the bourrée is way too much,” Yixing snatches the pencil right out of Jongin’s hand and crosses out the word on the paper between them. It’s their third week into the project and they’re halfway through Debussy’s Reverie, the music set on continuous loop as it tinkers in the background.
“What the hell, it’s completely doable.” Jongin grabs the pencil back and writes the word above the mess of lines Yixing drew. Yixing shakes his head and stands up, shaking out the sore muscles in his legs. Jongin bites his tongue to stop himself from snapping. “Fine, I’ll take care of it. I’m sure we can fit some solos in here.”
“That’s not the point, Jongin,” Yixing says. He turns around, and Jongin can see how tired he is, hours spent listening to the music on repeat to the point where the opening sequence is starting to haunt them in their dreams. “We’re supposed to do this together. It’s not a ‘you do this and I do that’ thing; if something doesn’t work for one of us then it’s a no-go.”
“We’ll add in solos for you, too, if that’s what you want. We’ll make it even.”
“No - Jongin, that’s not what I’m saying. This isn’t about how many solos we have, this is about us working together.”
“What, do you want one all for yourself? Right underneath the spotlight, right? So everyone can see you.” Jongin watches as Yixing’s eyes grow wide, mouth opening but nothing coming out. “I know dancers, Zhang Yixing, and none of us are here to work together. We all want that spotlight, we want to be recognized. How else are we going to make it out there in the big, bad world? So don’t talk to me about teamwork because that bullshit never works.”
Yixing stands there, arms limp by his sides, while Jongin can feel his nails digging into his palms. Only the soft melody of Debussy can be heard in the empty auditorium, the notes hollow now with how still the air is around them.
“I’m leaving first,” Yixing says, finally, and he brushes past Jongin to grab his bag. He’s out the door before Jongin can stop him; not that he wanted to, really, but regret sits heavily in his chest, and Jongin kicks at the scraps of paper on the floor, watching them flutter back down to the beat of the four-eighth notes.
They go a week without meeting each other.
Jongin finally decides, for the sake of their grades, to go and find Yixing to continue their project so they won’t be cramming it all in last minute. He gets Yixing’s dorm number from a classmate, Sehun, and skips the stairs two at the time, reaching the fourth floor in record time.
He’s slightly out the breath by the time he reaches Yixing door but right before he knocks, it opens, revealing Yixing in the same baggy tank top Jongin first saw him in and lowriding sweatpants.
“Oh. Jongin. I was going to go find you actually...” Yixing clears his throat nervously.
“Well, no need for that now. You found me,” Jongin feels stupid at the weak joke but Yixing’s laughing and pulling Jongin behind him as they walk down the hallway towards the stairs.
“Took you long enough,” Yixing says as they’re stretching on the barre.
“I know, I’m sorry. I went too far, didn’t I?”
“Nah. It’s alright,” Yixing gives him a warm smile. “I understand where you’re coming from, though, even if my opinion is completely different.”
“Oh? And why’s that?” Jongin switches legs, propping his left ankle on the barre and bending his right arm over his head. He sees Yixing turn to the other side so they’re facing each other.
“I’ve only been here for a year. I transferred after freshmen year even though I could’ve gotten in during that time.”
“I auditioned with a friend. It was a duet, something we learned and performed together many times. We recorded it and sent it. They sent us back a letter saying they can only admit one of us into the university.”
Jongin leans back. “You didn’t take it?”
Yixing laughs. It’s bitter, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, how I wish I did. But no, my friend turned in his decision first thing without telling me. I didn't find out until a few days later when I was going to discuss it with him.”
“You didn’t get mad at him? You didn’t say anything?” Jongin’s just standing there on one foot and the other’s still propped on the barre. Yixing shrugs and bends down to touch his toes.
“Of course I didn’t get mad. He was a friend. I was happy for him.”
“But you deserved to get in, too. Wow, what an asshole.”
“It’s like what you said though, right?” Yixing stands up against, this time stretching his arms above his hands. “Grab that spotlight, get noticed first. Seize the opportunity before it runs away.”
Jongin pauses in the middle of his stretching. He remembers his last few words to Yixing right before they stopped meeting for a week, and flushes at how ridiculous it sounds now.
“I’m sorry. I was being an idiot, I shouldn’t have said all that. It’s just - I pushed myself into this university through blood and tears, and I’ve always been afraid that someone will rip it right out my hands. It’s paranoia, I guess, I dunno, I have a hard time working with people. That’s the main reason why Lee set me up with this.” Jongin takes out the CD player from his bag, avoiding Yixing’s eyes as he sets up the speaker. “Sorry you got stuck with a pretentious jerk like me.”
“Not pretentious,” Yixing says as he stands in first position. The first few notes of the music play through the speakers, and he shifts fluidly into fifth position. “A jerk perhaps, but I can help you fix that.”
Jongin sends him a confused look but Yixing’s already moving through their choreography. Jongin looks at the graceful arch of his back and the perfect points of his feet, and thinks it’s so much more comforting knowing there’s someone else to share the warmth of the spotlight with him rather than standing on the cold stage alone.
Pleased to Please You | Baekhyun/Tao, canon | NC-17 | ~500 wc | Wear me out.
Pleased to please you
“I like it,” Baekhyun says as he shifts thin fingers through Zitao’s hair. “The color especially. It’s sexy.”
“Sexy, huh?” Zitao grins. He drags his hand across Baekhyun’s stomach, watches as Baekhyun trembles, the grip in his hair growing tighter. “Should I dye it blonde next?”
“Ew, oh my god, no,” Baekhyun makes a face and slaps a hand against Zitao’s broad shoulder. “You’ll probably look worse than how I did with blonde hair.”
“Point taken,” and then Zitao’s diving down and breathing into Baekhyun’s mouth, their lips slotting together as Baekhyun wraps his legs around Zitao’s waist. He can feel Zitao’s erection pressing against his hip, hot and heavy, and whimpers when Zitao rolls his hips down.
“Please,” Baekhyun whispers. He knows Zitao likes it when he begs like this, breathless and needy, because Zitao teases too much and Baekhyun’s too strung up to have any patience tonight.
The lube is cold so Zitao warms it up with a rub of his fingers before pressing them into Baekhyun, kissing his collarbones when Baekhyun tenses. He relaxes quickly; they’ve done this often enough for the pain to pass by in a second. Zitao’s up to three fingers before Baekhyun’s whining and pushing at his shoulder, telling him to hurry the fuck up before I come.
Zitao pins Baekhyun’s hands by his head when he slams into him, grunting at the tightness. “Fuck,” he breathes against Baekhyun’s shoulder. They set a messy rhythm, Baekhyun lifting his hips every time Zitao presses forward, the surging heat making their skin slick with sweat.
Baekhyun manages to wriggle his wrists free from Zitao’s grasp only to lock their fingers together. He pants against Zitao’s shoulder, his moans turning into hiccups when Zitao speeds up. The pleasure is blinding, and Baekhyun feels like he’s turning into ash. Sweat makes it harder to cling onto skin, and Baekhyun digs his nails into Zitao’s back, drawing red lines on pale skin.
“Baekhyun -” Zitao gasps, his hips losing rhythm as he searches Baekhyun’s lips for purchase. Baekhyun can feel more than hear when Zitao comes, the way his shoulders tighten and how his lips still, breath coming out more heavily. He rides it out, hips rolling languidly until he pulls away.
Baekhyun whines at the emptiness but then Zitao’s bending down and taking his dick in his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against the shaft. Baekhyun bites on the knuckles of his fist, his other hand tangled in Zitao’s dark red locks. “Oh, fuck, that’s good,” he breathes. It only takes two, three sucks before he’s coming into Zitao’s mouth, head tilted back and thighs shaking.
Zitao milks him dry, dragging his tongue across the tip, and Baekhyun trembles at the oversensitivity. “Stop it,” he mutters, shoving at Zitao’s shoulder. Zitao chuckles; he slides beneath the covers and wraps a secure arm around Baekhyun’s waist, pulling him closer.
“Sleep. I’m tired,” he says. Baekhyun presses forward until his head is tucked beneath Zitao’s chin, and drifts off to the sound of his heartbeat.
In Exchange for Your Time, I’ll Give You this Smile | Kris/Chanyeol, predebut | PG | ~900 wc | Home is where the heart is.
In Exchange for Your Time, I’ll Give You this Smile
Chanyeol can become incredibly clingy, Kris comes to find, when he’s depressed.
“Come get some food with me, hyung. I’m hungry, and there’s a good buffet around the block.” Chanyeol tugs at Kris’s sleeve, moving onto his hair when Kris doesn’t respond.
“Alright, alright. You just ate, like, an hour ago.”
“High metabolism,” Chanyeol says, and then he’s pulling Kris out the door, shouting a we’ll be back soon to whoever was in the dorm at that time (Kyungsoo shouted back okay while Sehun continued to play World of Warcraft on his computer).
It’s night time but they still take the necessary measures to keep their faces covered. Chanyeol gets them a seat in a cozy corner at the back of the buffet, away from all the noise. Kris piles his plate with cooked noodles and fried dumplings and looks questioningly at Chanyeol’s small meal of three sushis and an egg roll.
“You said you were hungry.”
“I... was. Now I’m not anymore. I think you ruined my appetite, hyung,” Chanyeol pouts as he sets his chopsticks down.
Kris scoffs and leans over to pick up a sushi from Chanyeol’s plate before holding it up to his lips. “Come on, say ah,” he prompts. Chanyeol gives him a miserable look before he opens his mouth obediently and grabs the sushi. “Am I really going to have to feed you everything?”
“It seems like the only way I can eat,” Chanyeol says casually, smiling around his mouthful of sushi when Kris shakes his head and stands up to get a new plate of food.
They walk out with full stomachs. Kris turns to the left to head back to the SM building but Chanyeol has other ideas; he grabs Kris’s wrist again and pulls him straight ahead where there’s a small playground. He plops down on the swings, feet kicking against the ground.
“Push me, please,” Chanyeol says, fingers curling around the cold iron chains.
“I’m pretty sure this is something you can do by yourself.” Kris sits down on the swing next to him, blowing his breath in the cold air to watch the white mist curl in the dull glow of the streetlights.
“So nice, hyung.” Chanyeol sticks his tongue out and Kris has the childish urge to do it back at him.
They’re silent for a few minutes, Chanyeol swinging gently while Kris simply tilts his head back and tries to count the stars. It’s a clear night, the moon lighting up the sky like a second sun but the stars still twinkle and shine.
“I miss my home.”
Kris looks down, surprised, at Chanyeol, still swinging, kicking at the dirt, pushing himself higher. “I miss my sister, I miss my mom’s cooking, I miss my friends at school.” He turns around, eyes wet with unshed tears but he’s trying to smile through it all, lips trembling as he looks at Kris. “Do you miss all that, hyung?”
“Of course, it’s called homesickness, Chanyeol, it’s okay to miss your home.”
Chanyeol nods, his bangs flopping against his forehead, and he’s trying to laugh, pressing his sleeve against his cheeks. “I’m being stupid,” he sniffs.
“No, you’re not,” Kris says and stands up. He walks in front of Chanyeol and kneels down so they’re on the same eye-level. He places his hands on Chanyeol’s knees, fingers almost numb from the cold, and says firmly, “You’re not being stupid because you’re missing your family. It’s normal, Chanyeol, we all go through this.”
“But we’re gonna have to keep going through it,” Chanyeol whispers, voice cracking in the middle. “We’re gonna have to keep hiding our faces when we’re outside. We’re going to have to keep our smiles on and back straight when we’re in public, and we practice for hours every day without knowing when we’re even going to debut.”
“Hey. Hey, hey, hey.” Kris moves his hands and tangles his and Chanyeol’s fingers together. “Stop. You’re freaking out. Our debut day is set, it’s been set, they’re just taking forever to get the shooting done with Jongin. And we’re just going to have to get used to it, this life,” Kris smiles sadly, thumbs stroking the backs of Chanyeol’s hands. “We’ll know what to do when we see cameras in our faces and fangirls everywhere. You can do it.”
Chanyeol’s fingers squeeze his tightly, and there’s a small smile dancing on the corner of his lips. He nods again, and Kris smiles wider this time.
“Let’s go back, hm?” He stands up and pull Chanyeol with him. He lets go of Chanyeol’s hands but Chanyeol simply wraps his arms around Kris’s, leaning in closer. The warmth is comforting and so is Chanyeol’s voice as he talks about rapping and how itchy makeup is and Jongin’s cold-shoulder treatment because Chanyeol had beat him in Mario Kart.
“Hey, welcome home,” Kyungsoo says when they toe off their shoes near the doorway. Sehun asks why they didn’t bring any food back for him and Chanyeol laughs, capturing Sehun in a headlock. Kris tosses his hat on the coffee table and watches as Sehun struggles in Chanyeol’s arms, Kyungsoo yelling at them to not kill each other.
It’s not what he’s used to in his home in Vancouver where his mom would be humming in the kitchen and his dad trying to fix the AC for the fifth time that week. But it must be something he likes because the way Kyungsoo had said home made it sound so nice.
The Four Horsemen | Kai/Lu Han/Baekhyun/Sehun, Now You See Me!AU | PG-13 | ~500 wc | The closer you think you are, the less you’ll actually see.
The spotlights are almost blinding but Lu Han smiles broadly at the audience, sweeping his arms back and letting the silk scarfs fly out of his sleeves. They wrap around Sehun’s wrist and he grips them tightly, letting the other end fly into Jongin’s hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen, for our final trick, we are going to rob a bank,” Baekhyun says, his voice filtering through the speakers. The audience goes wild, and Sehun and Jongin simultaneously pull on the scarfs. A large sheet of silk opens up between them and they let go, the fabric whipping in the air before wrapping around itself. It falls to the floor, revealing a machine in its place.
“We have a guest star tonight, my friends. Please welcome Joonmyun!” Baekhyun pulls him forward and mentions for him to stand on the machine.
“On the count of three,” Lu Han says.
“You’ll be teleported to a bank -”
“In Paris -”
“Where all you have to do is look at the money. Don’t touch them, don’t say anything, just look,” Baekhyun finishes, smiling warmly when Joonmyun gives him a shaky nod. “Okay, ready?” He turns to face the audience. “Three.”
“One!” Jongin pulls down the lever on the machine, and the top and bottom seals slam together, Joonmyun disappearing between them. The crowd quiets down and just a few seconds later, the machine whirs back into life and Joonmyun stumbles out.
“Excellent. Thank you, Joonmyun, everyone give this guy a round of applause,” Baekhyun says, and the noise is deafening as Joonmyun bows and stumbles off the stage.
“This show actually is for you, my friends,” Baekhyun continues, walking towards the front of the stage. A few lights dim and single spotlight is focused on him. “All of us have gone through some hard times.”
“Mugged, got your car stolen, tricked out of thousands of dollars, we’ve been there,” Lu Han says, joining Baekhyun.
“And tonight, ladies and gentlemen,” Jongin slips in between the two of them.
“We’re returning some of that money back to you.” Sehun snaps his fingers.
Fourteen million dollars worth of money fall from nowhere, and the audience are climbing on each other trying to grab the fluttering green bills. Only one person is completely still amongst the chaos, and he isn’t focused on the money; he’s got a camera trained on the four magicians onstage, clicking away as he captures every movement.
Baekhyun grabs Lu Han’s hand and mentions for Sehun and Jongin to do the same. They stand in front of the crowd and bow, fingers intertwined, twenty dollar bills landing on their backs.
“We are the Four Horsemen! Thank you and good night!”
These were all written in between studying for my exams because they’re killing me rn. Also I’ve been focused on one fic for way too long and I need a change of pace. Nearly all the titles come from Maroon 5 and Panic! At The Disco. The Baekyeol is for lunathunderhead because I’m still not done with the actual Baekyeol for her yet so this is a... pre-exchange idk??? The last drabble is me pining over the movie and trying to see if I can actually write something based off a trailer and apparently I can. Sort of.