[personal profile] maayacolabackup
sekai, pg-13 for june, 472 words (request: sehun, crossdressing w/ kai)

“This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Jongin says, and Sehun rolls his eyes. “Like, the actual dumbest.”

“That’s what you always say,” Sehun says. “And yet here you are. Fix your stockings.”


“The line up the back, Jongin! It’s not straight!” Sehun crosses his arms. “I cannot be seen in public with a lady whose stocking seams are crooked.”

Jongin stares at Sehun blankly, feeling his lower jaw go slack. Sehun’s dress, a slinky dark purple number that looks a little like something that would be on the floor of Jongin’s bedroom in a wet dream, is bunched up around his hips as he adjusts… things inside his black lacy underwear.

“This really, really is the worst idea you’ve ever had though. Worse than that time you tried to teach that small child at Disneyland how to pickpocket for cameras,” Jongin says, when the silence has stretched on too long. “I didn’t want to go to the party that bad.”

“I already ran it by Yunho-seonbaenim,” Sehun says, tripping over the honorifics that he only uses for, like, two or three people in his life because he’s the most insolent maknae SM Ent’s seen since Shim Changmin. “He said we could go to the party as long as no one recognizes us.” Sehun runs his eyes up and down Jongin’s body, and Jongin self consciously tugs his short red skirt down to cover a little more of his thighs. “And trust me, no one is going to recognize us like this.”

Jongin’s not so sure about that. He’s not so sure about a lot of this whole plan, and his ankles are already wobbling in his black high heels. He’s especially not sure about the almost predatory way Sehun is eying his legs, or the way fire licks along the insides of his ribs and ignites in his lower belly as Jongin imagines Sehun’s hands dragging up his calves and—

“The seams, Jongin,” Sehun repeats lazily, and Jongin gulps and hopes he doesn’t get an erection because he’s pretty sure that will give the game away before it even starts.

When Jongin’s fixed his stockings, Sehun nods approvingly. 

“This is the absolute worst idea you’ve ever had,” Jongin reiterates, and Sehun offers him a a crooked smile.

“Well you don’t have to come,” Sehun says, and his false eyelashes flutter, and his lips shine with a hint of pink gloss. “But if you don’t come, you definitely won’t get lucky at the party.”

Jongin swallows, and imagines Sehun’s purple spandex-clad dress stretched across his thigh as it slides between Jongin’s, and how his strawberry scented lipgloss probably tastes like strawberries too.

“One day, we’re going to just watch a movie like I want to,” Jongin says, defeated, and Sehun smirks. 

“One day,” Sehun agrees, and Jongin grabs his clutch.

taochen, pg, for kc, 442 words (request: taochen, huddling for warmth)

Filming a music video outside is the worst idea ever, especially considering it’s February and snowing. Jongdae knows they’re on a time crunch, and that they think the snow ‘will give a cool effect’, but their thin mesh shirts offer little protection and they don’t have time to get sick.

Jongdae really doesn’t have time to get sick, considering he’s still got two tracks to record and he sings lead in both of them.

They’re bundled into big plastic puffy coats between takes, but Jongdae can’t seem to stop shivering. He looks over at Tao, who stands on the edge of the set, watching over the director's shoulder as Lu Han does his solo shots, and has an idea.

He walks over to Tao, who seems to be giving off heat like a radiator, and just standing next to him starts warming Jongdae up. Tao smiles at him for a moment, grin stealing across his features, and he nudges Jongdae gently with his elbow before he looks back over at the screen.

Still, despite feeling a little warmer, Jongdae can feel the cold sinking under his skin and between his ribs. He’s worried about his voice (and his nipples, if he’s honest) and he wonders if Tao would mind if he stole a bit more of his natural warmth

Jongdae slips his arms around Tao’s stomach, letting the hotness, of Tao’s back, through Tao’s own coat, even, seep into his chest. “Is it… okay if I do this?” He licks his lips, and immediately regrets it, the cold wind stinging his now moist lips. He buries his face in the back of Tao’s neck to protect his face. 

Tao is still for a moment, so still, his breathing shallow and his shoulders tense, and then he seems to melt back into Jongdae, turning soft and even warmer as his hands come up to settle on top of Jongdae’s.

“Sure,” Tao says, and he laces their fingers together, and it’s a different sort of heat that winds itself up in Jongdae’s stomach. 

Now isn’t the time to think about all the feelings he’s been doing his best to ignore, though, because Lu Han is running off set and into his coat and it’s Jongdae’s turn again.

“Thanks,” Jongdae says, and starts to pull away, but Tao holds him fast for a moment, squeezing his hands, and takes a deep breath. 

“Anytime,” he says, and there’s a tiny hitch in his voice, and Jongdae wishes he were taller, so he could rest his chin on Tao’s wide shoulder and maybe press their cheeks together—

But Jongdae isn’t taller, and it’s time for him to record.

taochen, pg-13, for katie, 768 words (request: but telepathy taochen tho)

It’s a pretty normal afternoon. Zitao’s been feeling a bit fuzzy all day, like there’s a noise in the back of his head, a thin buzzing that had made him almost drop his rice all over the floor this morning and had made him feel slightly off balance as morning progresses into early afternoon. 

He settles to the floor on his stomach for push-ups, and that’s when the buzzing becomes something a little more pointed.

‘Nice ass,’ Zitao hears, like a whisper in the back of his mind, but when he turns his head slightly to see who’s said it, everyone seems completely occupied; no one is looking around to see who’d spoken, or anything like that.

Lu Han is drawing with sharpie all over Duizhang’s face as he’s sleeping on the living room couch. He’d been up all night talking to his mom back in Canada, and he’d made the mistake of falling asleep in the living room, which everyone knows is an invitation to face graffiti in their dorm. Yixing watches, alternating between offering suggestions as to where Lu Han should draw the next dick and playing poker with Minseok, who is fleecing Yixing for the last of his candy due to Yixing’s inattention.

Jongdae is reading a magazine, curled up in his favorite armchair like a languid cat in the sunshine. He’s not looking at anything going on in the room, and that’s what makes Zitao feel a little bit of creeping suspicion.

Still, if Jongdae’d said something, Lu Han would be inappropriately whistling or leering or something, so maybe Zitao’s imagined it after all.

‘Why is he staring at me,’ the voice says, another whisper, and Zitao’s head, which had almost turned straight forward again, whips back to narrow in on Jongdae, who is peeking ever so slightly over the top of his magazine.

Then it’s just the buzzing again, which now that Zitao is concentrating, sound more like half-formed thoughts. They’re in Korean though, and Zitao barely speaks any Korean, let alone thinks in it. 

“You’re awful quiet over there, Jongdae,” Lu Han says suddenly, voice low so he doesn’t wake duizhang up mid-project.

“I’ve been feeling a little strange all morning,” Jongdae says to Lu Han, without looking up, and Zitao presses his lips together and pushes his hair out of his eyes. As a test, he walks over to the sofa, closer to Jongdae, and takes his mobile phone off the small table next to Jongdae’s armchair. “Plus, I didn’t want to ruin your game.”

Jongdae visibly stills, but continues to concentrate almost too seriously on his magazine. Zitao wonders if he’s going insane.

He starts to turn away, one last time, to maybe go get a glass of water or hit himself in the face with the pitcher.

‘Nice thighs, too.’ This time it’s clearly Jongdae’s voice that Zitao is hearing in his head, and he narrows his eyes at him. Jongdae swallows, and looks up to meet Zitao’s gaze. His eyes are a little scared, but a little defiant, too, because Jongdae’s a lot of things but ‘the type to back down’ isn’t one of them.

And maybe Zitao hasn’t lost his mind after all.

‘Say it out loud, next time,’ Zitao thinks, as loud as he can, and Jongdae’s mouth parts, just a little, and a red flush crawls slowly up his throat to linger in his cheeks. Jongdae’s tongue peeks out to lick his lips, and Zitao feels a twinge of satisfaction in his gut as he lets his lips curve into a smile. 

Jongdae breaks away first, eyes falling to his open magazine, but Zitao can tell he isn’t really reading it. “I-” he starts to say, and then there’s an unearthly screech from behind them as Kris scrambles up from the couch. 

“Lu Han, I swear to-“

The moment’s broken, and Jongdae’s hiding behind his magazine, and Zitao sighs, deeply, at the missed opportunity. He can still sort of hear Jongdae’s thoughts, but they’re blurred, like Jongdae is blocking him out.

Later, though, when they’re walking out to the van, headed to stage rehearsal for their performance tonight, Jongdae comes up behind him and sets a tentative hand on his hip. “You look nice,” Jongdae says. “In those trousers.”

Zitao grins, heart leaping unexpectedly. “Don’t you mean I have a nice ass?” he asks, teasingly, and makes sure to climb into the van first, so Jongdae can get a good view of it. He hears swearing, and he’s not entirely sure if Jongdae’s said it aloud.

He doesn’t suppose it matters.

xinglu, pg, for konnie, 568 words (request: accidental baby aquistion, xinglu)

“What am I supposed to do with it?” Lu Han asks, poking the tiny foot as Yixing tickles the baby’s stomach. He’s sitting across from Lu Han, legs folded, feet tucked under the sheet because the air conditioner is on a little too high.

“Play with it?” Yixing says, dubiously, dimpling as the baby lets out a tiny giggle. He presses a single digit back into the baby’s middle, and delights when the baby opens big brown eyes to stare straight at him.”I’ve got as much experience as you do with babies.”

When Lu Han had jumped on his bed this morning, Yixing had expected a cup full of cold water, or a pillow to the face. He hadn’t expected to open his eyes to Lu Han holding a bundle of squirming blankets and an almost petrified smile.

It’s been an hour since then, and the petrified look has faded to one that looks more like wonder.

“I wonder who his mom is?” Lu Han says, voice going soft as he runs a careful thumb across the baby’s soft cheek. “I wonder why she left him in the hallway like that?”

“Who knows,” Yixing says, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Lu Han so gentle. Lu Han is boyishly rough, more likely to grab your arm in a steel grip  or smack your ass than pat you gently on the shoulder, like Minseok or Junmyeon. But Lu Han looks so soft as he gazes at this baby. “We’ll have to call our manager.”

“I know.” Lu Han pulls his hand back, and then changes his mind, picking the baby up and cradling him closer to his chest. His legs are tangld up in Yixing’s bedsheets now, and Yixing can, for the first time, finally see why their fans think he looks like an angel. The light streams bright through Yixing’s window, and settles into the tangled and fluffed out nest of Lu Han’s hair. “In a little while.”

Yixing can see Lu Han falling in love with that baby before his eyes, and he knows Lu Han will stare stoically, later, as the baby is taken from his arms and given to the proper authorities. Lu Han had gone out for the paper and come back in with something else to break his heart, and Yixing can feel a knot developing in his throat.

He scoots closer to Lu Han, and rests his head on Lu Han’s shoulder. Lu Han presses his cheek to Yixing’s hair, and Yixing sighs.

“Don’t worry,” Lu Han says. “I’m used to getting attached to things that leave.” And maybe he means his parents, or maybe he means something else (like the illusions of what they thought all of this fame would be like before they knew the realities of what it is like) but either way, Yixing doesn’t like the way his heart clenches. 

The baby giggles again, a bubble of snot puffing out of his left nostril, and lu han chuckles. 

“He kind looks like you, now,” Yixing says, and Lu Han would have elbowed him right in the gut if he weren’t holding the baby. Yixing takes advantage of his immobility and slings an arm about Lu Han’s waist, hand accidentally tangling in Lu Han’s oversized sleep shirt for a moment before his fingers settle right under Lu Han’s ribs. “And hey.”

“Hey what?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

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