exo drabble dump iv.
Jul. 7th, 2013 07:49 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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caressingflamessing of all your sorrows [Kaisoo; g; Hogwarts!au]
329w.
The castle that houses Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a thing of wonder, corridors upon corridors of bustling students and ghosts and teachers completely invisible to Muggle eyes. Lessons are conducted during the day and mischief runs rampant once night falls, caution thrown out of windows along with the rules students are supposed to know by heart. What with all the excitement occurring within the stone walls of the castle, very little attention is paid to the portraits that line them, moving figures, stagnant in the Muggle world, but drawings with voices and personalities brought to life through magic. Students occasionally make friends with these mystical artworks, telling stories of their night time adventures and daytime antics, all the while never bothering to ask about how the portraits feel, how their day has gone, stuck under the impression that they are nothing but pictures, drawings in oil and magic struck on canvas. Even the most kind hearted and empathetic of students do not ask after the portraits’ well being, and so it has been for many, many years. But on the wall of one of the back corridors of the 4th floor on the left wing rests a portrait of a boy with pale skin and pink, heart shaped lips, one with a voice rumoured to rival that of the Lake’s mermaids underwater. The boy’s name is Do Kyungsoo, and day in, day out, all he ever does is sing of a lost love - melancholy notes echoing through an empty corridor, his eyes transfixed on the opposite wall, where there is nothing much for him to stare at, really, except for a patch of wall not quite as dark as the rest of the stones surrounding it, a lighter pigment on a rectangle of wall that used to house a portrait before the canvas had been slashed and blown to smithereens in the Great War, a label still attached below it, one that reads: Kim Jongin.
change of heart. [Kaisoo; g; au]
287w.
This is the au where Jongin is losing Kyungsoo, where the older feels like water slipping right through his fingers as he struggles to close the gaps between them, like a child attempting to map out invisible constellations in the daytime. He doesn’t want to admit it, struggles to find avenues through which he can maybe rekindle that fire that used to burn so bright for him - and only him - in Kyungsoo’s heart, but he knows it for a fact: he’s losing his grip on Kyungsoo.
It’s not to a disease with a fancy long name that he knows he’ll never be able to remember, not to a separation of miles and miles of tarmac and dirt and salty seawater between them - but to something a little more painful, but altogether infinitely less dramatic - something everyone knows as ‘a change of heart’. Kyungsoo’s eyes don’t shine as bright when he hovers over Jongin to wake him in the mornings, his smile doesn’t quite reach those eyes when Jongin calls his name. His touches don’t linger for long anymore, but what hurts Jongin the most - what really gets to him - is the fact that Kyungsoo’s lips have not touched any part of his body in the past few weeks, and Jongin doesn’t dare initiate anything out of fear of pushing Kyungsoo even further away.
(And it kills him on the inside, scalds him in places he’s never been pained in before, because he knows that even if this isn’t what he wants, even if he yearns the exact opposite of how things are about to turn out - he’s willing to go through that pain, to live without Kyungsoo, if that’s what Kyungsoo wants.)
fingers and keys. [Kaisoo; g; pianist!au]
461w.
There are too many people, Kyungsoo thinks, in a room of this size. It’s suffocating and he can’t seem to catch a breath, bombarded with question after question about prospective girlfriends, about the future, about things he just doesn’t want to think about right now. So he excuses himself quietly, politely dipping his head as he exits the room, escaping the restaurant he knows he’s too under dressed to be in. The air outside isn’t exactly what Kyungsoo would think to be ‘fresh’, faux fragrances lingering through too clean halls and a carpet too fancy to be used in a normal home under his feet. He takes out his phone to check his Twitter, maybe stalk Amanda Seyfried a little, when a small movement in one of the plush hotel couches catches his eye. Kyungsoo has never been one to use hyperboles in his speech or thought, but he genuinely feels like a boulder three times his size has hit him square in the chest. Because sitting there, looking indifferent is a startlingly handsome young man, hair slicked back tastefully and suit and tie pressed like he knows he has to flaunt it. Kyungsoo’s tempted to go up to the man, maybe offer a drink or his number (or his heart and soul), but he’s never had that much courage so he ducks back in to the restaurant, all smiles and pecking at his meal. He all but forgets about the mysterious man until it’s time to leave, and he’s greeted with the melodious sound of ivory keys being pushed in smooth procession from the floor below. He looks down into the lounge and, lo and behold, there’s his mysterious man sitting at the piano bench, fingers working magic into Kyungsoo’s ears. Kyungsoo’s stuck pondering whether it would be socially acceptable to burst into song, to join his voice with this man’s music to complete the song. Just as the thought enters his mind, the man looks up, looks straight into Kyungsoo’s eyes (and soul, Kyungsoo thinks), for all of a millisecond before looking away and sharing a smirk with his bandmates. That’s how things go for the next few minutes, until the hour is up and the man and his friends put their instruments down and disappear from sight. Kyungsoo stares forlornly at the silent instruments, silently willing the man to come back and play again, when he feels someone come up behind him and a hand reaches into his jeans pocket, leaving something there with a husky whisper of ‘Name’s Jongin. You were staring. Call me next time.’ And it’s gone, and he’s gone, but Kyungsoo thinks that’s okay - turning the slip of paper between his fingers in his pocket, because, well - nothing’s more promising than a next time, is there?
run your fingers (through my heart) [Kaisoo; pg-13; ceo!au]
766w.
It’s an illicit love affair between the youngest son of the head of the Kim empire and his promising young apprentice, Do Kyungsoo. Kim Jongin is used to being given everything he wants in life - the fastest cars, the latest technology and the best clothes. There’s also the added perk of being the formidable Mr Kim’s youngest child, and only son - not only is he the apple of both his parents’ eyes, there’s the promise of his inheritance of the Kim empire, and Mr Kim is determined that Jongin learn the ropes well before he steps down, and Jongin has to step into his role as CEO.
The thing about this arrangement is this: Kim Jongin is bored. He’s bored and tired of keeping up all these appearances, tired of pretending to be the perfectly happy crown prince of an empire he’s not sure he’ll ever be man enough to chair. He’s tired of plastering on blindingly perfect smiles for the magazines that shoot him, cameras poised to capture his very essence, lenses that never quite seem to be able to focus on the faint aura of yearning that engulfs Kim Jongin.
Because no matter how many cars he’s got in his garage, no matter how much money his father’s put in his bank account, it doesn’t change the fact that Kim Jongin comes home every night to an empty house, and an empty bed, and he can’t help but note, with a bitter smile on his face, how all this is reflective of his empty heart, void of anything but riches that are too tangible to be felt with the heart.
This is where Do Kyungsoo comes in.
When Mr Kim introduces them, Jongin is taken aback - because standing before him, a nervous smile playing on heart shaped lips, is a boy roughly his age, a boy whose suit is not quite pressed properly, whose eyes are underlined with bags Jongin’s own do not have. He greets Jongin with a shaky 90 degree bow, and his hand is soft and warm (and a little clammy) in Jongin’s when they engage in a handshake.
Kim Jongin is used to being given everything he wants in life.
It all starts off innocent - Jongin isn’t an idiot, he knows how attractive he is, knows just how to capture prey in the form of another’s heart. He drops his voice just low enough when he speaks to this Kyungsoo character - not quite an octave lower, but just enough to make a dusting of pink spread from the apples of Kyungsoo’s cheeks all the way down to his neck. It takes Jongin but five lingering touches and three piercing gazes to get Kyungsoo to agree to a date with him, and Jongin thinks, yeah, he’s still got it.
But underneath the cutesy exterior of Do Kyungsoo lies a man with his own manipulative capabilities, and soon Jongin finds himself stuck in a battle of wills. Kyungsoo is well aware that Jongin’s father would not approve of his loss of eligible young bachelor status, but he looks a little too deeply into Jongin’s eyes in public anyway, smiles a little too meaningfully at him in front of his father. Jongin retaliates by oozing the confidence he knows Kyungsoo cannot resist in front of his father, risking Kyungsoo’s job in the process with a devil may care attitude.
Two months down the line (and in the midst of a very boring monthly financial status meeting) Jongin excuses himself from the board room, silently willing Kyungsoo to follow suit, hiding out in the janitor’s closet until his boyfriend walks by, at which point Jongin throws the door open and yanks him inside, shutting the door before pushing Kyungsoo up against a wall and smashing his lips up against Kyungsoo’s. ‘Don’t think I didn’t see that little stunt you pulled with the new accountant,’ Jongin whispers, hands finding their way under Kyungsoo’s shirt. Kyungsoo whimpers helplessly, moving to pepper kisses all up and down Jongin’s neck as the latter’s hands ignite his nerves. They’re both too caught up in each other’s movements, too preoccupied with the other’s touches and kisses and skin to notice the door handle turning, too caught up in each other to notice the familiar intimidating hands of a man they both need to keep happy push the door open until -
‘Hello boys. Pray tell, what are you two doing in here?’
Mr Kim has on the smile he wears just before he signs off on fifty job cuts at every branch worldwide, and there’s no doubt about it - Jongin and Kyungsoo are screwed.
it was nice knowing you someone please teach me how to fic i'm so restless
329w.
The castle that houses Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a thing of wonder, corridors upon corridors of bustling students and ghosts and teachers completely invisible to Muggle eyes. Lessons are conducted during the day and mischief runs rampant once night falls, caution thrown out of windows along with the rules students are supposed to know by heart. What with all the excitement occurring within the stone walls of the castle, very little attention is paid to the portraits that line them, moving figures, stagnant in the Muggle world, but drawings with voices and personalities brought to life through magic. Students occasionally make friends with these mystical artworks, telling stories of their night time adventures and daytime antics, all the while never bothering to ask about how the portraits feel, how their day has gone, stuck under the impression that they are nothing but pictures, drawings in oil and magic struck on canvas. Even the most kind hearted and empathetic of students do not ask after the portraits’ well being, and so it has been for many, many years. But on the wall of one of the back corridors of the 4th floor on the left wing rests a portrait of a boy with pale skin and pink, heart shaped lips, one with a voice rumoured to rival that of the Lake’s mermaids underwater. The boy’s name is Do Kyungsoo, and day in, day out, all he ever does is sing of a lost love - melancholy notes echoing through an empty corridor, his eyes transfixed on the opposite wall, where there is nothing much for him to stare at, really, except for a patch of wall not quite as dark as the rest of the stones surrounding it, a lighter pigment on a rectangle of wall that used to house a portrait before the canvas had been slashed and blown to smithereens in the Great War, a label still attached below it, one that reads: Kim Jongin.
change of heart. [Kaisoo; g; au]
287w.
This is the au where Jongin is losing Kyungsoo, where the older feels like water slipping right through his fingers as he struggles to close the gaps between them, like a child attempting to map out invisible constellations in the daytime. He doesn’t want to admit it, struggles to find avenues through which he can maybe rekindle that fire that used to burn so bright for him - and only him - in Kyungsoo’s heart, but he knows it for a fact: he’s losing his grip on Kyungsoo.
It’s not to a disease with a fancy long name that he knows he’ll never be able to remember, not to a separation of miles and miles of tarmac and dirt and salty seawater between them - but to something a little more painful, but altogether infinitely less dramatic - something everyone knows as ‘a change of heart’. Kyungsoo’s eyes don’t shine as bright when he hovers over Jongin to wake him in the mornings, his smile doesn’t quite reach those eyes when Jongin calls his name. His touches don’t linger for long anymore, but what hurts Jongin the most - what really gets to him - is the fact that Kyungsoo’s lips have not touched any part of his body in the past few weeks, and Jongin doesn’t dare initiate anything out of fear of pushing Kyungsoo even further away.
(And it kills him on the inside, scalds him in places he’s never been pained in before, because he knows that even if this isn’t what he wants, even if he yearns the exact opposite of how things are about to turn out - he’s willing to go through that pain, to live without Kyungsoo, if that’s what Kyungsoo wants.)
fingers and keys. [Kaisoo; g; pianist!au]
461w.
There are too many people, Kyungsoo thinks, in a room of this size. It’s suffocating and he can’t seem to catch a breath, bombarded with question after question about prospective girlfriends, about the future, about things he just doesn’t want to think about right now. So he excuses himself quietly, politely dipping his head as he exits the room, escaping the restaurant he knows he’s too under dressed to be in. The air outside isn’t exactly what Kyungsoo would think to be ‘fresh’, faux fragrances lingering through too clean halls and a carpet too fancy to be used in a normal home under his feet. He takes out his phone to check his Twitter, maybe stalk Amanda Seyfried a little, when a small movement in one of the plush hotel couches catches his eye. Kyungsoo has never been one to use hyperboles in his speech or thought, but he genuinely feels like a boulder three times his size has hit him square in the chest. Because sitting there, looking indifferent is a startlingly handsome young man, hair slicked back tastefully and suit and tie pressed like he knows he has to flaunt it. Kyungsoo’s tempted to go up to the man, maybe offer a drink or his number (or his heart and soul), but he’s never had that much courage so he ducks back in to the restaurant, all smiles and pecking at his meal. He all but forgets about the mysterious man until it’s time to leave, and he’s greeted with the melodious sound of ivory keys being pushed in smooth procession from the floor below. He looks down into the lounge and, lo and behold, there’s his mysterious man sitting at the piano bench, fingers working magic into Kyungsoo’s ears. Kyungsoo’s stuck pondering whether it would be socially acceptable to burst into song, to join his voice with this man’s music to complete the song. Just as the thought enters his mind, the man looks up, looks straight into Kyungsoo’s eyes (and soul, Kyungsoo thinks), for all of a millisecond before looking away and sharing a smirk with his bandmates. That’s how things go for the next few minutes, until the hour is up and the man and his friends put their instruments down and disappear from sight. Kyungsoo stares forlornly at the silent instruments, silently willing the man to come back and play again, when he feels someone come up behind him and a hand reaches into his jeans pocket, leaving something there with a husky whisper of ‘Name’s Jongin. You were staring. Call me next time.’ And it’s gone, and he’s gone, but Kyungsoo thinks that’s okay - turning the slip of paper between his fingers in his pocket, because, well - nothing’s more promising than a next time, is there?
run your fingers (through my heart) [Kaisoo; pg-13; ceo!au]
766w.
It’s an illicit love affair between the youngest son of the head of the Kim empire and his promising young apprentice, Do Kyungsoo. Kim Jongin is used to being given everything he wants in life - the fastest cars, the latest technology and the best clothes. There’s also the added perk of being the formidable Mr Kim’s youngest child, and only son - not only is he the apple of both his parents’ eyes, there’s the promise of his inheritance of the Kim empire, and Mr Kim is determined that Jongin learn the ropes well before he steps down, and Jongin has to step into his role as CEO.
The thing about this arrangement is this: Kim Jongin is bored. He’s bored and tired of keeping up all these appearances, tired of pretending to be the perfectly happy crown prince of an empire he’s not sure he’ll ever be man enough to chair. He’s tired of plastering on blindingly perfect smiles for the magazines that shoot him, cameras poised to capture his very essence, lenses that never quite seem to be able to focus on the faint aura of yearning that engulfs Kim Jongin.
Because no matter how many cars he’s got in his garage, no matter how much money his father’s put in his bank account, it doesn’t change the fact that Kim Jongin comes home every night to an empty house, and an empty bed, and he can’t help but note, with a bitter smile on his face, how all this is reflective of his empty heart, void of anything but riches that are too tangible to be felt with the heart.
This is where Do Kyungsoo comes in.
When Mr Kim introduces them, Jongin is taken aback - because standing before him, a nervous smile playing on heart shaped lips, is a boy roughly his age, a boy whose suit is not quite pressed properly, whose eyes are underlined with bags Jongin’s own do not have. He greets Jongin with a shaky 90 degree bow, and his hand is soft and warm (and a little clammy) in Jongin’s when they engage in a handshake.
Kim Jongin is used to being given everything he wants in life.
It all starts off innocent - Jongin isn’t an idiot, he knows how attractive he is, knows just how to capture prey in the form of another’s heart. He drops his voice just low enough when he speaks to this Kyungsoo character - not quite an octave lower, but just enough to make a dusting of pink spread from the apples of Kyungsoo’s cheeks all the way down to his neck. It takes Jongin but five lingering touches and three piercing gazes to get Kyungsoo to agree to a date with him, and Jongin thinks, yeah, he’s still got it.
But underneath the cutesy exterior of Do Kyungsoo lies a man with his own manipulative capabilities, and soon Jongin finds himself stuck in a battle of wills. Kyungsoo is well aware that Jongin’s father would not approve of his loss of eligible young bachelor status, but he looks a little too deeply into Jongin’s eyes in public anyway, smiles a little too meaningfully at him in front of his father. Jongin retaliates by oozing the confidence he knows Kyungsoo cannot resist in front of his father, risking Kyungsoo’s job in the process with a devil may care attitude.
Two months down the line (and in the midst of a very boring monthly financial status meeting) Jongin excuses himself from the board room, silently willing Kyungsoo to follow suit, hiding out in the janitor’s closet until his boyfriend walks by, at which point Jongin throws the door open and yanks him inside, shutting the door before pushing Kyungsoo up against a wall and smashing his lips up against Kyungsoo’s. ‘Don’t think I didn’t see that little stunt you pulled with the new accountant,’ Jongin whispers, hands finding their way under Kyungsoo’s shirt. Kyungsoo whimpers helplessly, moving to pepper kisses all up and down Jongin’s neck as the latter’s hands ignite his nerves. They’re both too caught up in each other’s movements, too preoccupied with the other’s touches and kisses and skin to notice the door handle turning, too caught up in each other to notice the familiar intimidating hands of a man they both need to keep happy push the door open until -
‘Hello boys. Pray tell, what are you two doing in here?’
Mr Kim has on the smile he wears just before he signs off on fifty job cuts at every branch worldwide, and there’s no doubt about it - Jongin and Kyungsoo are screwed.
it was nice knowing you someone please teach me how to fic i'm so restless
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Date: 2013-07-07 01:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-08 06:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-07 02:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-07 05:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-08 06:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-07 04:59 pm (UTC)but i like the ceo!au the most
how i wish it was longer.... cos it's that good ;~; BUT YAY THANKS FOR THIS <3
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Date: 2013-07-08 06:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-07 05:48 pm (UTC)i wish they were longer~
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Date: 2013-07-08 06:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-08 09:55 am (UTC)i've read all of them but i want you to continue hogwarts portraits au *^* it sounds really magical and sad and i can already smell the angst that will be in it and i love angst ugahjdasdhajsdad
EMMAAAAA!!!!!!!!
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Date: 2013-08-02 07:56 am (UTC)Definitely one of my favorite drabbles, and definitely one of my favorite fic dumps.