#chanyeol fanficiton

[hazybyun]

In your arms | PCY

Summary: Being alone had always frightened you, but being alone on a stormy night without your boyfriend really set a deep fear inside of you. The one thing that would calm you down was the sweet scent and safety of Chanyeol’s embrace. He didn’t seem to be real, the love and warmth he held in his heart for you was something anyone would dream of- so after the boy’s arrived home early, naturally a great wave of relief would wash over you

Pairing: Chanyeol X Reader

Genre: Fluff | One-shot

Warnings: PTSD trigger- fireworks,  thunder and lightning

Word count: 2.2K

Truthfully, the past few months had felt like hell without the guys. You missed hearing their laughter, annoying yells when losing games on a Thursday night- Jongdae especially would always make it known if he had lost. Each member meant a lot to you and you saw 8 of them as you big brothers who kept you safe at all costs. 

It had been around 2 years now since your boyfriend had first introduced you to the rest of his members- and thankfully, you all seemed to click right away (much to his relief) The boys treated you like you were family, if you had a rough day and felt like everything was falling apart they would be there for you; When your boyfriend couldn’t comfort you the boys would always try their best to fill that empty spot- something that Kyungsoo, in particular, was especially brilliant at. It was around the 3rd month into EXO’s tour- and this time things only seemed to feel lonelier.

They hadn’t been gone for too long but your relationship with the boys was strong now, seemingly unbreakable. Especially with your boyfriend, Chanyeol- things had become serious recently, the two of you were beginning to talk about your future together. And yet, as always his career would rip the taller male away from you just when you wanted him the most. During their last tour, the boys had been allowed to contact family whenever they had time. But this time their manager wasn’t so laid back. Chanyeol had barely called you during the last few months, it was a drastic change from the daily messages and lengthy evening calls where you would talk about almost complete nonsense for hours. 

Nights alone like these were the worst. You had always been absolutely terrified of thunder and loud things such as fireworks due to an incident in the past. When you were in high school, during your sophomore year a few friends had a celebration and used some fireworks in the back garden. It was just past midnight when it happened, your friends had decided to let off the fireworks without warning and you were far too close. The noise was almost deafening and you suffered some serious burns up your right arm that had left some a dew obvious scars. 

The only person who could really make you feel safe when stuck in a situation like this was Chanyeol. And as you shuffled around in the large bed that felt completely empty without your boyfriend- you couldn’t help but realize just how much you missed the man.

It was an unpleasant evening, to say the least- the rain was pouring heavily accompanied by thunder. No matter how hard you tried, getting to sleep was an issue. Usually on nights like these things would play out much differently if your boyfriend was with you...

You buried yourself under the covers and hid your face underneath the pillows. The dorm was completely empty except for you- things had been hectic recently what with the company finally allowing your boyfriend and his members to promote for a decent amount of time. However, it often meant that you were left alone in the evenings and things weren’t exactly pleasant considering your fear of loud noises and storms.

The strikes of lightning illuminated the dark bedroom in an eerie light from time to time, often accompanied by loud crashes that caused you to shake. Everything was far too overwhelming for you- the noises and sudden bursts of light through the slightly translucent curtains were so distracting you hadn’t even heard the door open.

One by one, the boys poured into the dorm- smiling and chatting quietly amongst themselves as they threw their bags to the side...something that they knew you would kill them for in the morning. Junmyeon glanced around the seemingly empty dorm as he unzipped his grey coat and hung it up neatly- he glanced at a taller figure who was the last to enter. He was the first to notice how seemingly empty the dorm was. He knew you were aware that it was the day they came home for a few weeks since not only himself but your boyfriend and the other boys had constantly been reminding you and uttering soft words of reassurance every time they were able to get a hold of you. ‘Don’t forget! We’ll be home soon!’ Was how all of the boys seemed to end their calls as if they had rehearsed it in order to help you feel some sort of comfort and distraction from the loneliness that had slowly been swallowing you like quicksand.

A soft, yet concerned frown fell onto his face. He looked around with a curious gleam in his eye, it wasn’t like you to ever miss them after all. The last time they had just returned from a tour- you had stayed up all night in excitement just like a child on Christmas. Any of them could easily remember the tears of joy that fell from your eyes as you ran to each member, hugging them tightly as if they were to disappear from your hold if you didn’t keep an eye on them. The warmth Chanyeol felt in his heart that day as he held you close to him and gently stroked your hair, mumbling sweet nothings in your ear as he gently rubbed the small of your back. It was something he was hoping for a repeat of this evening but as they stood in the dark, quiet dorm- curiosity riddled the young man’s face.

“Is she home..?” Jongdae asked in a curious tone, whilst looking around- even he knew it wasn’t like you to not make a show of their return...even if it was only for one evening. 

Jongin patted your boyfriend on the back reassuringly and let out a soft sigh “Well, you never know she could be staying at your sisters'.” He glanced at his elder friend with a reassuring look in his eye- knowing that Chanyeol’s older sister had become very fond of you recently  “You know how lonely she gets when you leave.”

It was just then when another loud crash of thunder erupted from the sky accompanied by a quick strike of lightning that brightened the hallway and illuminating the faces of the nine men that stood, slouching against the walls out of utter exhaustion. Chanyeol stood in thought for a moment, at first he assumed that you were asleep or perhaps at his sister’s place like Jongin had suggested. But it was highly unlike you to not call him when you had been very aware he was coming home today. As if everything had suddenly seemed to click in your boyfriend’s mind when the sound of the thunder boomed throughout the dorm- he dropped everything and rushed through the hallway, heading straight up the stairs before he reached the room the two of you shared.

A soft, shaky sigh left the man’s lips as his hand slowly reached up and ran through his chestnut-brown thick hair. The room was almost pitch black save fort the slithers of moonlight that travelled into the room through the cracks in the curtains and if he didn’t concentrate, your curled up figure- disguised as a lump in the middle of the bed could have been possibly overlooked. He hated seeing you so terrified of the noises, and it made Chanyeol feel beyond guilty for not being there on nights like this when they were performing or had a schedule.

 The man climbed into the bed and wrapped his arm securely around your waist, causing you to jump slightly out of surprise; you’d been hiding underneath your pillow, avoiding the loud sounds of thunder, for the majority of the night. Ever since you were little thunder had been a big fear of yours and your only main source of coping with it was your boyfriend.

You shuffled slightly underneath the cover, turning into his muscular chest. His scent alone was reassuring, the soft smell of vanilla lightly dancing on Chanyeol’s skin reminded you that the thunder was nothing more than a noise. A loud noise that was separated by the walls of the dorm and large windows- in a way, it was like you were safe. In his arms, you couldn’t be harmed, the thunder was nothing more than noise and nothing could hurt you on the outside walls of the dorm. 

He seemed to know exactly what to do and when to do it without even asking, it was like he was a natural after being with you for so long. “Hey...” a soft, smooth and reassuring tone leaving his plump lips. Chanyeol pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, smoothing down your hair as he cuddled you. His vanilla-like scent and the way that your boyfriend gently rocked you in his arms caused an immediate wave of calm to wash over you, like all your fears of the noise and worries seemed to immediately leave you. The tension you felt in your muscles slowly relaxed as your hands clung to the taller male’s plain black shirt. 

Chanyeol didn’t pressure you to talk to him, look at him or even speak with him. He understood that in situations like these...you needed time to slowly unravel the tight knot of fear in your stomach and he knew that it would only stress you out even more if he tried to put you in a situation that you weren’t comfortable with.

 A small, apologetic quiet laugh left your lips as you peaked up at the man- the first thing you saw was his warm and slightly goofy lop-sided smile that revealed his dimples. You gently played with the material of the shirt he wore “I’m really sorry about this...” as always, you couldn’t help but be apologetic. Dragging him into your panic attacks, your troubles, anything that caused you to have a minor episode made feel guilty; Park Chanyeol seemed to push his own burdens aside in order to help you and the guilt slowly built up. Because you only wished that he would let you care for him just as much as your boyfriend cared for you.

 The man frowned softly and immediately shook his head as his hand gently smoothed down your hair “Don’t you dare apologize.” Chanyeol shook his head and hushed you quickly be pressing his finger against your lips “You can’t help being afraid of something...”

 His words managed to distract you slightly from the storm outside,  that was until a large crash of thunder sounded from outside of the bedroom windows. Accompanied by a sudden flash of light that illuminated your boyfriend’s features slightly. Everything seemed to crash down in that moment, your body began to shake. A small yelp left your plump lips that were sore from the anxious chewing you had resorted to earlier when you were home alone- attempting to deal with the storm the best you could on your own. It was louder than usual, something that had set off an alarming amount of panic that surged through your body like a wildfire. 

You furrowed your brows slightly whilst doing your best to cover your ears although it did little to help you try and block out the loud noises that were bringing back too many old fears. A pair of strong arms wrapped securely around you, gently rocking you in his arms “You’re okay baby, you’re okay... nothing’s gonna hurt you- I’m here...” Chanyeol spoke in a deep yet soft and comforting tone, his honey-like voice seemingly warming you and it gradually began to melt away the fear.

Footsteps slowly entered the room, treading lightly upon the wooden floor of your bedroom as to not disturb either of you. Yixing lightly peaked around the corner of the bedroom to check upon the both of you. Aside from Chanyeol, you were closest with Yixing- he treated you with love just like a real older brother would. Storms always worried him, the two of you had grown up together, in fact the two of you had travelled to Korea together to study after he had announced his acceptance into SM Entertainment. The concerned frown the knitted his brows together slowly left his face, accompanied by a soft sigh of relief as he saw the two of you. 

Chanyeol held you securely in his arms, possessing so much love for you it was obvious to anyone who had even known the pair of you for barely two minutes that you were the main focus of his life. Your boyfriend gently rocked you in his arms, one of his hands slowly rubbing the small of your lower back as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and whispered sweet words of reassurance- telling you how well you were doing and that everything would be alright.

“Please don’t leave me.” You whispered in a shaky voice that was almost inaudible, a tone so quiet only he could her.

Chanyeol smiled softly as shook his head as he looked down at you with loving eyes, using his long and slender finger to gently lift up your chin and look you in the eyes. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

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[changseobbing-blog]

Drabble Game - Your Idiot

“You’re really cute and it’s ruining my life because I think about kissing you all the time.“

Exo Fanfic

Chanyeol x Reader

Fluff

Word Count: 970

You were in the middle of writing some lyrics - scratch that, in the middle of procrastinating writing some lyrics when the world suddenly went dark.

Warm hands had reached around and covered your eyes. “Guess who” a deep voice sing-whispered into your ear causing you to laugh. You knew who it was. You knew from the moment you smelled his cologne and heard him practically stumble into the room but sure, you’d play his game.

“Uhhhh, is it Brad Pitt?” you asked coyly, laughing as you heard him huff dejectedly behind you and the light of the room flooded back. You glanced over your shoulder to see him stood in front of you with his arms crossed and his brow raised.

“Oh! Chanyeol, it’s you?” you feigned surprise with a hint of sarcasm. “Never would have guessed.”

He shot you a glare as he shrugged off his oversized parka and smoothed a hand through his recently dyed silver locks to fluff them back into place from the wind outside. God, he was cute.

“So, what brings you to my office?” you smiled up at him.

Chanyeol pulled out the chair opposite to you and flopped down. He looked at you like you were crazy “I asked you to meet me here..and since when is Costa your office?” he asked incredulously. 

He had a point, he had instant messaged you with the promise of free lunch. 

“The world is a lyricists office!” you exclaimed as you waved your pen at him which caused him to chuckle his deep throaty laugh. 

You had liked Park Chanyeol for the longest time and you knew he liked you back. The problem was he refused to admit that. He had pretty much confessed his crush on you to everyone at the record label you both worked at, everyone except you.

You had tried to ask him out, it was a few months back when you had first heard about his feelings. He never even gave you an answer and instead had walked straight out of the room. It bruised your ego until a coworker had told you that your forwardness had flustered him so much his ears had turned bright red.

You never spoke about it after that, but today you were determined to change your situation.

Things were different now and you were friends, but it frustrated you to be around him because flustered you just as much. You were never one to not be upfront about your feelings so it boggled your mind that he was sat opposite you and in denial.

“Are you spacing out?” he asked nudging your shoulder to snap you back to the present.

“Sorry” you mumble embarrassedly.

Chanyeol leaned his elbow on the table to rest his chin on top of his palm. He stared at you, his dark chocolate eyes piercing the depth of your soul as you stared back, it looked like he was deep in thought.

“I don’t want to be friends anymore” he finally announced his expression unreadable.

Now you were very confused. It stung even as those words slipped from his beautiful mouth. Why didn’t he want to be your friend? Had you done something wrong? You decided to find out.

“Why?” the pain evident in your voice as your brows drooped down in disappointment and hurt.

“Oh shit, that’s not what I meant…” he blurted out “that came out all wrong”.

He was sat upright now, tugging at the cuffs of his oversized sweater and eyes wide in panic.

“What I meant was…” he trailed off and ran a hand through his hair frustratedly, you were even more confused now.

“Just spit it out Chanyeol! If you want me to leave you alone then just man up and say it” you snap irritated that he couldn’t even tell you he doesn't like you properly.

“If that’s all you came to say?” you pushed as you hid any further emotion. You grabbed your stuff to leave as fast as possible. 

You felt humiliated.

“Wait!” A hand grasped out for your wrist to stop you from moving from the table. You gathered your strength and looked back at him. His ears were red.

“Yourereallycuteanditsruiningmylifeandsdkd…..“ you strained to hear his words as he mumbled lowly, his eyes were fixed on his own hand as it grasped your wrist.

“What are you saying?” you demanded, growing more impatient and annoyed.

“You’re really cute and it’s ruining my life because I think about kissing you all the time!” he yelled out this time, startled people turned to watch the spectacle as it unfolded.

Oh. That was unexpected. 

Your legs gave out as you sat back on your seat in shock. Chanyeol released your wrist. You hear him take a deep breath and then he laced his fingers with yours.

You tried to find a comeback or response but you're speechless. You hadn’t expected him to confess like that, or at all.

“Soooo” Chanyeol mumbled with a bashful smile, the tips of his ears were still tinged pink and you remembered this only happened when he’s flustered.

“Park Chanyeol...you’re unbelievable” you sighed, “I thought that maybe you’d changed your mind about me”

He looked up surprised “You mean you knew that I liked you?”

“I ASKED YOU OUT FIRST, DUMMY” you gasped outraged. He nodded his head slowly, one hand held up in defence while the other was still laced with yours.

“I’m sorry... I’m an idiot. Can we start over...how about a lunch date?” 

His eyes were filled with emotion. 

Embarrassment, hope, playfulness and something else you couldn’t quite figure out.

What you did know was that he was now your idiot.

Milestone Drabble Challenge

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[yeoldontknow]

Wings

Author’s Note: lord i didnt think id be writing this so soon but ive been so soft (tm) and pcy has been doing the most(tm) so here we are i guess. this is the first part of his Did You See story. im weak as hell lmao Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Summary: Chanyeol is your best friend and travel buddy. Everywhere you go, he falls a little bit more in love with you. Eventually, he tells you why he goes everywhere with you - just you.  Genre: fluff; angst Rating: PG-13 Warnings: some swearing Word Count: 5,356

Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[12:04 AM]: LOOK!!! YN[12:05 AM]: this is shockingly neat YN[12:06 AM]: im stunned Yeolo[12:06 AM]: :< Yeolo[12:07 AM]: i am neat :< YN[12:08 AM]: youre like… YN[12:09 AM]: slightly organized chaos Yeolo[12:10 AM] - Message sent with Confetti: CHAOS

Yeolo[12:11 AM]: do you like how i rolled my shirts ! YN[12:12 AM]: im mostly impressed with how fucking many you fit in there Yeolo[12:13 AM]: WELL!! Yeolo[12:14 AM]: you know different shirts for different moods… Yeolo[12:14 AM]: weather YN[12:15 AM]: IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?? Yeolo[12:15 AM]: WAT WAT YN sent a Photo with Mark Up Yeolo[12:16 AM]: YES YES THE HOODIE HE IS COMING YN[12:17 AM]: I AM STEALING HIM ON DAY 2 AND YOU WILL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN Yeolo[12:18 AM]: *frowns loudly* he YN[12:19 AM] - Message sent with Celebration: his butt is mine Yeolo[12:20 AM]: do you still heave beat it in your head from JDs party???? YN[12:21 AM]: listen if i have to suffer with it YN[12:21 AM]: you have to suffer with me Yeolo[12:22 AM]: yikes YN[12:24 AM]: are you taking any converters? Yeolo[12:24 AM]: yeah you can use mine YN[12:25 AM]: yay! Yeolo[1:06 AM]: are you nervous? Yeolo[1:07 AM]: wait are you up Yeolo[1:08 AM]: im nervous but idk why YN[1:09 AM]: im up. i wouldnt say im nervous weve done this a million times YN[1:10 AM]: i just dont like flying very much Yeolo[1:11 AM]: no one really likes flying Yeolo[1:12 AM]: but ill hold your hand the whole time YN[1:13 AM] - Message sent with Love: u Yeolo[1:13 AM] - Message sent with Fireworks: me Yeolo[1:15 AM]: can i come over? Yeolo[1:16 AM]: i sleep better next you YN[1:17 AM]: you haven't needed to ask for 5 years don't be a goose YN[1:18 AM]: but yes im too excited to sleep anyway Yeolo[1:19 AM]: ill bring my shit so we can just go to the airport together YN[1:20 AM]: key is under the mat. im getting your fave blanket out of the closet Yeolo[1:21 AM]: !!!! Yeolo[1:22 AM]: ill just take the spare toothbrush i have there with me instead of my good electric one YN[1:23 AM]: u is smert Yeolo[1:24 AM]: i be there in 10 minie YN[1:25 AM]: 10 MINIES!!!

Remaining in bed, you lay back and stare at the ceiling, heartbeat keeping time with the rain against your window. You think you love him most when he’s like this, needy and clingy and over excited. London was his idea, or maybe it was yours, or, possibly, you thought of it at the same time. It felt like it, the way you both talked excitedly on his couch eight months ago, bare feet battling for dominance on the tattered cushion. The way the words spilled eagerly from your mouths, the way he’d already Googled, and you’d already used your credit card points for airline tickets, it felt like you were connected, united.

Something as simple as this, as planning a trip, felt remarkable and exciting. The phrase ‘why don't we go’ igniting a fire in your veins, making the world sound sweeter just because he spun city names into gold against his tongue. Always, it’s like this with him, life becoming an thrilling bundle of possibility, filled with magic and wonder, and existing without obstacles. It’s like this with him because he makes it so, his mouth only ever giving you the best words and your heart unable to say no at the sight of his wide eyes.

Precisely ten minutes later, Chanyeol’s heavy feet resonate throughout the hall as he struggles up the stairs to your door. Already, between the plaster and the wood of your door, you can feel him, his energy permeating your space and making your heart feel heavy with want. The sound of him alone wakes you up, invigorates you, sending sparks along your skin that make you feel electric or magnetic, or maybe both.

After six years of knowing Chanyeol, learning his noise and learning his breath, you are skilled at discerning his mood from the sound of his steps. Tonight, he is elated, hurried in his movements and wholly unburdened by the weight of his suitcase, driven into a clamor by the force of his excitement. Tonight, he is humming, as quietly as he can, yet still his voice his a thunderclap, barreling through the walls and deep into your bloodstream. You don't recognize what he's humming, the sound slow and somber, but it sounds important, like he's very serious about getting the notes right, and you find yourself frowning when he stops, saddened by the loss of the his voice.

At the first sounds of the spare key sliding into the lock, you turn over in bed, making room for him on the mattress, in your life, in your body, ready to keep him with you for always. When he pushes through the door, clambering with his limbs and his bags, he releases a giddy sigh, an exclamation of relief that makes a smile spread across your lips. Keeping still, you listen as he moves through your house and into your kitchen with sure steps. He turns on the electric kettle, the one he bought your for Christmas three years ago. Rummaging through your cupboard, the one he helped you build, he pulls out mug with a happy chuckle. Something has amused him, and you swoon into the bed at the sound, pressing your head against your pillows with a sigh.

You know he thinks of this space as his, moves around it openly and possessively, because his memories exist within the paint and the furnishings just as much as yours. Not least because he spends the majority of his time in the space you occupy, your flat larger and quieter than his own, but because he was the one who found it for you. Because, when your life felt as though it was ending, he was the one who built it back up around you, with you, leaving his traces on all the new pieces.

It is not that you expected your relationship with Ethan to last forever, merely that, after Ethan, you thought there would be something. When you found Ethan in your bed with another woman, hands and mouth pulling at her skin as if he wanted to make a home of her body, you found you simply didn't want anything. His lies had reduced you to nothing and, while you knew it was not the case, you felt nothing was what you deserved forevermore.

For two weeks, you slept on Chanyeol's couch, curled into a ball and trying not to be a burden. For five more, you slept in his bed, neither sexual nor wanting it to be, simply because he said he wanted you comfortable. Then, he said it was because no one should cry alone. Then, and lastly, because he said he never felt comfortable without you beside him. Not anymore.

His hands shook when he showed you the advertisement, and you wondered why he was nervous. Looking at your feet and with his voice quite small, he said he didn't want you to think he was kicking you out. You said, ‘are you?’ And he just looked at you, suddenly the most serious you've ever seen him, and said, ‘I just want you to have something that's yours.’ Sincerity looked beautiful on Chanyeol, not that he was insincere, but this was transcendent. You felt him then, like a knife. You don't think you’ve stopped feeling him since.

He never really went home after you moved in, just brought an air bed and stayed with you until you could afford decent furniture. You cried a lot those first few days, scared but not alone, and wondering how you could, or would, cope with this sudden something. Chanyeol held you, tighter than usual, and didn't say anything just clung to you until you were tired and wholly exhausted from living. You think that was when his habit for humming started, those days when his voice was a comfort, a lullaby, and its sound evolving into something you felt belonged to you.

Painting the living room was your favourite day, the first day you ever saw him, really saw him. The paint on his cheek made him look wild, like he was at war with the wall and was trying to win you over. You didn't know how to tell him he'd already won. You think he won the day you met him, you just needed the world to take on better colours.

The sound of your door opening shakes you from your thoughts, and Chanyeol enters with a grin, hair messy and cheeks puffy from lack of sleep. He's arrived already in his pajamas, ready to be comfortable and ready to be near you, and you watch, turning the sheets over for him, as he climbs into the bed with careful placements of his limbs.

‘Here,’ he says, handing you a mug - his favourite, the one he leaves for himself.

Careful not to spill anything, you take it, letting your fingers graze momentarily to feel the spark once more, and smell its contents.

‘Is this chamomile?’

Chanyeol settles against the pillows with a hum, and turns onto his side to face you. ‘It’ll help you de-stress,’ he shrugs, before his hand snakes into the pocket of his hoodie. ‘I also got you this.’

He hands you something black, something plastic, and, in the dim light of the bedroom, it takes you a moment to recognize it.

‘A sleeping mask?’ You glance at him, confused.

‘With cucumber.’ Laying back to nestle into the bed, he pulls out his phone and yawns. ‘You’re always super hot on flights and you never sleep. So, just try this please.’

‘You’re a nerd,’ you murmur, glad he is distracted and unable to see the blush that is blooming beneath your cheeks.

‘And you are annoying,’ he retorts, peering up at you with a grin, tongue between his teeth.

Dropping the mask to your nightstand, you sigh, somewhat heavy for the light feeling in your chest. ‘But you love me.’

‘And you love me.’

It feels too raw to agree or acknowledge the statement, like saying anything will force you to say absolutely everything, and so instead you remain silent, keeping your tongue locked behind your teeth so as not to give yourself away.

Time passes steadily, your body relaxing simply because he is near and you can hear the even rise and fall of his breath. The rain and his quiet hums become a soundtrack for your slow sipping of the tea, scrolling through your phone mindlessly, unfocused, and running through your packing checklist once more. 

Eventually, Chanyeol puts his phone beneath a pillow and cuddles against you, resting his head on your shoulder as he watches you scroll. Sometimes, he reaches forward to tap the screen, teasing you by threatening to like pictures on Instagram that belong to people you know of, but do not really know. You fight him off weakly, push yourself away, tell him he’s being an ass, and warning that you will spill, but you don’t mean it. Not at all. The cup is empty, anyway.

After thirty minutes, you place your phone and mug on the nightstand beside the mask, turning over in the bed to face him. For a while, you say nothing, just admire the way his hair falls over his forehead and into his eyes, the small mole on his nose, the way his mouth pouts slightly, the way just seeing you seems to make him smile - or perhaps, he’s simply excited.

Pressing yourself closer to him, you yawn. ‘Did you remember your passport?’

Chanyeol rears back, eyes wide and lips parted in horror, paling in the wake of your words. Your stomach drops.

‘Chanyeol!’

‘Yes,’ he laughs, reaching out from under the blanket to tap your nose. ‘I remembered it.’

Rolling your eyes, you bury your face in the pillow. ‘We should sleep,’ you announce, voice muffled. ‘We have a long drive to the airport tomorrow.’

He nuzzles close, draping an arm over your waist to pull you into his chest. Curling against him with a happy sigh, you press your ear to his sternum to hear his heartbeat. It flutters, just once. ‘Do you think it’ll be raining like this in London?’ he ponders quietly as he draws lazy circles along your spine.

‘It might be,’ you murmur, instantly relaxing into his hold and feeling yourself slip into sleep.

‘I hope so,’ his whispers into your hair, tightening his hold on your body. ‘It’ll feel like tonight never ended.’

You didn’t think the mask would work, but it does. Somewhere over Iceland, you fall asleep against Chanyeol’s shoulder, soothed by the cool mask and his reassuring grip in your hand. Your body tilts into his until you are resting at his side, and he lifts his arm to pull you close, tucking the blanket beneath your chin. Sleeping, simply sleeping, with you is a quiet gift from the universe, one he relishes with his whole heart.

Because you are sleeping, he is free to watch you and free to want you without limitations. Always, he wants to touch you, has stop himself from stroking his thumb along your cheek and across your lips. Always, he has to remind himself that you are not his, you are not his touch nor his to have, but how he wants you. Oh, how he wants you with every beat of his weary heart.

You are not his, so when he sees the green and amber lights erupt just beyond the window, he nudges you awake. Bleary eyed and cranky, you whine for him to stop until he points, makes you see the lights and how they transform the earth into an alien thing, a new thing, something you cannot imagine existing within.

You are not his, so when he sees the Aurora Borealis, he nudges you awake simply so he can share one moment with you. One moment he can call ours.

Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:31 PM]: whats this YN[6:34 PM]: un stylo Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:35 PM]: ???? YN[6:36 PM]: un café Yeolo[6:37 PM]: how do i say map? YN[6:38 PM]: i already taught you that one lmao la carte Yeolo[6:39 PM]: train station YN[6:39 PM]: la gare YN[6:40 PM]: how do you say im lost Yeolo[6:41 PM]: uhhhhhhhh Yeolo[6:42 PM]: je me losté YN[6:43 PM]: INCORRECT Yeolo[6:43 PM]: T____T FRENCH IS HARD YN[6:44 PM]: weve been over this one: je suis perdu Yeolo[6:45 PM]: why do you just assume im going to get lost Yeolo[6:46 PM]: the other vocab is more fun :< YN[6:47 PM]: its not an assumption i have money riding on it with baek Yeolo[6:48 PM]: you guys are assholes YN[6:49 PM]: connards Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:51 PM]: what is this YN[6:52 PM]: un ananas YN[6:52 PM]: when are you ever going to need pineapple on this trip??? Yeolo[6:53 PM]: YOU NEVER KNOW Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:54 PM]: this? YN[6:59 PM]: moi YN[6:59 PM]: when did you take this?? i didnt even see you doing it Yeolo[7:01 PM]: at sooberrys bonfire last week Yeolo sent a photo Yeolo[7:02 PM]: AND THIS? YN[7:03 PM]: un branleur Yeolo[7:04 PM]: wait idk that word Yeolo[7:04 PM]: countess tell me what that means YN[7:06 PM] - Message sent with Loud Effect: COUNTESS? Yeolo[7:08 PM] - Sent with Slam Effect: HEY!! Yeolo[7:08 PM]: i googled! im not a wanker! YN sent a Video Yeolo[7:09 PM]: thats the most emasculating eye roll ive ever seen Yeolo[7:10 PM]: *cries loudly* YN[7:11 PM]: tell me why you called me countess Yeolo[7:13 PM]: no youre being mean :< YN sent a Photo Yeolo[7:14 PM]: stop pouting !!!! Yeolo[7:15 PM]: my heart !!! YN[7:17 PM]: fine YN[7:18 PM]: the correct word for that picture is très mignon Yeolo[7:19 PM]: CUTE! YOU THINK IM VERY CUTE YN[7:20 PM]: of course you know that and not the IMPORTANT WORDS

In the middle of the Notre Dame, Chanyeol slips his fingers between yours and squeezes. Several moments pass before you realize he’s done this, and you, shaken and trembling, are too weak to truly look up at him. You know how you look, wide eyed and trying not to cry, emotions running free and rampant, turning you into a vulnerable, fragile thing. Overwhelmed, is how you think you feel, body and heart too full of beautiful things to truly process everything in front of you. Looking at Chanyeol would cause the dam inside you to fissure, shattering just enough to release the deluge, and you don’t think you are strong enough to survive such an onslaught of emotional veracity. Not today, at least. Not when everything around you is so perfectly quiet. 

Leading you over to a pew, he sits beside you but does not let go of your hand. For one hour, you remain in silence. It’s the longest you think he’s ever gone without saying a word, and when you finally gather the strength to look at him, when you finally think you truly could be brave, if only so you could keep his after image alive in your mind for eternity, you see that he looks just the same as you.

Reverence has settled on and underneath his skin, giving him an ethereal glow from the inside out. The sun pours through the stained glass windows, and the bronze and honey of the wood polish seem to seek out his shades, eager to make shadows beneath his cheekbones; they turn him into an angelic thing, a holy thing, something that makes you feel the true definition of awe. It hurts to see him like this, you think, to see his lips, so full and pink as the blood races through his body, fighting to keep and carry all his emotions beneath the blanket of his flesh. It hurts to see him like this, looking almost naked and fragile, just like you.

It hurts to see him and not be able to call him yours, so you tell him things that belong to neither of you, only to souls long passed. Doing this makes it easy, makes suffering the the pain of true adoration feel somewhat weightless because you can almost imagine this too shall pass. Hands built this cathedral, fingers laid all the stained glass into intricate patterns, and the whole length of their life seemed infinite and paradoxically brief. Someone must have loved like this, felt devoted to a thing that could not love them back, and they lived - or, perhaps, they died and, if they died, it was not by the hands of love.

You tell him of the French Revolution and the cloister windows; you tell him of the organ, and its 32-key pedalboard. You tell him of all these things, hoping that the lives and the wars and the names of the all the people who suffered to build, and rebuild the cathedral can also build, and rebuild your heart.

You tell him all these things and, as you do, he watches. You point to the windows, discussing with yourself how they were destroyed during the revolution when the cathedral was used as a storage warehouse for food, and how even the restoration couldn’t get the art quite the same. Chanyeol listens, but he does not want to look at them, not when he’s looking at you. Between his fingers, your small hand squeezes and jitters, shaking his in excitement to show him something new, but still he only sees you.

He’s not sure why no one else seems to notice, how simply being in this church has suddenly given you wings. Thousands of names run up and into his mouth, through his mind, and he wants to give them to you, wants them to spill out and over for everyone to hear. He wants to call you Angel, wants to call you Goddess, wants to call you nothing at all because something this pure and this holy should never be tarnished by his tongue.

He wants to call you everything so instead he calls you mes tous.

He knows it’s wrong, rather, thinks it is wrong, but when he’s looking at you, he simply cannot fathom any other term.

For him, you are everything, and nothing else will ever compare.

Yeolo[11:32 AM]: countess YN[11:33 AM]: this text better be about lolla tix Yeolo[11:33 AM]: it is not YN[11:34 AM]: GOD DAMMIT YN[11:34 AM]: T______T YN[11:35 AM]: i hate meetings YN[11:36 AM]: im so sad now Yeolo[11:37 AM]: i know baby i know Yeolo[11:38 AM]: but whats the name of that place you stayed in last year Yeolo[11:39 AM]: for the fest YN[11:40 AM]: the hi chicago hostel YN[11:41 AM]: why YN[11:42 AM]: i am NOT making shithead baek reservations if he got tix YN[11:43 AM]: maybe i will for yixing YN[11:43 AM]: because i am nice Yeolo sent a Photo YN[11:44 AM]: PARK CHANYEOL YN[11:45 AM]: YOU BETTER NOT BE FUCKING WITH ME Yeolo[11:46 AM]: I AM NOT FUCKING WITH YOU BABY YN[11:47 AM]: YOU GOT THEM Yeolo[11:48 AM]: I GOT THEM BABY WERE GOING YN wants to FaceTime

The rain in Chicago is biblical, pouring out of a chasm in the sky in torrents. You could drown in it, you think, if you let yourself go, let it take you over. Like this, it’s easy to associate it with Chanyeol, to assume that it’s him in the rain; it’s him soaking you with wet kisses that cover your hair. It covers you how Chanyeol covers you: completely, warm against your skin and never feeling like a threat, simply cleansing - your body and your mind, making you feel free, making you feel new. The rain feels like Chanyeol, and so you welcome it, let it run down your neck, let it pour into your lungs, and over your skin, baptising yourself in his essence before he comes to wipe his holy residue away.

With the festival over, Chanyeol takes your hand and starts leading you through the crowd to exit the park. He doesn’t say anything, just glances down at you and smiles, squinting through the rain, though his grip never slips. Even in the dark of the night and in between the thick drops, you can see him, radiating like a beacon, calling you to him, a lighthouse for the lonely ship of your ardor.

Standing on Michigan Ave, you cock your head back, letting people push past and grumble at your stillness, and try to keep all of this with you, within you. The city, the weather, the music, his touch, his hands, his mouth. You think on Chanyeol’s arms as they held you, swayed with you to your favourite songs. You think on his laugh as he ran from stage to stage, forcing you to keep up with his long stride. You think of how he fell asleep in your lap, curled up on a blanket beneath a tree, cuddling into you for comfort.

These things, these important, meaningful things, are carved into your bones, and you think they were drawn by Chicago itself. Leaving means tearing out your ribs and leaving them behind. Leaving means going back to how things are, to reality, to the realization that Chanyeol is not yours. And you cannot expect him to be.

Tugging on your hand, Chanyeol waits patiently before you as you open your eyes, and you smile. Rain glides down his nose, dripping off at the tip, making him chuckle. Intensely, he holds your gaze, does not waver and instead looks into you, as though he is seeking your heart, seeking your blood, and asking for both with only his eyes. With parted lips, he breathes through his mouth, as though he has run a mile to get to you, perhaps run for his whole life to have you with him.

A tether has started to spawn between your chests, growing into steel cable and pulling you to him, as though he is a magnet. You step closer forcing your steps to be cautious, your anxious feet wanting to run to him, run through him to say you have been inside him, and left your name behind on all his brightest and ugliest parts. And when he steps closer, gaze dark and chest heaving and hands seeking the wet skin of your arms, you think maybe you could speak, if only to keep him with you, like this, for just one minute more.

‘Let’s not go home.’ It’s neither a question nor a plea, simply a wish, simply a door to an alternate reality you wish you could unlock.

But Chanyeol, already having learned to be brave for you, slides his hands from your arms to your cheeks, and thinks he could do it again. ‘I already am home.’

He presses your lips together without caution, without fear, as if it’s the only thing he’s known how to do in his life. Tilting your head to the side, you open for him, and feel him growl into your mouth as he crushes your body against his, hands moving to splay against your back. You are glad for his tight hold, your knees starting to shake and your hands fisting in his shirt for purchase. He holds you up and supports you with ease, swallows your moans with the whole of his greedy throat, and devours you as though he could never have his fill. Lips moving in unison, you suck on his bottom lip, relishing how soft and smooth the skin feels against your hungry mouth, and this makes him part, gasping for breath.

‘Chanyeol,’ you try, though your voice sounds weak and broken.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he closes his eyes and tries to speak. ‘I call you Countess,’ he croaks, voice tight and small as he struggles to catch his breath and not to cry.

You nod, unable to offer anything else, skin sliding against his. ‘Yes.’

Shaking his head, he pulls away from you for a moment but does not let you go. ‘It comes from the French comte, and that comes from Latin meaning companion,’ he attempts to explain, the words sounding lackluster and unconfident in his haste. ‘You are...that and...I listen to you.’

‘You’re not makin sense, dove,’ you say, lacing your tone with compassion as you bring a palm to his cheek.

‘You don’t think I listen but I do.’ He nuzzles into your palm with a content sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before pressing a wet kiss to your palm and continuing. ‘I hang off every fucking word you say, commit it to memory. I’m always wanting you to say things twice: first so I can learn it and second just so I can hear you say it. I just want to hear it.’

‘Ch-’

‘I’m in love with you.’

Chanyeol announces the words like they’re a jumble of syllables he’s never had to use and is only now learning how to phrase them, or how to shape them. In the wake of their cadence, he takes in your wide, shocked eyes, and realizes he loves them. He loves how they sound on his tongue, loves how they make you look, and so he says them again.

‘I’m so in love with you,’ he repeats, this time slower, and this time making sure you hear. You have the passing sensation he looks like he could float away, awed smile on his lips as he regards you and eyes blown with desire, dark and purely euphoric. ‘It took me forever to figure it out because I’ve never felt this way before, it honestly feels like I could die or I could live forever, like just breathing around you is a risk but fuck, I’ve never felt more alive just standing next to you, just existing beside you.’

The ground seemingly disappears from beneath your feet at his confession, voice gone off in search of the terrain you once knew so well. A shiver runs through your body, though you cannot tell if it is simply of the rain or because of the things he is saying. Unable to do or think through anything, you merely stare, hold onto his shoulders and try not to whimper at the way he whines at the loss of your skin against his.

‘I think I’ve been in love with you since I met you,’ he continues, ‘when the Empress brought you to JD’s party, remember? How I didn’t stop standing next to you or trying to talk to you? You thought I was clingy, maybe I am, but I just wanted to share everything with you. And you already had a boyfriend. He was such a shithead. I hated him first because he had you and then most because he hurt you. The first time I heard you crying on the couch I sat against my door and listened. I wanted to die and then I wanted to go kill him. You did that for weeks, until I needed you in my bed. I couldn’t take it, I just wanted to hold you.’

Running his hands along your cheeks, he kisses your forehead, as your eyes flutter shut with a sight. Then he brings his lips to your nose, your cheeks, your eyes, and, lastly, your lips.

‘I always want to hold you,’ he whispers, breath warm against your mouth as he lingers close. ‘I can’t sleep without you. I don’t deserve you. At all. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re funny, half the time you look like a fucking angel. I keep fucking up things I want to say because you look at me and it’s like my whole life is suddenly shifting. I don’t deserve you, and you can do so much better than me, so we travel. I give you the world because you deserve that, and at least that I get to share.’

It takes you a long while to find your voice, your hands playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck as he presses chaste kisses against your lips. He’s scared, you can feel it in the way he trembles against you, body exhilarated from his confession and terrified, now, of rejection. He’s scared you will push him away, and so he takes what he can get from your mouth and your skin, having his fill to keep it inside for always, even after you are gone.

Much the same, you press your body close to his, letting his cologne linger on your tongue and inside your blood. For you, he is a contact high, a shot of adrenaline straight to your heart that makes the world seem better, seem brighter, simply because he is there to change the spectrum of your vision. And so you take your time simply touching him, touching all the things you’ve felt before without really letting yourself feel them.

‘I decide what I deserve,’ you mutter quietly against his jaw.

This seems to shock him into action, his body careening into yours as he buries his face into your neck. ‘I want you,’ he cries, in relief. ‘Oh my God, I want you.’

‘I’m yours,’ you whisper, pulling his head from your neck and kissing him, first with your soul and then with your mouth. ‘I’m yours.’

#chanyeol x reader #chanyeol fluff #kpoptrashtag #kwriterskollection #noonanet #chanyeol fanficiton #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol au #chanyeol scenario #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo au #exo fluff #exo scenario #park chanyeol #did you see: universe

[bangchanshehe]

I am proud to announce that lately I have been working very hard on this oneshot project in collaboration with many other amazing writers called "The Undead". Twelve of us have chosen an OT12 Exo member and have written a oneshot with the theme of Zombie Apocalypse, with deferent genres and universes. If you are interested in a good read I would highly recommend checking out some of the posted stories!

https://biaswreckingfics.tumblr.com/post/655711926305882112/the-undead-masterlist-an-exo-collab

#The Safe Place #kpop oneshot #kpop fanfiction #kpop collab #exo fanficiton #exo apocalypse #apocalypse au! #exo collab #writers collab #kai fanfic #suho fanfic #kris wu fanfic #luhan fanfic #xiumin fanfic #d.o fanfic #chanyeol fanfic #baekhyun fanfic #sehun fanfic #chen fanfic #lay fanfic #zitao fanfic

[playboyseho]

Warm...

He wanted Sehun with him, as desperate as that sounded. He saw all the other boys in each other’s company and it sadden him when the loneliness made its way up inside him. It was a very foreign feeling to him. He didn’t like it. It was like a hole inside him that he couldn’t tangibly fill or physically close. He was missing more than the boy; he was missing a part of himself.

#exo #suho #sehun #seho #hunho #kjm #oh sehun #kim junmyeon #chanyeol #xiumin #chen #baekhyun #doh kyungsoo #kai #xiuchen #chanbaek #kaisoo #warm #fanfic #fanficiton #beach #soft romance

[kachuwritings]

They think you cheated on them but the guy you were with is actually your brother - EXO fake texts

anonymous asked: Hi can u do a fake text with each exo member where he think that you cheated on him but the guy he see was yout brother? Thanks

click for better resolution + some got a bit long

a/n: I hope you like it anonie~♡

#exo fake texts #exo #kpop fake texts #kpop fake chats #kim minseok #kim jongin #kim jongdae #kim junmyeon #zhang yixing #do kyungsoo #oh sehun #byun baekhyun #park chanyeol #exo funny #exo fluff #exo fanfiction #kpop ff #kpop fanficiton #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #kpop funny #exo xiumin #exo suho #exo lay #exo baekhyun #exo chen #exo chanyeol #exo sehun #exo kai #exo d.o

[coloredseouls-blog]

[ Retaliation ]

[ Retaliation ] 

// Chanyeol Fanfiction Series //

© @coloredseouls - joint-collaboration

[ SEVEN ]

"Welcome to the Seoul Kingsman Society, Xena Takahashi. Your next step of involvement is to be branded."  

                                                              *

Cold air met Xena's skin, her shoulders rotating back as she shed her shirt. She could feel the intense stares of many as they stared at the already occupied skin, fingertips brushing against it. Taking strides towards the chair, lying face down, the material stuff. Goosebumps spread across her skin as the alcohol came in contact, a razor shortly following it.

Within little time, the stencil was removed from her skin and the sound of the tattoo machine filled her ears, the ink burying its way into her skin. A familiar wave of heat washed over her, her body reacting to the contact, almost like a bad cat scratch. However, as Junmyeon made his way to the top of her spinal bone, her body grew tense, the area tender.

"Frightened kitten?" She heard him whisper in her ear and it took her everything not to hit him in the throat.

The life of her tattoo depended on it.

"Don't forget who you're talking to Junmyeon."

"Right.."

She felt the slight pain loosen on her body as Junmyeon pulled back the needle, turning it off and switching to color.

She hated this part the most. No matter how much she told herself that this part should have been the easiest, it wasn't. The constant nagging of one needle driving ink into her skin was enough, however, the feeling of multiple going over the same surface was enough to drive her wild.

Junmyeon tried his hardest to make that part quick, sensing the annoyance by the way her body tensed up.

Soon, the excess ink was removed, leaving Xena with a fresh tattoo and new branding on the lower part of her neck.

She felt powerful.

However, she also felt like she belonged to a cult.

"Welcome to The Seoul Kingsmen Society. Your initiation is complete."

                                                              *

It had been a month since Xena been branded, two months since she had been at the EXO base. Over the course of these months, she had grown some kind of connection to each member, especially Chanyeol. Chanyeol occupied her side day and night, not once letting her out of his sight, though this was an annoyance to her she found herself soon enjoying his company.

Today was no different. Chanyeol was in his regular spot outside the training room, he decided to give her some privacy so she could focus on her skills more and perfect certain moves. She ended her training for today with a final kick to the dummy, who was rightfully labeled as hers, sending it backward smiling at this she was pleased with the amount of strength she had built up in a matter of 3 months. Retrieving her towel that rested on her chair she wiped the sweat that coated her body, switching off the light as she closed the door her eyes instantly meeting the tall male that stood against the wall before her.

"You took longer than usual. I thought you would never come out, what do you do in there?"

She rolls her eyes at him snatching the water he was handing to her, taking a sip.

"I'm training myself to beat your ass."

"Oh keep dreaming princess."

Laughing at his comment she sighs, the air suddenly growing silent. As they walked down the familiar hallway to the shower room she busied herself by tapping her fingers along the sides of the cold bottle as she bit her lip in anticipation, a question she had so longed to ask him sat at the tip of her tongue.

"Can I ask you something?" The two unexpectedly asked at the same time, laughing Xena insisting on him to go first.  

"I've been meaning to ask you this, but what's the story behind your tattoo?" Awkwardly stuffing his hands in his pockets he earned a light chuckle from her.

"Depends on which one you're talking about."

"The one panning up your ribcage."

"Oh that one..well..it's a symbol of my mother..it was her favorite flower."

Her mood suddenly dulling at the thought of her deceased mother, Chanyeol noticed this, his immediate response being to comfort her, pulling her into his embrace. Pulling from him she silently thanked him.

"So what was your question for me?"

Retrieving her clothes from her locker, Chanyeol rested on the bench behind her.  Taking the spot next to him, she fiddled with her fingers in her lap.

"Well, can I just question why are you so protective of me?"

"Because I'm your designated bodygua-"

"Say something sarcastic and I'm not promising that I won't deck you in the throat."

His hand automatically covers his throat protecting himself from her, clearing it he spoke,

"Well if you want the truth..I'm so protective of you because you remind me so much of my ex-fiancée."

"You have a fiancée?"

"What part of ex didn't you understand?"

"Right..sorry."

A silence grew between them once more, yet the silence screamed what each of them wanted to say.  After growing tortured by the silence she spoke,

"Do you miss her?"  Her voice was scarcely a whisper.

He sighed saying three little words that pulled the strings to her heart.

"All the time."

She never knew that three words could cause her heart to ache, she had grown attached to him in not only a friendly way but more of a romantic. Though 3 months is a short period of time to actually love someone, he made her feel as if she had known him for years. So, hearing him say those words tore her up inside, the familiar feeling of heartbreak resurfacing.

"She was smart, beautiful, talented..she was just everything a man wanted in a woman..."

He paused taking a shaky breath, his head hanging low.

"Only if I knew that the last time I saw her was going to be my last...I think I would've held her tighter and not let go."

Raising her hand, she rubs small circles on his back.

"I could've prevented it...I could've protected her. If only if I wouldn't have gone on that stupid mission then maybe she'll be alive today."

"Alive?"

"Our house was broken into. They were looking for me but they found her instead."

Her heart dropped. She felt almost selfish for getting upset because of his past lover but learning that she had been killed when the intention was for Chanyeol... Her hand clasped around his, tilting his head she was met with glossy eyes searching for comfort in hers.

"I know what kind of pain you're feeling, trust me I know it all too well. But I have learned to not blame myself for their deaths..and you should too." Cupping his face she wiped his eye with the pad of her thumb, though no tear had slipped.

"You'll make it through this...I promise." She smiled. In an instant, she had him in her arms cooing him as she tried to take away any pain he was feeling at this moment. He was limp at first, but soon closing in the hug with a tight grip.

"Hey, Xena Junmyeon wants you in his office..."

The two slowly broke apart catching the eyes of Baekhyun who stood in the doorway.

"I can just tell him you're busy and just come back lat-"

"No. No, it's fine. Just tell him I'll be there after my shower."

With a nod, Baekhyun scurried out of the room showing that he had grown awkward from the scene he had just witnessed. The two laughed catching each other's eyes.

"Okay, I'm gonna go shower so while I do that you do what you do best."

Saluting her he gave her a smile as she walked into the showers, his regular feeling of loneliness returning causing his smile to quickly fade.

                                                           *

"There's a problem I'd like you to solve."

"What kind of problem?" Xena questioned, following behind him. With fresh smelling skin as well as a change of clothes, she felt a lot more positive as she did before.

Junmyeon walked towards the display screen, grazing his fingers across it as he pulled up a coordinate grid, pinching and zooming on a certain location.

"There's a party going on downtown later this evening, specifically a Masquerade Party. Nothing too dramatic, casual," He clicked on the location, a large building appearing before Xena's eyes.

"Sounds simple. Is this a one-man mission, or-" At that moment, she felt an annoying presence enter the room, her mind putting two and two together.

"Please don't tell me-"

"You wanted to see me Myeon?" Sehun cutting her off, eyeing her out the corner of his eye.

"Correct. You and Xena are going to complete a mission together. Tonight."

"Oh hell no." They both said in unison, groaning.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

#kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop fanficiton #kpop imagines #exo #exo k #exo m #exo l #Park Chanyeol #chanyeol #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol fanfic #itman #hitman scenario #EXO mafia

[kimjongdaely]

The Labyrinth [Chapter 4]

All members; EXO

Genre: Mystery, horror, choose your own adventure

Warnings: Violence, blood, language, character death

Summary: You are now on The Labyrinth. Are you ready to play?

Prologue (1) (2)│Overview│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4 │Chapter 5│Chapter 6│Epilogue│Bonus

You have decided Do Kyungsoo is not dead.

There’s a moment of silence as the two words leave your lip, everyone leaning in a little closer to catch a glimpse of Kyungsoo’s necklace, as if it wasn’t true unless they saw it with their own eyes.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins as your heart rate triples. You hastily yell on the top of your lungs, “Run!”

You jump up and grab onto Kam’s hand, running as fast as your legs could carry you to the other end of the ship, and you were vaguely aware that the others were following you.

When you finally felt like it was safe, you let go of Kam’s hand, panting hard.

“What…” Chanyeol tries to catch his breath. “What was that? Why did you run?”

“I-I’m sorry.” You apologize sheepishly. “I just got spooked out and felt like I had to get as far away as possible.”

“You think…” Minseok starts, staring at you. “That Kyungsoo is alive.”

You nod at this, your face looking dead serious.

“This is giving me chills.” Sehun shivers, wrapping his arms around himself. “Why would he fake his death like that?”

“I don’t know.” You shake your head, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. “But it doesn’t matter. We need to figure something out to keep us all safe.”

“Agreed.” Yixing nods, his face dark from the situation at hand.

“Okay, so if Kyungsoo is alive,” Baekhyun starts, trying to think. “Then he might target Chanyeol first. I think we need to protect him most.”

“Wait, why?” Jongdae asks, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “So Kyungsoo was the one who did all those things to Chanyeol?”

“We’re not sure.” You answer. “But Kyungsoo doesn’t like Chanyeol very much, so I agree we should protect him.”

“Kyungsoo wouldn’t actually…” Chanyeol gulps, all color draining from his face. “He wouldn’t actually want to kill me, would he?”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.” Kam says, her face solemn. “Someone needs to be with him at all times. It would be better if two people are with him.”

“I’ll be with him.” Baekhyun pipes up.

“I can stay with him too.” Junmyeon offers as well.

“Okay.” You breathe out, feeling the adrenaline start to fade. “Let’s all go to the waiting room and stay together.”

The others nod at this, heading towards the waiting room cautiously.

There’s not much to do. There's no signal in the middle of the ocean so it’s impossible to make any phone calls. There’s a thick silence hanging over the air as you sit with the others, not sure what to do.

You try to think of a plan, but it’s difficult with just ten people and one person trying to kill you.

Chanyeol is pacing the room nervously—and you can’t blame him since it’s very possible he might be the next victim. You bite your lip, just letting time tick by, hoping to get by the days one at a time until the ship takes you home.

Chanyeol suddenly stops, his nervous voice breaking the silence, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Are you serious?” Baekhyun asks in disbelief. “When there’s someone trying to kill you?”

“I’m nervous, okay?” Chanyeol argues, a pout on his lips. “I need to go.”

Baekhyun groans and rolls his eyes, but stands up nonetheless to go with Chanyeol as his bodyguard. Junmyeon follows as well, a small chuckle escaping his lips at their friendly quarrel.

For a moment, the mood seems to lighten a bit. The three of them leave the room to go to the bathroom.

“I need to go too.” Jongin then speaks up, standing up as well.

“But it’s dangerous to go alone.” Sehun says, but Jongin forces a smile at him.

“I’ll be okay.” Jongin seems uneasy at his own words though. “Besides, the others are in the bathroom too.”

Sehun hesitates before finally nodding and no one stops Jongin from following the others to the bathroom.

“So.” Jongdae speaks up after Jongin leaves, clearing his throat. “I wanted to ask this for a long time.” He bites his lip as he thinks of a way to start.

“Is this about The Labyrinth?” Minseok asks his brother who nods in response. Your eyes widen, all attention focused on the Kim brothers.

“All of you are survivors of The Labyrinth, aren’t you?” Jongdae asks, the others nodding their heads. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

“The culprit brought us together on purpose.” Sehun mutters, sinking his teeth into his lip so hard you’re scared he might bleed.

“I heard the game caused a lot of panic attacks.” Yixing mumbles quietly, which Minseok nods at.

“I saw the news.” Minseok says. “Almost all of the people who lost the game had to go to mental therapy.”

“We were lucky.” Sehun shivers at the memory. “We had it better than them.”

“It was really traumatic.” Yixing shakes his head, wishing he could erase the images. You agree wholeheartedly—playing that game was the worst decision you made. You still have nightmares about it even though it happened a year ago.

Just then, Baekhyun, Junmyeon and Jongin run back into the room, panting with pale faces.

“Where’s Chanyeol?” Kam asks, eyes wide with terror as she waits for their answer.

“He’s…he’s…” Baekhyun starts sobbing, Junmyeon patting his back to soothe him.

“We…” Junmyeon starts, choking. “We already took turns guarding the door and the stalls but…but he still…” He couldn’t continue, his voice breaking.

“I…I don’t know what happened.” Jongin admits, frozen rigid. “I just wanted to go to the bathroom. How…?”

“What exactly happened?” Minseok demands as he stands, pushing past the three to see for himself.

The others follow Minseok to the bathroom, pushing open the door and then gasping at the sight.

Chanyeol sits in his bathroom stall, a long cloth wrapped around his neck, seemingly what strangled him to death.

“Wait.” Yixing speaks up, the first to approach Chanyeol’s body. He sees a small piece of paper poke out from his clenched fist, and pries his fingers open to retrieve the paper.

Yixing face goes even paler if possible, giving the piece of paper to you first.

You look down onto the small paper, and read the scribbled words out loud. “Two have lost already. Win, or die.”

“Oh my gosh.” Jongin mumbles, stumbling backwards and almost tripping over himself. “We’re all going to die! We’re going to die.” He starts sobbing, along with Baekhyun who just lost his best friend.

“I…I don’t understand.” Junmyeon looks at Chanyeol sadly, his head shaking. “How? We were right here with him.”

“Kyungsoo isn’t dead.” Baekhyun repeats over and over again like a mantra. “He’s not dead and he killed Chanyeol!”

“Baekhyun, you need to calm down—” You start, but he’s practically pulling his hair out in panic. Before you could stop him, he bolts out of the room, everyone racing after him.

He runs back to his own room, closing the door shut. You bang on his door, trying to get him to come back out. “Baekhyun! Open the door, please. We need to stay together!”

“Together?” His muffled voice sounds, strained and broken. “We stayed together but Chanyeol still died!”

The lock clicks and he swings the door open, and then there’s something cold pressed against your forehead.

Your heart is beating so hard it bruises against your ribcage, your blood running cold as you are forced to step back slowly as he steps out.

He has a gun.

“B-Baekhyun,” Jongin cautiously asks, “Where did you get that?”

“It was in my room, hidden in the drawer.” Baekhyun answers without looking away, his eyes wild as he presses it firmly against your forehead.

“Baekhyun, stop.” Kam begs, afraid to agitate him. “Please don’t hurt anyone.”

“I’m not going to die.” Baekhyun hisses, pressing it harder against your head making you yelp in fear. “I’m not going to die—so that means all of you have to die! The culprit wants a winner and I’m going to win!”

His finger moves to the trigger, and you squeeze your eyes tight, ready for what’s to come. You hear Kam scream, begging for him to put down the gun. You mentally picture your friends and family back home, your life flashing before your eyes like a movie.

This is it.

This is the end.

You suck in your last breath.

And the loud bang echoes.

You wait for a moment, but feel no pain. There’s a loud thump, gasps from around you, and you finally open your eyes.

Baekhyun lies dead on the floor, crimson blood pooling around his head and staining the floorboards.

You breathe heavily as the adrenaline still hasn’t left your system from fear. You’re still trying to figure out what happened, but your eyes finally trail over to Minseok, who also has a gun in his hands.

“H-Hyung?” Jongdae whispers, taking a step back from his brother who looks frozen, like he can’t believe what he just did.

“I-I…I found this hidden in the ropes.” He points to a wound rope that is used for the lifeboats. He hastily drops the gun, letting it clang against the floor, his hands shaking. “I saw it and I thought I had to do something so I just—” He stops, swallowing hard. “I killed him.”

There’s a long silence as you stare at Baekhyun’s lifeless body, his blood continue to expand from around his head, his hair soaked red.

Finally, you manage, “Thank you.”

Minseok looks taken aback, but you turn to him properly this time and bow at him, repeating, “Thank you. Without you, I would’ve died.”

“I agree.” Sehun nods at this. “Baekhyun was beyond saving. He went mad.”

You nod sadly at this, your heart breaking as you take one last glance at Baekhyun.

“Guys!” Junmyeon yells for everyone’s attention, and everyone turns to look at him. He had taken several steps backwards, his hand shaking as he points at a note that was taped onto the mast.

Kam takes a step forward, but not too close to the note as she reads, “Three down. Who will win?”

“No, no, no.” Jongin shakes his head frantically, too overwhelmed by everything that had happened. Two people dying on the same day is too much.

“Wait,” Kam speaks up, “It says three people down. So does that mean Kyungsoo is dead after all?”

“Not if the culprit is Kyungsoo.” Sehun speaks up. “He’s trying to mislead us. Why else would he play dead? It’s so he can easily kill us off since we think he’s dead.”

“We need to go.” You say frantically, starting to turn away. “Let’s break into the steering room and contact another boat or something. We can’t wait anymore.”

“But no one knows how to do that!” Jongdae furrows his brows, but you shake your head.

“Then we’ll figure it out!” You yell as you start to run. “Come on!”

You run through the hallways of the boat, trying to get back to the front of the boat where the steering wheel is. The ship is very large, so it’ll take a while to get back to the front.

Just then, the lights in the hallways go out, leaving it pitch black. “What the—”

You suddenly hear Kam scream, before it’s muffled and fades away. You hear Jongdae call for Minseok and the others, before his voice fades as well.

“Guys?” You yell frantically, trying to feel around. “Where are you?”

“Run!” You hear Jongin’s voice holler. “Run!” He seems to go farther down the hallway, a door slamming shut.

“What?” You continue to feel around, searching for the others. “Where? Where did you go?”

Suddenly, you feel someone grab onto your wrist and you scream on the top of your lungs, trying to flail the person off and run, but then you hear him say, “Calm down! It’s me, Yixing. We’re separated from the others; we need to get the lights back on.”

You seem to calm down slightly, but not entirely as you’re not sure if you can trust him. “Okay, where’s the light switch?”

“I have no idea.” Yixing admits. “I’m pretty sure it’s one of these rooms though; I remember accidentally walking into it before.”

“Okay,” you start, sounding slightly unsure. “Then let’s go…”

This choice is tricky! Be careful of which one you choose because one option will lead you to a clue to who the culprit is!!!

Go Left or Right?

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[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ethereal - Chapter 5

Masterlist

‘Yixing! I’m home!’ I say as I walk into my apartment. I don’t even know if he’s home now. Ever since a few days ago he started to go out for walks on his own. He’s slowly starting to become part of this society. I think he might be looking for a job too. Fast, loud footsteps approach. Yixing is standing in front of me with fear in his eyes and blood on his white shirt. ‘You need to help me, right now,’ he begs in despair and pulls me along to the bathroom. In the tub is a man just as handsome as Yixing. He is obviously in a lot of pain and has wounds and bruises everywhere, but specifically a big wound on his side. ‘Shit, why didn’t you take him to the hospital?’ I ask Yixing as I grab the first aid kid under the sink. ‘I don’t know what that is or where that is,’ he says in panic. He is so nervous and stressed. He has never had to deal with this kind of situation. ‘Yixing! Sit down! You’re making me nervous!’ He sits down right where he stands with fear in his eyes. He looks just like the first time he broke something in my apartment. I think it was my alarm clock. Without paying any more attention to Yixing, I start working on the wound of the stranger. Shit, there’s blood everywhere. At least Yixing put him in the tub. ‘Hey, stay with me, what’s your name?’ I ask the man. ‘Kim Jongdae,’ he groans out. ‘Okay Jongdae, this is going to sting for a bit,’ I tell him as I show him the bottle with disinfecting alcohol. His eyes widen as if he already knows what is going to happen. When I pour it on his wound he lets out a scream that cuts right through your heart. ‘Now keep still, I need to patch it up,’ I tell him as I push his t-shirt up again to clear the wound. Jongdae is clenching his jaw while I work as quick as I can and soon he is fine. At least, better than before. I continue to work on the smaller wounds until he’s all good.

It took a while before Yixing was finally calm enough to tell me what had happened. Apparently he was walking around in the park when he saw someone getting beat up and he decided to help. Since Yixing is such a sweetheart, he stepped in and got Jongdae out of the fight. Sadly, Jongdae was doing really bad and Yixing got worried, so he took him home. Also, he was probably stressed out of his mind because of all the blood, which is why he wasn’t thinking straight. Jongdae is now sleeping on the couch while the both of us stand in the doorway to the bedroom. We’ve been watching over him for a few minutes, just standing next to each other. Unconsciously, I wrap my arms around Yixing. That has happened more the last few days. As I said before, he starts to feel more and more like home. ‘Are you ok now Yixing?’ I ask him. He nods, but still doesn’t say much. ‘We should go to bed.’ He nods again. ‘Yixing, please talk to me.’ ‘I’m sorry, I’m still a bit shocked,’ he says softly and wraps his arms around my shoulders. ‘I know him.’ ‘Is that why you brought him here?’ I ask. Once again, he nods. ‘I know him from when I still had wings. He had them too.’ It has been a few days since I started to doubt my sanity, because I am starting to believe Yixing. I am starting to believe he is an angel and not just someone with amnesia. And I think now is the time to finally say it.

‘I believe you,’ I tell him. His eyes twinkle and he plants a kiss on my forehead. It shocks me a bit, but it has been a long time coming. ‘I love you so much,’ he blurs out, but when I look up at him I can see that he doesn’t really understand the full extend of his words. I don’t really care though. He looks into my eyes and carefully lays his hands on my cheeks. ‘You don’t believe I love you?’ I feel tears sting in my eyes when he says what I’ve been thinking. ‘Yixing, you’ve been with me for a bit over two months and when I met you, you couldn’t even speak when I first saw you. I don’t think you understand what love is,’ I say, but I notice my hands are on his hips, trying to hold him close. ‘I know what being in love is,’ he says a bit offended, ‘being in love is seeing someone and knowing you want to stay with them forever. It’s knowing you want to give that someone the world. Knowing that you’d die for them. That you’d tear off your skin if they’d ask you to. Love is a feeling and we don’t need to understand feelings. We just follow and see where it leads us.’ ‘Those are some wise words Yixing,’ I say with a joking undertone. ‘You are scared,’ he says, ‘you are scared I’ll leave. You’re scared I’ll leave because I’m becoming more like a normal person.’ I feel my hands starting to shake and my knees get weak. Yes, I am scared he’ll leave. He has become my morning sun and my evening sunset. He is my day. My whole world revolves around keeping him safe and sound. So what happens to me when he leaves? What will be left? That is what scares me. ‘Let’s talk about this tomorrow,’ I say as I shake his hands off. I walk into the kitchen and call Baekhyun. “Why are you calling this late? I want to sleep,” he whines as soon as he picks up. ‘Can I stay over tonight? Please don’t ask any questions. I’ll explain in the morning.’ “I’ll be there in five.” ‘Thanks.’ Yixing walks into the kitchen with a worried look on his face. ‘You’re leaving us alone? I need you here,’ he begs. ‘I need some space Yixing. Jongdae will be fine. I’ll be back tomorrow,’ I say as I head for the door. He grabs my wrist and pulls me back, wrapping me into his strong arms. ‘Please don’t go,’ he begs. His voice is shaking. He is really scared. He has never seen me walk out like this. I always explain exactly what I am going to do and tell him when I’ll get back. With no information to hold onto, he is just a ship with broken sails in a storm. ‘If you’re starting to become so human,’ I say sarcastically as I pry myself loose, ‘you should be able to sleep alone one night.’

‘Rise and shine love,’ Baekhyun says as he pulls open the curtains in his room. I let out a whiny noise and turn around in the queensized bed. ‘Come on baby, we need to get you back home. Yixing is waiting for you.’ I push myself up slightly so that I can look up at him. ‘He told me he loves me,’ I say out nowhere. Baekhyun climbs back into the bed and wraps his arms around me to comfort me. He knows what a disaster my last relationship was. ‘Not all men are the same Jimin and I know for a fact that you love him too,’ he says. ‘I’m just so scared,’ I tell him. ‘I know you are, but you should give him a chance. He has been nothing but nice to you and I doubt he could hurt anyone.’ ‘Baekhyun, I’m scared because he’ll leave.’ Baekhyun seems plain confused. He questions how I could ever come to this conclusion. ‘Why would he leave you?’ he asks. ‘Because he is an angel. He’s down here as punishment. At one point he’ll be done with his sentence and he’ll be allowed up in heaven again,’ I say. ‘How do you even know that?’ Baekhyun asks in a very confused tone. ‘I overheard you guys talking before I found Yixing, but at the time I thought that you guys were talking about a game or something, but I finally put the dots together. I know you’re all angels.’ It seems to hurt Baekhyun that I know this. ‘So when are you leaving?’ ‘I’ve got six months left,’ he says with hurt in his eyes. ‘Dammit Baekhyun, and what were you going to tell me by the time you were allowed back?’ I ask him as tears spontaneously started rolling over my cheeks. ‘I was planning on making you forget so that you wouldn’t have to miss me,’ he says and pulls me closer, ‘but I have missed so much sleep just thinking about doing it.’ ‘And what about the others?’ I ask him as I dry my tears. ‘They are in a more difficult situation,’ he explains, ‘they are never ever allowed to go back up. Which is fine for a few years, but we’re already dead. Being on earth forever is not something we do for fun. We go down once or twice a year to have some fun, but we never stay long. It kills us.’ ‘So they’ll be here forever? What did they do?’ ‘There are angel wars. Terrible wars that never lead to anything and start for no other reason than boredom. One time you would fight with your friends and other you would fight against them. They were recruited in different armies, but when the battle started, it turned out that they were all the same army. Hundreds of angels killed their comrades and were send down here forever because they didn’t even think twice before killing their friends.’

Baekhyun’s POV

Luhan comes standing next to me as we watch Jimin walk home. She insisted on walking to clear her head. I get that. She has a lot to think about right now, but I fear she might lock herself in her room. That’ll be horrible for Yixing. He won’t know what to do and now that Jongdae is also here, things are getting a little worse for her. She has to take care of two angels with memory loss now. At least Jongdae knows that he has to dress himself, but there is a lot of stuff he doesn’t know. ‘So what will she do now?’ Luhan asks me. ‘I don’t know. Now that Jongdae is in her house too, we might have to reconsider asking her if she wants to live with us,’ I suggest. The both of us walk over to the couches and sit down with the rest of the group. ‘Don’t you guys think it’s strange that Junmyeon is still up there?’ kyungsoo questions. Sehun huffs at the question. ‘Do you really think he’ll do something to break the law just to get down here with us? This place is like hell but less hot,’ he snaps. ‘Can we just get back to Jimin’s situation?’ Luhan asks slightly annoyed. ‘I suggest we ask her to stay here or at least bring Jongdae here,’ Jongin says confidently. ‘I agree.’

#exo imagine #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #zhang yixing fanfic #yixing fanfic #yixing fanficiton #lay fanfic #lay fanfiction #baekhyun #chen #jongdae #chanyeol #pcy #kyungsoo #satansoo #luhan #xiumin #minseok #kris #tao #suho #junmyeon #sehun #kai #jongin #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop

[exodesmadres]

Lotto || EXO (2)

Pairing: Suho (Kim Junmyeon) x OC

Characters: EXO, OC, BTS, NCT, SHINee, & Cross Gene.

Genre & Warnings: Violence, Language, Gangs, possible Smut later.

$ t w o $

Yifan grinned a sly grin, leaning forward on his desk, propping his elbow atop it. His brown eyes darkened as he spoke in words that were meant to be playful and friendly banter otherwise, but his tone led on something else. "You little shit. If I had known this was you, I'd have called you up here sooner, so we could catch up on old times." As he spoke, Lu Han bowed respectfully and exited the room. But it was highly likely that he was standing at the other side of the door--listening to everything. Monitoring them.

Junmyeon flashed a guarded smile, but said nothing.

Last he saw Yifan was several years prior when he had sworn to destroy Junmyeon and his organization. The angered words of a man who hadn't been loved by the woman he wanted.

Both of them--formerly best friends--had fallen in love with Min Hani, the daughter of a wealthy politician in Seoul. It was difficult to imagine that such a person would fall into a crowd like the Korean and Chinese mobs, but Hani had actually been around them her whole life. Her father had been a corrupt politician who had secret dealings to protect the mob from the law. In return, they protected him and his family from everyone else.

Hani had fallen in love with Junmyeon from the start, and when the two got married, Yifan decided to leave the pack. He branched out, with six of the members which followed him out of loyalty, and they formed their own group called The Coven.

From what Junmyeon knew on the tabs he kept on his former best friend, Yifan was running the same drug business in China. His wealth had grown and even surpassed that of his Korean counterparts because of the size of the nation. Korea was merely a speck in comparison to China. But just as it had been for Junmyeon, starting out in China hadn't been easy. Junmyeon was amazed at what Yifan had achieved, and he might have congratulated him if he didn't know him well. Yifan was still hurt over losing Hani--as he saw it--and he thought that Junmyeon had taken her away from him.

"Junie, remember when we were two homeless kids and we lived at the underpass of the bridge?" Yifan once again called him by a different name, his words taking on a tone of reminiscence.

Junie and Fanfan had been their nicknames for each other when they were children. They grew out of them once they got older and chose new nicknamed--Suho and Kris.

Junmyeon felt a smile tugging at his lips. It didn't sound like the best of lives in the slightest, but as he thought back on it now...everything was so simple back then. It was just him and his bestfriend, the two homeless boys without a family who yearned to be rich someday and live in a nice house. They had everything they wanted now, but even as they continued to make more and more money, Junmyeon was never actually happy with all of it.

That was until Hani arrived.

"We used to climb up there and spit on the passing cars." Junmyeon said with a laugh, remembering two scrawny boys with tattered clothing making fun for themselves.

Yifan nodded, and then leaned back in his desk chair, gesturing to the room around him. "And look at us now. Self made men who achieved all their dreams. But out of another coincidence, you are now indebted to me." The entire back wall behind him were security televisions which kept surveillance of the casino. The five screens were dead focused on five specific people--Jongin, Sehun, Chanyeol, Kyungsoo, and Baekhyun--all who had been left behind on the way to that office. Yifan was more careful than Junmyeon thought.

With a sigh, Junmyeon made his offer, his tone serious. "I will not have the money immediately. But--"

"We're friends!" Yifan interrupted him with a laugh. "I'll make all of this easy for you."

"You will?" Junmyeon eyed him suspiciously.

Yifan nodded his head. There was a small hint of sadness in his eyes as he said, "Of course I will. I will never forget the one person who took me in when my parents abandoned me."

Junmyeon remembered that.

Yifan came from a middle class family in Guangzhou, during a time when the one-child policy was in place in China. They had found out that another baby was on the way, and they did not qualify for any of the exceptions to the rule. His family then planned a trip to Korea, during their vacation time. They were there for three days until his parents left without their eight year old son. He had been crying on the street when Junmyeon found him, and invited him to share his home. An old tent underneath a bridge.

He became Yifan's only family. When they acquired their fortune, Yifan had gotten a private investigator to find them--his parents. He personally went to see them. They had two more children, a boy and a girl. The law in China allowed a family to have a second child if the first was a girl. Yifan had eyed their family portraits with disdain.

He killed his parents in a rage the day that he found them--still resentful at the fact that they had abandoned him for their own selfish needs. He did nothing about his siblings, knowing that being born had not been their fault.

As Junmyeon was pulled out of his memories, he nodded gratefully towards Yifan. "Thank you. I really appreciate you doing this for me, even after everything that happened."

The leader of The Pack did not feel guilty that Hani had chosen him over Yifan. But he did deeply lament losing his friendship. Even before Hani had made it into his life, the only person who had ever been there for him was Yifan.

"I'll make you a deal." Yifan began to explain. "One game of poker against me. If you win, your debt will be cleared. But if you lose..." He trailed off, and Junmyeon knew there would be some kind of catch. Junmyeon never lost to Yifan at cards.

"If I lose, you can have my head." Junmyeon offered.

But Yifan gave a shake of his head. "That's no good. I want something even more valuable."

"What do you mean?" The pack leader narrowed his eyes at him.

"Why don't you bet me your wife?"

-

things are about to get intense in this story so please stay tuned for the next update. i might upload another one tonight. but if you all would like to read ahead, there are about sixty updates already posted on my wattpad account.

my username is desmadres.

anyway, thank you all loads for reading and supporting me and my stories. it means a lot. and thank you to my first two followers!

-clary

#exo #exo fanfic #exo fanficiton #sm town #sm entertainment #exoplanet #kim junmyeon #exo k #exo m #exo cbx #kim jongin #kim minseok #kim jongdae #oh sehun #byun baekhyun #park chanyeol #zhang yixing #lu han #wu yifan #kris wu #huang zitao #do kyungsoo

[yeoldontknow]

Cover Me

Author’s Note: happy birthday @yeolology <3 im just managing to sneak this one in for you <3 in your time zone, it is no longer you birthday but when you wake we will continue the celebration <3 welcome back to chanvember everyone!! enjoy more fluff that i am not used to writing! Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Summary: On your birthday, you search frantically for your boyfriend’s hoodie only to find it is no longer there. Genre: fluff; romance Rating: PG Warning: minor swearing Word Count: 1,841

Technically, the hoodie is his.

His money paid for it, his hands chose it, loved it, without you in mind - years before he met you, and still suiting his taste even after you decided you liked it, too. Technically, it was never something you could rightfully call yours. Even though you wore it, even though you kept it, even though you imagined it was his body and his skin that kept you warm, breathing the scent of his cologne deep into your lungs while you wrapped yourself in the soft fabric, it still belonged to him.

Technically, these are technicalities, semantics. In the end, they mean nothing when it comes to true ownership, true devotion to a thing. His hands offered it to you first, lips pulled into a smile every time he saw it hanging low on your thighs. Mutually, it was decided that you would keep it, appropriating it to meet your needs: a sweater, a pillow, a comfort blanket, a cloth for your tears of frustration. It became him, amorphous and black and, therefore, able to be whatever you decided it could be.

And now, when you needed it, him, most, it was not here.

It’s not that your birthday is bad - far from it, it’s just that, without Chanyeol to turn every moment into something exciting, the moments in your day simply become pleasant somethings. Generic, pleasing things that fade without truly leaving a mark or imprint upon your soul.

Hugs from your family, cards from friends, the notion that tonight you will be taken to dinner and allowed to order all your favourites, these feel warm and sweet, like honey, delicate and wonderful. But, without Chanyeol’s touch or gregarious laugh, they fade almost instantly into your long term memory.

Without Chanyeol, you imagine a future version of yourself will look back on this with a furrowed brow and your tongue tucked behind your teeth, concentrating almost too hard to bring the memory back to life. In the end, all you will be left with is a summation of happiness, nice thoughts and dull colours. The notion that, I cannot remember anything terrible, so therefore everything was fine.

In the morning, you’d woken to a series of texts each more enthusiastic than the last.

Yeollie[4:12 AM]: ITS YOUR BRITHDAY Yeollie[4:13 AM] - Message sent with Confetti: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yeollie[4:13 AM]: HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY Yeollie[4:15 AM]: i missed midnight Yeollie[4:15 AM]: im the worst boyfriend Yeollie[4:16 AM]: forgive me? Yeollie[4:17 AM]: i want you to wake up knowing i love you Yeollie[4:18 AM]: youre annoying but youre still perfect Yeollie[4:18 AM]: reading week was only last month but i already miss you Yeollie[4:19 AM]: i miss your knees and how they bump me in bed Yeollie[4:20 AM]: and how your showers take too long Yeollie[4:21 AM]: and how soft you are Yeollie[4:22 AM]: its your birthday and i love you Yeollie[4:23 AM]: ill call later today Yeollie[4:24 AM]: ill go back to sleep now Yeollie[4:25 AM]: MAYBE WE CAN MEET IN DREAMS!!!!!!

Waking to these felt like a paradox. At one moment, you wooned into your pillow, hands still stiff from sleep and unable to type a reply. Laughter spilled from your chest and into your pillow, eyes squeezed tightly shut as your smile started to border on painful. Every text was read in his voice, loud and demanding your full attention, rich and luxurious, and settling over your skin like feathers. Each word was chosen carefully for you, delivered with its full intent and said because they came naturally, because they were the only words he could fathom alongside you.

But hearing them in his voice meant accepting the cold understanding he was not there, imagination bringing forth the noise and the warmth of him against your skin. With your eyes closed, it was his voice in your ear as he spoke and his arm draped over your waist to hold you to his chest. You heard and felt these things with cruel tangibility while you basked the blackness of your mind, and opening them meant separating yourself from his adoring touch.

And so because your morning had started with him, because your birthday made little sense without him here to share it, you craved the fantasy of the hoodie, the easy way it made you believe he was near. Tearing through your room, it soon became apparent it was missing, neither in your closet nor in your laundry. And as you continued to search, you realized you hadn’t seen it in far too long.

With a final glance around your room, undesired clothing strewn across your bed and chair and floor, you sigh at the mess and pull out your phone, defeated.

Y/N[12:31 PM]: yeol wheres my hoodie? Y/N[12:31 PM]: :( :( :( Yeollie[12:36 PM]: which one? Y/N[12:37 PM]: the black one Yeollie[12:38 PM]: you have a lot of black ones tbf Y/N[12:39 PM]: you know which one i mean!!!! Yeollie[12:40 PM]: when was the last time you saw it Y/N[12:41 PM]: last time you were on break Yeollie[12:42 PM]: a month ago? Yeollie[12:42 PM]: how would i know where it is now?? Y/N[12:44 PM]: IDK! Y/N[12:45 PM]: maybe you took it Y/N[12:46 PM]: did you take it? Y/N[12:46 PM]: istg if you took it Yeollie[12:48 PM]: is it taking it if it was originally mine Y/N[12:48 PM]: chanyeol. Yeollie sent a Photo Y/N[12:49 PM]: CHANYEOL Yeollie[12:50 PM]: WHAT Y/N[12:51 PM]: T____________T Yeollie[12:52 PM]: it smelled like you! Y/N[12:52 PM]: THAT DOESNT MEANT YOU CAN TAKE IT Yeollie[12:52 PM]: ITS THE BEST PILLOW I OWN Y/N[12:53 PM]: YEAH BUT Y/N[12:53 PM]: LITERALLY Y/N[12:54 PM]: SAME Yeollie[12:55 PM]: it smells like your shampoo Yeollie[12:56 PM]: like youre with me just after a shower Y/N[12:57 PM]: ok but Y/N[12:57 PM]: now i have nothing to wear today Yeollie[12:58 PM]: you have…. Yeollie[12:58 PM]: clothes Y/N[12:59 PM]: omfg Y/N[12:59 PM]: im so mad Yeollie[1:01 PM]: don't be mad Yeollie[1:03 PM]: i love you so much Y/N[1:04 PM]: youre holding my soul hostage Yeollie[1:05 PM]: id rather hold your heart Y/N[1:05 PM]: FUCK RIGHT OFF LMAO Y/N[1:06 PM]: stop being cute Yeollie[1:07 PM]: no Yeollie[1:07 PM]: go outside Y/N[1:08 PM]: why Yeollie[1:09 PM]: just do it Y/N[1:09 PM]: what did you do

Excitement makes your fingers start to tremble; confusion molds your brow into something hard and quizzical. It takes a mighty effort, controlling your synapses and keeping your heartbeat steady. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t run through your mind a speed that takes a second to process their motions, body hesitant and apprehensive. Part of you feels as though you’ve swallowed your tongue, mouth suddenly dry and muscles turned to stone, wary of disappointment.

While it is not entirely out of the realm of possibility he would drive the many hours to see you, it’s also wholly like him to orchestrate something extravagant even when he is not here to experience it with you. And while you will be grateful for whatever lies in your driveway, the lack of his physical presence will hurt deep and down into the wetness of your blood. 

So you brace yourself, close your eyes and wait for the shallow inhales of your lungs to become deep and languid.

As if pressing you for action, your phone buzzes in your palm.

Yeollie[1:14 PM]: stop overthinking and go outside

A great tidal wave of emotion consumes you, tears welling in your eyes as you move through your house and out to your drive.

Of course he would. Of course he would.

He runs to you the moment you throw the door open, long limbs stumbling and struggling to carry his tall gait. Chanyeol is a large blur of white teeth and pink ears, hair tucked beneath a black snapback.

It happens quickly, the arms around your waist and the scent of him consuming you. Beneath your ear, his heart thunders, excited and fraught with emotion - much like yours. Around you he is firm, grip on you tight and breath cascading into your hair, warming you and soothing you, both acting as though the height difference does not exist.

‘Happy birthday,’ he murmurs as his fingers press into your back, steadying himself as much as you. ‘You really thought I’d miss this?’

The wetness on your cheeks is hot, tears gently seeping into your pores without your permission. This is not like you. You are not one for emotional displays, but the relief you feel reaches down to your toes. Bewildered, it takes you a moment to answer, mind caught in a fog of realizing that love and loving are two different things; that you love your family, but loving Chanyeol means days are only special because he is there to make them so.

‘How the hell would I have known?’ you laugh, pressing your nose into his sternum. Your skin recognizes the fabric and, on instinct, you cling to him a little tighter.

Chanyeol scoffs in mock offense. ‘Yee of little faith.’

‘You were here last month. It’s such a long drive.’ On instinct, you take a step back to pull away to peer up at him, wanting to search his face and find all the pieces of joy he keeps tucked into his cheek bones. But he holds you too him, unyielding and unwilling to let you depart from him so soon.

‘You’re more important than the gas,’ he reasons, softly.

‘The gas is expensive.’

‘And you aren’t,’ he teases quickly, and you can hear his smile. Against your best wishes, you smile with him.

‘Ass,’ you laugh. ‘When did you take that picture?’

He laughs, deep and rich, the sound vibrating down in your bones. ‘A few weeks ago. Waited for you to wonder where it went but you never asked.’

Comfortable silence settles between you, time slipping by in unmeasured moments. Chanyeol’s touch warms your skin, raises goosebumps of affect and only when he shivers slightly to realize the air has taken on a chill.

‘We should go inside,’ you sight.

Against the crown of your head, he nods.

‘I brought the hoodie home,’ he says, sounding content.

‘That’s okay,’ you whisper, raising onto your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. ‘You can keep it for now.’

At this, he pulls back to regard you with surprise.

‘For now,’ you smile, ‘I just want you.’

#chanyeol x reader #chanyeol fluff #kwriterskollection #kpoptrashtag #noonanet #chanyeol au #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol fanfiction #exo au #exo fluff #exo scenario #exo fanfic #exo fanficiton #park chanyeol

[coloredseouls-blog]

[ Retaliation ]

[ Retaliation ]

// Chanyeol Fanficiton Series //

© @coloredseouls - joint-collaboration

[ FOUR ]

Her body froze at the all so familiar words. The words repeated in her head like a rerun of an episode.

"Anthony Takahashi has been reported dead."

Death had struck again.

Her stare on Junmyeon was intense, hands hanging at her side.

"Xena?" Chanyeol called out towards her, his voice ever so soft, placing a reassuring hand softly on her shoulder, she ignored the feeling.

Despite the fact that the last family member she had, besides her brother, had been taken from the Earth, she didn't feel anything. All she felt was numb.

Death was never friendly.

For many years, it picked and chose the most valuable people in her life to snuff out, leaving Xena always on edge.

Death didn't care. It didn't distinguish, nor did it take a disguise. It came raw, leaving a trail of negative energy in its wake.

It had ripped away a part of her, the part of her that was most loved. Her ability to love. She couldn't love anyone even if she tried, death has completely torn that away from her. It was fear; fear that everyone she loved would be snatched from her, leaving her to restart the long, difficult and aching process.

But yet even though she couldn't muster up any emotions, she still found it hard to breathe. The room slowly spun as her fist loosened touching her forehead ever so slightly, her eyes squeezed shut trying to regain her balance.

"Here sit down." The hand on her shoulder applied slight pressure signaling her to take a seat, she refused. Shaking her head she shook the hand off her, turning towards the door.

"I need some air." she mumbled before exiting the room. Chanyeol started towards the door, but a grip on his arm stopped him, his head turned to see a permissive looking Junmyeon. Junmyeon shook his head,

"Don't. Let her breathe." He consoled. Chanyeol mulled over his idea, pulling his arm out of the male's grasp he jogged out the door and out into the hallway. He jogged down the long hallway, looking in every little space of an area trying to find her small petite figure.

The hallway was dimmed illuminating a faint blue, it was filled with nothing but training rooms, some revealing the other members practicing with their most prized possessions. He ignored them, continuing his jog down the way.

He soon came to the end of the hallway, bending down placing his hands on his knees, he focused on his breathing. His chest was tight, his lungs were desperate for air. It felt almost as if the deep breathes he was taking weren't helping at all, it just made his lungs scream for air even more. There was a soft and light sniffle in the distance causing his head to shoot up frantically looking for the owner of the noise. Straightening his posture he dusted himself off pulling the now semi-soaked dress shirt that was sticking to his body, fanning it softly to cool himself down. He walked ever so carefully to where he heard the noise, he built his hopes up on finding her.

Turning the corner he stopped, the corner was dark but there was still light shining from the nearby training room allowing him to make out her face. He sighed once he saw her, a sense of relief taking over him.

"God, there you are. I've been looking for you." She raises her head at the sound his voice, almost immediately rolling her eyes. He strode towards her taking big steps. She sat on the floor arms crossed and seemed very displeased by his presence. He stood for a while seeing if she would grant his request, but that never came, taking a seat anyway. Xena refused to look at him, her gaze was planted on the wall. They sat in silence. Neither one of them dared to speak, silence thick in the room until she broke it.

"You don't have to be here. I didn't ask you to be. This isn't a first that someone significant to me has died." Her words were cold. No hint of emotion once so ever in them, causing Chanyeol to inhale deeply. Straightening his back on the wall he looked towards her finding her already looking at him with empty eyes. The way her eyes looked triggered something in him that made him slightly uncomfortable at the unusual feeling. Clearly his throat, he tore his stare away from her, picking at his worn downed nails.

"Yeah well, I know you need someone to talk to right now. And I sure as hell wasn't leaving you in this state. So, here I am."

"I don't need anyone. It's always been myself. Me, myself, and I. And I'm damn sure not making a change for anyone right now." She stood, wiping her tears, her tone harsh. She took strides out the room, running smack in Junmyeon, bouncing back at the impact. She looked up at him, his facial features contorted.

"You've had a long day. Baekhyun will show you to your room." He spoke, beckoning him with his finger. He sent the two along their way, eyes meeting with Chanyeol with mixed emotions.

"Where do we go from here?" He asked his leader, glancing at the two figures in the distance.

"There's almost so much we can do. All we can do right now is hope that the recovery process is fast, although it never is."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Anthony didn't simply die. He was assassinated."

*

Xena couldn't sleep that night. Her mind was a void of empty space, yet a course of emotions pulsed through her veins.  

The countless times she had tried to fall asleep had left her in a cold sweat and she was pretty sure the sheets of her bed were drenched. Moonlight projected through her window, casting light upon her delicate features.

And as she rolled out of bed, she wavered in her steps, light-headed and tired. However, the adrenaline in her body pushed her to pull on some suitable clothes, heading towards the training room.

With the doors open, the room was dimly lit, some light bouncing off the weaponry hung on the walls. Her gaze was heavy, glancing at the weapons deposed at her choice. Her eyes, however, were drawn to the twin katana blades sitting in their sheath, pedestal presenting their glory.

As her fingertips grazed over the hilt of the sword, she felt a sudden wave of electricity, a new wave of energy temporarily filling the void in her heart and mind.

The training dummy before her became tattered and shreds, the slashes of her sword coming to her like second nature, inflicting wounds and cuts like the ones on her heart. Anger and rage set course through her body, the clattering of the swords on the cold tile floor sounded, mixed in with her breathing. She took one final look at her masterpiece, before ditching for the showers and her now cold bed, relief and sleep hitting her hard once she fell back between the sheets.

*

"Wow."

"Who would inflict such rage on this poor practice dummy? It looks like the work of a killer." Baekhyun stated, eyeing the piece of broken equipment.

"Its a practice dummy for a reason, Baek. Its supposed to end up like this." Jongdae stated, placing his hand on the male's shoulder.

"The real question is who would do this? It wasn't anyone of us." Xiumin questioned, pacing around the figure, eyes looking up to his leader when he came to stand before him.

"There's only one person I know of who can do this. And I damn certain her father just died." Chanyeol announced, looking between the group of people before him.

"Well, let's hope her skills out in the real world are just as disastrous," Junmyeon spoke, eyes the dummy once more before starting for his office.

"I want her to start training tomorrow."

#kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop fanficiton #kpop imagines #exo #exo k #exo m #exo l #Park Chanyeol #chanyeol #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol imagine #hitman #hitman scenario #EXO Mafia

[yeoldontknow]

As Still As Sound: 1

Author’s Note: my god. i have missed this world. welcome friends <3 please keep in mind the soundtrack for this story is vital to the progression and narrative! Songs for this chapter: Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon - Neil Diamond / Here Comes The Rain Again - Eurythmics Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: Soulmate!AU; fluff Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 5,168

Prologue

Wherever you are, the thunder sounds different here, rhythmic and insistent. It means to pull you, drag you away from this place, as if the sound itself is angry and important. As if the sound has hands. The rain feels the same, and it’s this sensation you cling to, the knowledge that this nether space still has rules or laws. Fingers are laced tightly between yours, skin and bone attempting to merge right down the to the marrow. The fear of separation lingers in your joints, making them start to ache and throb with the stress of departure. This fear is the kind that strikes a chill in your heart, makes you jut forward both here and against your mattress, though you don’t know why - it’s something akin to free-falling, except more violent, more desperate and urgent.

You are afraid of separation and so is he - he, the formless, blurred shape that exists solely for you, hand clasped firmly in yours. He is not matter and he is not ether, he simply is, and you know he has been made for you. This hazy outline, this tall thing, this loving thing, is beautiful in all the ways you could idealize. Hard to fathom since there is nothing to see, but you feel it. You feel it all over you, the warmth, the comfort, the strength. You feel him, his pulse thrumming through his palm, his soft skin, his breath as he exhales into your hair. Like this, you remain together, him clinging to you and you clinging to his essence. Like this, you let yourself swoon and surrender to the terror of it all.

You are afraid, both of you anxious and consumed with a sense of dread knowing this will soon be over, but the music keeps you calm. The thunder is the pulsing beep meaning to take you away, but the music. The music. The music feels like yours, feels like your heartbeat, even though it has words.

It’s okay, his voice says, voice deep and low and transcendent. Heartbeats always have words, this is how you hear them. We have to be together to hear it.

This makes sense and you accept it, because here it is easy to accept the impossible. Of course the heart has thoughts and opinions. Of course this music sounds like yours, because it is.

No, he says, but you swore you were correcting yourself. Your mouth made the words but a different voice - his voice - is the sound that carries.

Ours.

You feel your alarm before you hear it, the vibration beneath your pillow dragging you reluctantly from sleep. Your senses have departed from you, gone off to wander in spaces your body is not permitted, and it takes you a long while to gather them back - to want to bring them back. Like this, hollowed and withering, you remain perfectly still as you stare at your ceiling, waiting for the sight of your bedroom to become a comfort.

Everything here, in the safety and familiarity of your room, feels wrong, feels off, like it is not where you are meant to be. Or, rather, not where you want to be, anymore. In the center of your chest, there is a longing, a feeling you would define as nostalgia, tearing your bones apart and making a home of you, nestling inside and turning you into something absent. This feeling is heavy, a sensation similar to mourning - mind agonizing over not the day ahead, but the days you have left behind, and you suddenly feel as though you, your consciousness, have gone missing. You’re pressed into your bed by the weight of it, trapped in the space between wakefulness and sleep, and you think moving your limbs, moving any piece of you at all, would truly break your heart.

Remaining still means you can bring the dream back to life, live in the illusion of it for longer than you were meant to be allowed, and perhaps could find your way back. With every rattled inhale, the dream fades, slipping idly between your fingers like spools of string, and you will your breath to slow despite the speed of your racing pulse.

One single thought erupts in the center of your mind: a hand should be holding yours, the first hand you’ve ever wanted to clutch. You can still feel the strength of it, the rush of blood beneath the skin, the tightness around your fingers, unwilling to let go and begging not to say goodbye. Had you ever touched before this moment? Had your skin ever felt before he placed his hand in yours? Had you ever truly wanted to?

Profound, is how this feels; foreign, is what you think of it, the need for this connection invading you. This is not like you. The capacity to feel this way, or this much, has never been part of your genetic code. And yet, you find yourself struggling not to cry. Something terribly important to you, something you recognize as a part of you, has been lost after it has only just been found, and, so early in the morning, you do not have it in you to reconcile this grief.

All of you wants to give it a name - you think that naming something gives it magic, makes it eternal and makes it immortal, and if you can name it then you can birth it into your reality. You tell yourself to name it, but nothing comes, not even words. In these first few minutes of your day, all your mind can bring forward is a melody.

And just as easily as you lived in it, let yourself wallow in the great sea of this turmoil, your focus on the melody makes you go without. Against and around your body, it dissipates, returning to you the lightness of being, of living without the unbearable weight of yearning. Only now, when your lungs and heart are not flooded with sorrow do you realize your alarm is still ringing.

Turning on your side and curling into a ball, you reach beneath your pillow for your phone to silence the sound. Without the clock to wake you, the screen brings forward the last song you listened to, the song that lulled you to sleep the dark hours of the night. For several minutes, you remain like this, repeatedly illuminating the screen just to see the album art.

Two days, two whole days, you have felt this way. Bewilderingly endeared to a song and unable to crave the sound of anything else. Staring at your phone, you touch your fingers to the screen and imagine you are touching the music itself. Doing this makes you feel like you are slipping, makes you feel like you’re falling back in time, but only for a moment. It’s not even the album that makes you feel connected, simply a song, one song, the song you heard at the shop. Something about this track makes you feel possessive, makes you feel gluttonous, and you know it was this melody you heard in your dream, the soothing music that sounded like your heartbeat.

In this position you remain until you absolutely can no longer, until the last moment, making yourself late and forcing you to rush through your routine. You think it's two fold, the reason for the speed of your movements: the first, is the begrudging acknowledgement that your day must start, that your shift is looming upon you and you are forced to greet this responsibility with aplomb. The second, and you think this is possibly the primary reason you rush at all, is because every action you make brings you closer to the sound. Brings you nearer to the moment when you can play the song that has possessed you, in peace and on repeat until you must go without once more.

It’s fifteen minutes later than usual when you finally step out your door, fingers fondling your headphones and feet hurrying into the dim hallway. You're halted in your tracks when you see your old neighbor, Mr. Kim, struggling up the stairs with several bags of groceries.

‘Mr. Kim!’ you exclaim, rushing forward to guide him up the last few steps. ‘Let me help you with those.’

Sliding his bags over your wrist and forearm, you grip his hand to steady him, and relish the feeling of his cool skin against your flushed palm. The weight tugs at you, makes you plant your feet into the rickety wooden steps, and you wonder briefly how he’s made this trip without any help.

Weakly, he attempts to wave you away with his hand, almost immediately letting it fall to grip the railing. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he says with a tut of his tongue. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s just these damn old knees.’

To emphasize his point, he shakes his legs slightly and moans with melodramatic flair, the sound echoing off the walls of the small hall. He flashes you a beaming smile, blinding you with tender warmth, and making wrinkles form at the corners of his eyes. It’s hard not to feel so endeared to him when he’s like this, playful and feeling well, clinging to the shades of his youthful glory, and you find yourself starting to laugh.

‘It’s not a problem,’ you chuckle, holding his hand a little tighter.

When you reach the landing, he huffs, stretching as if meaning to crack his back and his joints. Straightening, he glances to you, already waiting patiently for him at his door, and cocks an eyebrow with a compassionate scowl.

‘Aren’t you late for work?’ he asks slowly, eyeing you conspicuously.

Gently you nod, fixing pleasant smile on your features and purposely giving pretense of being unaware of his concern. ‘This is more important,’ you say, brightly.

Keeping his eye on you as he heads to his door, he digs his into his pockets for his keys.

‘You dote on me too much,’ he sighs, though it is a half-hearted complaint, the words losing their meaning thanks to his slight grin.

‘On the contrary,’ you contend, shifting your weight happily on your feet. ‘I don’t dote on you enough.’

His small chuckle at this statement is quickly diminished as he tries, unsuccessfully, to unlock his door. There is a tremor in his hands, worse now, you assume, because of his exhaustion from walking to the shops and back, which makes him unable to angle the key properly into the lock. For a few moments, you let him try to stabilize, knowing that feeling independent and useful is fundamental to his lifestyle, but, after a while, you can see the stress of the last several minutes starting to wear thin on his person. Lines form around his mouth, those of a frown and those of personal disappointment, and your stomach drops at the sight.

‘I’ve got it,’ you murmur, gently placing your hand over his and smiling up at him.

He does not look at you, rather just frowns sadly at the lock. ‘These damn things are so hard to see,’ he sighs, pushing through his door once you get it open. In truth, both of you know this isn't the reason for his struggle, but, just for now, you let it be so. ‘I’d be lost without you.’

A fond smile spreads itself across your lips as he takes the bags from you and you watch him move through his flat. His hunched shoulders as he is brought down by the weight, his slow, yet steady, steps as he moves through into his kitchen, all of these things make you want to reach out and hold him to you, to let him know he is not truly alone. Perhaps, you think, your favourite part of him are his hands, weathered, old, and filled with so many stories. They tremble now, slightly more so than they used to, but the liver marks and the worn skin tell stories of love, of youthful recklessness, and kindness. Always, when he tells you things about his life as a boy and a young man, he holds your hand, clinging to you as if his words are meant to live through you. Always, you hold onto him just as tightly, almost afraid to let him go.

Gracelessly, he drops the bags to his counter and chuckles at the way his bananas tumble from the bag. An odd, albeit happy, reaction to such a small event.

‘I think the same would be said for me,’ you mutter softly, unsure if he could hear you at all.

You mean every word of the statement, the reality that you view him more as a grandfather and less as a neighbor always seeming to wash over you when you see him. When you first moved to the city for uni, you had no one to truly help you settle. Kate, close as she was, was still a train journey away, and, with her student budget, was never truly able to afford to visit as often as she would have liked - not until she moved into the city herself. Your family, off in Kettering, were unable to offer any form of assistance, the distance and the time putting a strain on their ability to provide aid. When you think back on your first days alone in the city, the predilection of that time comes from the memories of days with Mr. Kim, his tattered couch, and his strong builder’s tea.

From your position in the doorway, you can see into his flat and into the living room. Pictures line the walls, many in black and white, others in bright technicolour. Like usual, you are drawn to his wedding photo, a faded image framed and hanging over his record player. Striking, as always, how beautiful he and his wife looked, turning the image into something closer to a glamour shot than a wedding photo. Striking, as always, how blissfully, incandescently happy they were.

In stark contrast, below the image is a record player atop a cabinet filled, messily, with records. Collection too large for such a small thing, they spill out into several crates surrounding the wood, some even nestled in the space between his end tables and his couch. Trinkets, small things his son and grandchildren send him from abroad, are scattered around the room - treasured by him, though many existing entirely without use or purpose.

Turning back to him, your eyes catch the time on the microwave.

Late. You are terribly late, but there’s a slight tug at your heart at the idea of leaving him, especially when he’s just started to unpack the bourbon cremes.

With a sigh, you look down at your feet and pout. ‘I want to stay and help but -’

‘Go, go,’ he cuts you off, not bothering to turn and look at you, still puttering with his items. ‘This is the easy part.’

You allow yourself to rush, then, tearing down the stairs with a shout that you will see him later. Scolding yourself for staying so late you have to run, taking the underground steps in leaps and swiping your oyster with impatient force. A train is already waiting at the platform, doors open and beeping that they will soon close, and you run through with a wheeze just as they shut behind you with a click.

All eyes are on you, commuters watching the cacophony of you with distaste and regarding you as an impolite disturbance on such a quiet ride. With a blush, you find a seat towards the middle of the car and relax, eager to disappear from this moment and into the song you’ve been anxiously waiting to hear. Closing your eyes and resting your head back against the carriage wall, you put your headphones on and sigh. In this false darkness, you let the first notes of music carry you, let them allay your heartbeat with ease.

The goosebumps happen all at once and almost instantly, raising along your flesh as though you are passing through a chill in the air and sending a shiver down your spine. They walk along you, the sound of the arrangement and the instruments, traversing the totality of you as if you are territory made for charting. Giving yourself over to this feeling, willingly and completely, makes a small smile spread across your face with contented joy. Arresting, you think, the flood of emotion that comes with truly, really letting yourself go. Arresting, you think, the liberation that comes with letting your soul wander through sound.

But then, it happens. You cannot call it a slip, because you can feel you are still on the tube, in the seat, and breathing in compressed, recycled air. You cannot call it a pull, because you are not being lead anywhere, rather something is being brought to you, something important, something that makes you feel vulnerable. Furrowing your brow, you try to make sense of it, this intrusion. It’s not that you don’t want it, it’s simply that you did not invite it and cannot fathom why now, after days of listening to this song, it means to take a hold of you.

And then, all at once, you hear it: breathing.

It is not your own breath, yours a shallow symphony of confusion and this a languid drawl of passionate nonchalance. In your headphones you hear it, a small hum, the low, baritone rumble of male intonation. The sound is deep, soft enough to simply be a vibration in your ears, and your eyes open, wide and panicked and searching the carriage for answers.

This, you know, is wrong. Every single moment this continues is wrong and impossible. No one is leaning into your shoulder to share your music, no one is even really looking at you, your interruption from before either entirely forgotten or ignored. Yet, still, you hear it, living inside your headphones as though it was made to be there, as if it always had been there and all you needed to do was listen.

Your fingers move to change the track, but something stops you. All of you wants to keep listening, feels like you need to keep going, like changing the track would sever something inside you and your soul would take to bleeding internally. Instead, you simply listen, listen to the way the breath and the voice glide along each note as though they are making love, as though they are living every possible, glorious aspect of life through the sound of music itself.

Swollen, is the feeling that erupts in your chest. Found, is the feeling that blossoms in your heart. You know this sound, you know this breath. It’s the one you heard in your dream, the one you felt in your hair as it spilled down and over your shoulders, onto your skin, and into your bones. Your heart skips a beat, takes to racing in this mystifying elation, and it takes you several seconds to find your voice, the cadence of it having wandered off to join the body of the man in your ears.

Heat spreads across your face, cheeks and lips blushing in excitement and bashful glee while your tongue suddenly goes dry. Nothing, you think, has ever sounded quite as glorious as the cascading breath of this imaginary person. Nothing, you think, ever will.

And then, just as quickly as it started, it’s over. There is no warm breath in your ears, no low voice, just another track on the album and the groan of the tube as it grinds to a painfully slow halt. Without the comfort of the hum, you find surrendering to any magic impossible and unbearable, and you don’t know why you would have ever felt this way at all. Cruel, you think this is, cruel and needlessly unkind of yourself, to trick your mind into bringing something so important to life when you cannot truly have it. Cruel, you think, to return you to your true nature after giving you a glimpse of a softer you, a kinder you, without ever giving you a chance to truly bloom.

Holding your phone in your hand, you study the album for a long while, regard it coolly and find you see it now as something offensive. This small, inanimate thing tricked you, tricked you into a feeling of comfort and joy, and now, you think, you want nothing to do with it. You find it offensive. You find it repugnant. Whatever connection you had with this album is gone, now, departed from you and off to find another lonely hand to hold. Or, perhaps, this connection still lingers inside you as a raw, flayed thing, skinned and severed and aching to be brought back to fruition by a dream.

You find you cannot bring yourself to listen to it, not anymore. Not after it hurt you so viscerally.

You scroll through your music.

You listen to something entirely different.

Three days later and still you cannot stop thinking about the breathing in your headphones. In truth, you would not call this a haunting, rather it simply feels like a piece of you, something you did not know you had wanted, has abandoned you once more. Now, mostly, you just want to know why.

It has not happened again, not even with all your focus, and you find comfort in the thought that this was likely just a fluke. In the days prior, you had dreamed, rather intensely, of too many things. A song. A blurred husk of a man you will likely never meet. You dreamed rather intensely and yet, there are reasons for all of these things, reasons for why you dreamed at all.

The song, you know, played in your mind because you had briefly been obsessed with it. Had you tried to count the number of times you listened to it, you would be embarrassed and sheepish, regarding the amount with downcast eyes, and now you are glad to say you've moved on. Today, it is easy to move through other albums and artists, without feeling the need to return to it all.

The man, you assume, is because Kate bonding with her soulmate has resulted in a paramount shift in your life. Nothing, you know, will likely ever be or feel the same, and navigating through this shift has been a daunting undertaking, regardless of how thrilled you are on her behalf. You would not say that you are envious of her bond, merely wish that, if you have a soulmate at all, it would just happen. The waiting is what makes you bitter, not because you are eager but because it gives you time to apply logic and memory to a thing that circumvents both, exists beyond both, and you resent it. If it would just happen, then it would be over, and you would find relief from all this thinking.

There are answers for everything, about the dream and the hum and the song, and you find that, having these answers firmly rooted in your mind, makes it easier to let the event go.

Three days later and you don't really miss any of these things at all.

Today the early morning sun has been replaced with clouds, thick, bulbous things that mean to spill their deluge over the city. Sitting on a bench in Camden, just beyond the market, you recline against the old wood and smile up at the sky. Around you, couples and people race into The Diner or into small shops to avoid the oncoming torrent of rain. You don't move, though. You've always loved the rain, thought of it as something holy.

When the first drops of water hit your nose, you giggle, readying yourself to be drenched - with everything. This rain feels important, you don't know why you think that, but you do. Something about this storm means to overtake, change, and cleanse, and you want to be the first victim of its onslaught.

When the first drops of water hit your nose, the song changes, and, with your eyes closed, you bark out a laugh. Fitting, you think, this song so terribly suited to this event. You sigh. You turn the volume up.

And, just as before, the world around you begins to change.

Suddenly, it’s very important you consider all the bodies that have sat on this bench before you. Bodies in time and bodies in space, and you wonder seriously about their lives. Were they happy? Were they content with the chaos of their brief, small existence? Were they ever, truly, able to say they were pleased with the outcome of their life? Heavy questions, meaningful questions. They slither through your mind, too fast for you to truly hold them, but they feel nice, you think. Considering them feels almost sweet, almost familiar.

Hands were held here, on this bench. Hands and fingers entwined, many in the euphoric discovery of love, and others in the trembling clutch of farewell. Love and life have lived and died here, and you suddenly start to view this bench as a totem. This, you think, is the most important thing your hands have ever touched.

And then, just as before, just as quietly and just as naturally, the breathing returns.

Panic floods your senses at the sound, makes your blood heat and start to boil, flushing your chest and your cheeks as you try desperately to cling to this moment. Sitting upright, you try to hold onto this feeling, to focus all your attention on it so that it does not slip between your open palms. Unlike before, your voice has not left you, rooted now to your heart and your body. Unlike before, you have the power to speak.

‘Hello?’ you snap, staring straight ahead and into the crowded street.

No one bothers to look at you, assuming you are simply taking a call and there is no reason for them to care. You want to scream at them, shout at them, tell them that something beautiful and something horrible is about to happen, or is happening, and you are furious no one wants to notice.

This, you think, is the great wave of change brought on by the rain and by your heart. Skin suddenly damp and moist, you find you are trembling, though you are unsure if it is because you are wet or if it is because you were grossly, childishly, unprepared for something this grandiose.

‘Hello?’

The voice resonates through your headphones, deep and low, the image of chocolate suddenly igniting in your vision, and you find you are overcome.

You know this voice. You love, and have loved, this voice. You think you’ve loved this voice into the very depths of your being without ever knowing its cadence. This voice possess and captivates you, takes control of your body, your ribs, your veins, and makes you feel as though you capsizing. You are capsizing beneath the strength and the ardor of it, and, for this, you are glad. You are glad and you will never have your fill of it.

Tears pool in your eyes, even though you are smiling. They burn as they spill out and over, staining your cheeks with their warmth in contrast with the coolness of the rain. All along your skin there are sparks, sharp tingles that feel like static, body and soul becoming an electric, volatile thing, and you think your flesh has never looked as good as it does now, now when it finally feels alive. Blood rushes into your lips, breath tumbling between your open mouth in a shallow rhythm. Red, you think, the colour and shade of this moment is red.

Three days later and you find you missed this, craved this sound with the entirety of your being, and, somehow, you have convinced yourself you did not; somehow, you convinced yourself you were okay. Three days later, and finally it feels like you've come back. You've come back to him.

‘Who is this?’ you whisper, and you know that, whatever or whomever this is, he has a name. For you to even know it is a gendered body you are hearing surprises you, but this, he, feels like yours. This person feels like an extension of you and, therefore, it is difficult to think of it, of him, as anything less.

‘What the fuck?’ he mutters, frustrated over the clatter of objects you cannot place. ‘Is the tape broken?’

Alarmed. Bewildered. Confused. Frightened. He is all of these things, muttering and cursing to himself, and so blissfully human and so blissfully alive that your laugh at the mess of it all is mixed with a choked sob.

You're laughing. You are laughing. You do not think you can stop. You do not want to.

‘Listen to me,’ you say, giggling and shaking through your tears. ‘Who is this?’

There is a long pause, one that is neither tense nor comfortable, one that simply is, and you smile the whole way through it.

‘God?’ he tentatively asks, but you can hear the grin in his voice.

For some reason, you cannot stop giggling, and his proclamation that you could be a deity starts your laughter all over again. ‘You're God?’

‘No,’ he snorts, and he seems just as shocked as you to be comfortable with this development. ‘Are you God?’

‘No,’ you say with a breathy sigh. ‘I am not God.’

Both of you fall silent for a long while, perhaps both just smiling and existing contentedly with one another as the song plays distantly in your mind. It’s going, playing along and waiting for you to listen to it, but you don’t care, not really, not anymore. The music is meaningless, even though moments before it was so important to your enjoyment of the rain. It’s white noise, at this point, there but not really necessary. There, but fractious in its efforts to command your attention. You find you want no part of it, desiring only the sound of his breath over the din.

Eventually, finally, he speaks

‘I'm Chanyeol.’

Relief floods you, the sound of the syllables something wholly cosmic, wholly magical. This is what you had been seeking, the tangibility and power of a name, the identity of something yours.

You make to give the same power back to him, open your lips to tell him your name, the words trying to rush off your tongue at a breakneck speed, but, before you can even form them, before you can lick them from your mouth and put them in his, he is gone.

The song has changed. He is no longer there, yours but missing. Lost, yet again, and this time worse. This time, you have been halved, severed and skinned, and feeling the tragedy overtakes you.

Now, there is nothing.

Now, all you have is a small, fragile name.

Chanyeol.

#chanyeol x reader #kpoptrashtag #kwriterskollection #noonanet #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol fanfiction #exo fanficiton #exo soulmate au #exo fanfiction #chanyeol fanfic #exo fluff #exo scenarios #chanyeol scenario #park chanyeol #chanyeol au #exo au

[coloredseouls-blog]

[ Retaliation ]

[ Retaliation ]

// Chanyeol Fanficiton Series //

© @coloredseouls - joint-collaboration

[ THREE ]

  Xena woke up from her nap on the couch slowly as her eyes opened and adjusted to the bright light invading her vision. Things had been calm and mellow the entire week that Xena and Chanyeol had been residing inside the old home. Thankfully, no one had come knocking on the door or sending any mail, resulting in her anxiety levels to creep down quite a bit ever since the day the two of them had exchanged names and fates. He seemed to wind down quite a bit as well, but that still didn't stop the mafia member from taking many precautions and being very careful with what they did.

One thing that was hard to understand was the fact that she wasn't allowed any contact with her father. Yes, the two barely had a relationship, he never showed any affection for her or even love, but she still wanted to check up on him. Chanyeol did, however, ease away her suspicions when he told her that the other gang would 100% be keeping tabs on the cell lines and they would know their location right away if she tried to give her father a call.

After drinking some water and successfully shaking the familiar feeling of grogginess off, Chanyeol informed Xena that they were moving to their final destination. And as she slid into the passenger seat once more, she couldn't help but notice the feeling of eerieness taking over her senses, even as Chanyeol proceeded to pull out of the parking lot and make his way down the highway. The faint sound of music and the truck engine became predominant in her ears, lulling her to sleep. It wasn't until she took notice of the speed increase in the vehicle and the facial expression of Chanyeol become hardened and serious as he began checking his mirrors.

"Shit." Chanyeol muttered, his hand opening and reaching into the glove department, pulling out a gun.

"What are you going to do with that?" Xena questioned, her eyebrow raised. A sigh left Chanyeol before he spoke once more.

"I need you to shoot because clearly, I can't drive and shoot at the same time."

"Um. No thanks. I'm not trying to catch a murder case."

"It wasn't a question. It's either you do it or we die." Chanyeol announced, neglecting his turn signal as he swerved in between lanes, reducing his speed in sight of a patrol car.

"We? Since when was there a we? As far as I'm concerned, we're still on first bases."

"Just do it. Please. I said please." He threw the gun into her lap, the heaviness evident on her legs.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the gun with shaky hands, the feeling terrifying yet almost familiar. Time seemed to still as she rolled down the window, head coming out the window as she took aim. The sound of the bullet leaving the gun and her body jerking in reaction brought her back to modern time as she watched the bullet puncture the tire. The car swerved, heading straight for the guard-rail before making contact and going over the edge. She slid back into her seat and rolled the window up, the breeze cutting off. Her heartbeat rapid as she sat the gun down in her lap, the guilt setting in and weighing heavy.

"I'm impressed." Chanyeol spoke, nodding his head as he checked his mirrors once again, his speed reducing tremendously.

She glared at him, her eyes rolling into the back of her head before she spoke.

"Thanks, I guess."

"So you're really related to Alexandra."

Silence admiting the car, thoughts buzzing in her mind as she looked at the man next to her. "You knew my mother?"

"Well, I didn't exactly know her. I knew of her. On the other hand, are you alright?"

"Oh yeah, definitely! I couldn't be any better."

"You know, the sarcasm is unnecessary." He chuckled, taking the exit off the road.

"Just like me shooting and practically killing that guy, but you know, its whatever."

"I can assure you he's alive."

"You don't know that!" Her voice became loud before she slumped down into her seat, arms folded over her chest.

The car went silent as she leaned her head against the window, her mind replaying the scene that had just played before her.

"Everything will be alright, Princess."

However, she was pulled out of it when she felt a large hand on her knee, her body going rigid as she looked at Chanyeol.

''I promise."

They pulled into an underground parking garage, their surroundings going immediately dark. He looped around and pulled into a space nearing some expensive-looking vehicles. Hopping out, he strides over to the passenger side, adjusting his black dress shirt unbuttoning the first two buttons. Xena stays in her seat waiting to see what his next move would be, her door swings open revealing the tall man she was currently accompanying.

"Come on, Princess. We have people that we need to see."

"Again with this we word. This we was never discussed."

"You know I don't have to be nice to you, right?"

"Touché. "

As she proceeded to step out the vehicle, she took in her surroundings. The garage was dark, the only source of light being the minimal pole lights marking each section. Yet, despite it being a parking garage, there was not a large number of cars. For the most part, the truck and a few other vehicles occupied the space.

Chanyeol was quick to drag her towards the elevator, pressing the X button before the elevator closed and moved downwards.

"Is this some sort of secret base?"

"Precisely Princess." He nodded to her, watching through the window as it transformed from the busy streets to the bright lights of a space. The elevator came to a soft, jerking stop and dinged, Chanyeol's hand clasped in hers. He pulled her out, a gasp leaving her lips as she took notice of the busy atmosphere.

"Welcome to EXO's home-base." He announced proudly, his hands now resting on his hips. She looked around, catching the eye of a familiar face.

"Xena!" Baekhyun shouted, jogging over to the pair. He embraced her in a hug, pulling her back at arm's distance to take a good look at her.

"Not too bad in attire. How was the ride?" Xena immediately looked from him to Chanyeol, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders.

"I'd rather not talk about it." She mumbled, head tilted with hair dangling in front of her face.

"Let's just say she's definitely related to the boss." Chanyeol patted her on her shoulder. Moving his enlarged hand to the center her back, he guided her around.

They soon came to a set of large doors, the symbol of a dragon displayed across both of them. Placing his hand on the scanner, the doors were automatically pulled open, a whirl of fresh and cool air rushing past and against their face. From afar, she noticed the two men going at each other, one obviously dominating the other. They walked towards them, coming to a stop when one of them was flipped over the other's shoulder, pinning him to the floor as he repeatedly tapped at it. The man on the floor made eye contact with her, smirking and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Whose the lovely darling we have here?" His eyebrow arched and Xena found the sudden urge to kick him in the throat.

"Kai, this is Xena. Xena, the guy on the floor is Kai and the guy above him is Xiumin, whom you met earlier."

"Oh, so she's-"

"Alexandra's daughter."

"Wow, you all must have known her well, considering I've heard about her a couple of times today."

"Does she live up to the expectations?" The man named Kai asked as he was pulled from the floor.

"Well, she did send a man off the freeway. So as far as I'm concerned now, yes."

"We'll have to see further based on her training."

"Um, hello. I'm right here."

"My apologies. You'll get further introductions later though. As of right now, I'm positive Junmyeon wants to meet with you." Xiumin looked to Chanyeol, nodding his head and gesturing for the door.  They waved goodbye as he lead her through a series of hallways and sliding doors, stopping when they came to yet another massive one. This time, however, three letters arranged, spelling E X O branded them. He rocked twice, before barging in, the man sitting at the desk looking at him with annoyance.

"Chanyeol, what have I told you about barging in on me? There's supposed to be a pause between those knocks."

"Sorry Myeon, but I brought someone special." The man rose from his chair, stepping from behind his desk, circling Xena.

"God, you look like your parents."

"Not this shit again. Enough about my parents, why the hell am I here?" She demanded, her eyes going wide with the build-up of anger. However, before the man could give a response, the phone rang. He immediately picked it up, answering professionally.

"Hello? Yes, this is he. No, I have not. What? That's fucking bullshit, you better not be lying to me. How did this happen, I thought- Okay. Thank you, I'll be sure to keep in touch. Yes, please authorize the transfer of the files. Thanks again. Goodbye."  He placed the phone on the receiver, looking from Chanyeol to Xena with a sad expression.

"I'm going to need the both of you to sit down." He announced formally, pulling at his suit jacket.

"What's wrong?" Chanyeol asked, fear evident in his voice. This set his anxiety in motion, his throat slowly closing in on him. His boss was rarely one to show emotions, unless dire circumstances.

This had to be one of those circumstances.

"From the phone call, I've just received horrifying news. For all of us, actually," He paused.

"Unfortunately, Anthony Takahashi has been reported dead."

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