✔ —- Leave this in my ask if you want to see an AU where our characters are in a teacher/student relationship
"I don’t get this part."
"Use your brain and figure it out."
"How did you ever become a teacher?"
"Maybe you’ll find out after you solve this question."
Myungsoo was close… so close to committing bloody murder on this man who was supposedly his teacher. As a student, he’d taken the initiative to ask Junsu (or Mister Junsu, as he was told time and again by said mister to address him as such) for help in the subject that he had trouble in, but Myungsoo felt like he would gain more knowledge from a stale stick of bread… he had been so happy when his request had been accepted too.
"I didn’t let you in my house to sleep here and freeload, you know."
"I didn’t agree that I’d spoon feed you the answers, either."
…This close. Count to ten, Myungsoo, count to ten and breathe, you don’t want to go to jail before you’ve barely lived your life.
This had become a daily routine, nearly. Myungsoo always had the impression that Junsu was a brilliant teacher in class, so he thought he’d be reliable and trustworthy… Well, not that he wasn’t, but it wasn’t very obvious when Junsu wasn’t in front of a large group.
Exams were coming soon, if Myungsoo didn’t pull up his socks and buck up, he’d be looking at quite a bit of trouble.
"Please, mister Junsu, I just don’t understand it," Myungsoo said, pouting. Cue mental gagging.
There was a moment of pause on Junsu’s end, before there was a creak and a shuffle and the teacher made his way over to sit down beside his student. “Only because you asked so nicely.” He pulled the textbook over to read over the questions, and Myungsoo leaned over to read along as well.
As he was rather focused, Myungsoo didn’t notice that his teacher’s gaze was no longer on the book.
His eyes widened as he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him towards Junsu, and he began spluttering when he felt a pair of soft lips press against his cheek. Myungsoo was barely holding back his overwhelming urge to make sure that Junsu would never know what Father’s Day was like. Counting to ten, counting to ten thousand, what was the difference? Junsu might seem cool and calm in front of the students in school, but Myungsoo knew the truth; he was just a pervert. A pervert that frustrated him so.
He wasn’t going to acknowledge this at all.
"… Stop joking around and teach me something."
Junsu was tempted to make a dirty joke out of that, but that would be crossing the line, even for him. “Alright, alright.”
It was almost sundown and the streets of Eulsa was beginning to pack. Chanho was staying the night there and was not planning to go out at night but then he had to suddenly. It wasn't that much of an emergency, it was just that he ran out of bandages, plus the one he was using had already worn out. He knew he should have just bought gloves instead of wasting rolls of bandages, but he didn't have the time go buy one. Besides, bandages were much more cheaper.
Chanho slipped through the increasing crowd and ran to the nearest store and quickly bought some bandages along with a bottle of water. He still had some water left back where he was staying but he felt a little dry. Avoiding the crowd and going to a less crowded area, sitting on a bench he spotted earlier.
It was already dark and he was quickly changing his worn out bandages with a new one. Wanting to go back as soon as he finished, but instead he just sat there waiting and staring of into space while taking a drink of his water every minute. He was ready to leave but a very familiar person had caught his interest. Chanho walked a bit closer to take a better look before calling out to him, still unsure,"...Junsu?"
for cha hakyeon, there's nothing scarier than being alone.
sure, this comes through many ways. being the only corvid left in the world — the only one of his family left behind, he could manage, but being the the only corvid in the world left behind? difficult, but that was something that he could try to live through.
being left alone as a human? not a problem. he could make new friends, find another family to make himself comfortable in. it wouldn't be too hard ... right (but all that would hurt was his heart)?
but losing a life-line? someone so painfully invested in the cha that he could feel his force pusing through every heartbeat and was twisted into his dna, just like that?
it wouldn't be easy. it wouldn't be simple (and that was a mere understatement).
it would be almost ... devastating. and as sad it was, cha hakyeon felt that way.
he felt like he had had a good portion of himself torn out from him and tossed outside into eulsa's eternally tepid night-time air. he felt himself slowly being swallowed by panic and guilt and agony and almost every negative emotion capable to mankind (sans anger — if anything, he was angry at himself for not being able to stop junsu from leaving like that).
but that wasn't even the worst part. the worst, most pathetic part about it all was that junsu hadn't even been gone for long — it had been hardly two hours and hakyeon was staring outside of one of the castle's glass windows, watching melancholic rain drops splatter against crystal clear glass.
and with every minute that passed, hakyeon bit his tongue harder, eventually drawing warm blood from the muscle.
at this point, anything was better than crying over something that meaningless.
making sure to take breaths, deep, long, almost ragged breaths, hakyeon reassured himself that prince junsu would come back.
'the prince likes to take walks — maybe he just didn't want to tell anybody about it.'
'the prince can find his way home. he won't get lost.'
'the prince is practically immortal — i'm sure that he'll come back safe.'
(' ... please come back for me, prince junsu. you're all i really have.')
--
and sure enough, junsu came back.
and sure enough, hakyeon cried tears of joy.
and sure enough, junsu wasn't all too amused (aside from a soft chuckle at the sight of seeing hakyeon this flustered about something so menial like this).
it's perhaps the most insignificant and minuscule aspect of the aftermath of a fatal vehicle accident that finally seizes his teetering consciousness; it's the trickling blood that meanders past the cadaverous skin of his forehead, cheeks and jaw, feathering loosely down his neck that brings him back from wavering stupor - like an agonizing itch he wants to relieve, but he finds that his arms are shaking uncontrollably, violently and joonmyun can vaguely hear the sounds of tumbling, shattering glass that slip past his thighs.
he knows, joonmyun knows, but even when he wrenches his eyes open, arching his neck and back in the agony of excruciating pain in his entire body, there's a reason why he can't bring himself to look ahead. there are flashes of visions ingrained in the pits of his terror-stricken mind; a lifeless crimson body that lies on the trunk of a battered car, littered with pieces of glass and ablaze in the luster of a full moon.
frenzied words are stuck in the back of his throat, words that he wills to scream until the searing pain in his chest combusts but there's nothing that manages to escape his lips except the relentless heaving of humid air. and even as he desperately thrusts against his jammed door, joonmyun finds that he's helplessly sifting through bleak hope.
just before he succumbs and falters under the despair of immitigable fate, there's an audible creak in the door he's plastered himself to. impossible, he thinks but his hands are scrambling suddenly and past the humid sheen of mist that feathers across the cracked window glass, joonmyun can loosely outline the darkened silhouette of a man.
he's saved, he's saved and joonmyun doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry in relief but he's pushing through with whatever minimal force he's able to exert, desperately gasping out the words, "i'm here, i'm here, i'm alive, i'm alive --"
Today had been deemed perhaps as the biggest highlight of his last pitiful twenty years of life. How was it that his measly ass (novice, prone to disasters, and an extreme lack of eloquence to boot) had been offered the position of a personal bodyguard for a royal prince? Why me had been the words that whirled unanswered in his thoughts, almost eluding himself to believe it wasn't real. He had briefly expected himself to wake up from this new found, insurmountable dream.
But with his luck - he accepted in a state of constant pessimism - something worse was about to desecrate everything he'd been granted on a silver platter. There had to be a covert secret lying behind the palace walls, or just the Prince himself perhaps, that Gunwoo didn't know about yet.
First day, he had repeated in a jittery echo in his mind, staring at himself in the mirror, clean cut and tidied in his newly fitted suit. It was a chore to wear a tie but leaving that out of his attire wasn't exactly an optional choice (he could vividly imagine Woobin roughly slapping him over the head for even questioning it).
"I look civilized," he muttered wryly to himself, readjusting his collar one last time; an unnecessary fix, but a needed action to dissipate his incessant anxiety. Gunwoo was 93% sure his head was in the game - he'd gone over the details of his position with Woobin a few days ago; important etiquette in addressing the Prince, even speaking was an aspect in dire need of correction. It was literally an entire behavioral change.
It was a heavy burden, but in a good way. He could handle it.
The twenty one year old had been standing - stiff and stoic in his stance - in an area similar to that of a guest lounge; he'd been asked to wait for the Prince here. Probably not the best way to quiet the thundering of his blood, pounding through his head (a complicated way of saying that he was nothing short of an extreme case of butterflies in his stomach).
So when he'd caught the first signs of light footsteps, Gunwoo gave himself a few gawky seconds to survey the older man, caught in a momentary trance before he bent forward in an unsteady bow.
Royalty really are somethin' else, he mused quietly.
"It's an honor to serve you, your royal highness."
...I never asked for love, I never had a heart to mend...
Over the Love || Florence and the Machines, Chanyeol x Kyungsoo
Ever since I was a child, I've turned it over in my mind. I sang by the piano, tore my yellow dress and cried and cried and cried...
"Don't do this," he whispers, hands held tight against his sides, fingers curling and uncurling in his distress. She holds the letters in her hands, staring at him with her mind on the fireplace. Chanyeol wants to cry and scream and throw a fit- how could you, he could scream, how could you do this to me?
But his mother is looking at him with high expectations and all he can give her in return are letters to a boy miles and miles away.
They don't say much other than apologies and explanations- excuses, really, because it's Chanyeol's fault they had to go in the first place.
He hadn't meant to fall in love with Kyungsoo.
And he's sorry. He's so sorry. He's sorry he did it, he's sorry he can see when his mother will die, he's sorry he stood at the top of the stairs and screamed at his father to look at him- an empty request with an even emptier reply.His father looked at him and he looked at his father and there was nothing. No love, no acceptance, no I'm sorry son, but we have to go.
I'm sorry I can't give a damn about you. You're a freak, son, and I won't stand for it.
Chanyeol could have handled that. Honestly, he could have.
Instead his father is nowhere to be found and they're back in Sori and Chanyeol is eleven years old, crying in the living room, his mother looking at him with disgust and pity and maybe sadness in her eyes.
"Please," he chokes and then it's repeating itself, over and over, mouth forming the word before he can stop and he's begging her, tears falling from his face. "Please!" He screams and he finds that he's choking, airways too tight for air, too tight for anything besides the unaltered desperation clawing it's way out of his gut. "Please!"
She drops the letters in the fire and he watches them burn one by one.
Dear Kyungsoo, my dad said it's time for us to move back hom-
Dear Kyungsoo, I'm really sorry, okay? I didn't know we wer-
Dear Kyungsoo, are you still angry? Please repl-
Dear Kyungsoo, why won't you answer m-
Dear Kyungsoo, I'm sorry, 'So-
Dear Kyungsoo, Ple-
Dear Kyungsoo. I'm-
Dear Kyung-
One by one by one.
Off to the Races || Lana Del Rey, Chanyeol x Yifan
He doesn't mind I have a Las Vegas past, he doesn't mind I have an L.A. crass way about me, he loves me with every beat of his cocaine heart.
Young and oh so careless, Chanyeol throws his head back and he laughs and the night is so much older than he is, holding secrets he can only dream of understanding, of being important enough to know. Maybe Yifan knows, but they don't talk about it. Anything else is fair game, but the secrets , the ugly spots, the bumps in the road are not. Yifan never asks, he never tells, and Chanyeol returns the favor.
It's a win-win situation except it's starting to feel less and less like a game with a scorecard and more and more like a lifetime of why didn't you tell me?
But Chanyeol needs Yifan. Under all the pretty lights and the careless laughter and hanging off the sides of buildings because they're too young to die, Chanyeol needs Yifan, needs a base to come home to, something to keep him grounded as he floats on air.
It's starting to feel less and less like they're walking the dusty ruins of their childhood and more and more like they're flying out into space, hands connected to each other and to the thin rope keeping them grounded. They're like astronauts, floating in the unknown, exploring new universes and planets and possibilities.
They're so wrapped up in their future that they never stop for the past and Yifan bandages Chanyeols hands quietly and Chanyeol never asks why Yifan throws his phone into the wall until it's scrapped, until a slower version of the ringtone Chanyeol picked out bleeds from its broken speakers.
It's a win-win situation.
Really it is.
Because Chanyeol loves Yifan and Yifan has to love him too or else why would they still be here?
"You look good smoking," Yifan says and Chanyeol doesn't open his eyes when he says.
"You look good naked."
And they're laughing and they're flying and it could be the drugs and it could be the love, but they're a modernized Bonny and Clyde and Chanyeol loves every second of it.
Young and Beautiful || Lana Del Rey, Chanyeol x Junsu
Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me when I've got nothing but my aching soul?
"I'm sorry," he says and its a far-cry from what Junsu wants to hear, but it's all Chanyeol has to give, so he hands it over along with a few unsaid words and a carefully placed tear. If he had a heart, he'd give that too, but those are human things, an excuse for the poor decisions all of Gods creatures make. He is no exception. Neither is Junsu.
His whole body aches and he won't survive this, he knows he won't but the sword is as hot as the anger coursing through his stomach.
Of course Junsu would betray him for a human, of course Junsu would forget him for the very things they have been charged to kill and drag to the other side- directions after that being decided on a whim and Chanyeols taken more to the left than the right and Junsu has as well. They're partners, after all, one mind split into two, two halves of a whole.
And now Junsu is going to die at his hand and Chanyeol can't live without him.
"I'm sorry," he says again and he thinks Junsu says it too but there are eyes on Chanyeols back and he wants this over with, wants to move on, so the sword passes through Junsus skin like it's made of air and he's falling, eyes open and dim.
Chanyeol doesn't move, hand outstretched in the stance taught until someone comes and removes the sword from him, wiping the blood away.
It takes time- everything in heaven takes so much time- but eventually he falls, betrays everything they were ever taught.
He kills a human in cold blood, and waits in her home to be retrieved for the trial.
He doesn't answer the question of why, but everyone knows.
Everyone knows.
We Must Be Killers || Mikky Ekko, Chanyeol x Yixing
I woke up, I was stuck in a dream. You were there, you were tearing up everything.
It's the third time this week he's woken up to the sound of ripping, to the sound of breaking glass, to the sound of a table hitting a wall, to the sound of a broken record.
Yixing is losing it.
Chanyeol doesn't know how to stop it, so he lays in bed for a little longer, listening to the noises Yixing makes when he destroys himself. Tears prick at the edges of Chanyeols eyes and the ceiling is blurry and the past is murky and he doesn't know how they got here.
He's as clean as he'll ever be, needles and rolling papers stuck in the past, the most he ever sees being the orange pill bottles passed to dying patients.
And yet Yixing is imploding when he steps into the living room, bare feet used to the sharp sting of shattered glass and a broken heart.
"'Xing," he murmurs and he doesn't hesitate to cross the room, pulling the other into his arms firmly. His fingers are dragging down his arms repeatedly, leaving behind angry red marks, standing out against his skin like haphazard tattoos.
Chanyeol will never know what it's like to be this way. To be so haphazard and broken and so goddamn beautiful that everyone has to look away.
It's heartbtreaking but god is it beautiful.
"It's okay," he whispers and they sink to the floor and Yixing is crying and Chanyeol keeps whispering and he's promising his love and his presence and a trip to Eulsa when Yixing feels up to it. They'll pick up apples and plums and maybe they'll go to the beach afterwards and lay in the sand like they did all those years ago.
When he wakes up, the glass is gone and Chanyeol knows it wasn't ever real in the first place but Yixing is still in his arms but they're in bed.
"I'm sorry," he whispers and he says this every morning, "I'm sorry."
Yixing kisses him and he's silent and he doesn't know if he's forgiven, but a morning kiss is all he's going to get in reply.
He never asks for more.
Novacane || Frank Ocean, Chanyeol x Luhan
Sink full of dishes, pacin' in the kitchen, cocaine for breakfast- yikes.
When he wakes up, he can't see. His head hurts and he can't see.
It takes him a few seconds to realize that he can see, it's just dark, and it isn't morning yet and this isn't his bed. It smells an awful like sex and shame and he knows the smell too well to be entirely regretful. He shifts a little and he sees blonde hair.
Luhan.
With a snort he disengages carefully, feet tripping over themselves as he looks for his clothes- losing his shirt entirely and skipping ahead to the part where he zips up his jacket and sits on the bed to tie his shoelaces.
"Where are you going?"
"Home."
"And where's that?" And it hurts Chanyeol to think of the fact that he doesn't know.
And he can't blame Luhan, but goddamn if he doesn't want to.
Brooklyn We Go Hard || Jay-Z feat Santogold, Chanyeol x Soryong
I'm a Brooklyn boy, I may take some gettin' used to.
The room is hot, air conditioner whirring, working in overtime to cover up the fact that it's so stuffy Chanyeol can barely breathe.
But the music is good and Soryong is sprawled across the floor, long limbs splayed out like a fish dropped out of water. Chanyeol wants to laugh except he'd do the same thing were he not afraid of falling asleep on the pavement of the garage floor.
Soryong is murmuring under his breathe and Chanyeol's doing the same, the lyrics reverberating through his mind like the beat rocks his limbs.
He can't think straight, but then again, that might be the point.
Cherry Tree || The National, Chanyeol x Jongin
Don't look at me, I'm only breathing, don't look at me, I'm indiscreet.
As much as he wants to blame Kai and shove his body through a woodchipper, Chanyeol knows he can't. He knows that orders are orders and shit happens and sometimes it isn't so much about the action as it is about the consequences. Who really cares about the principle of morality when there's cash involved and a strangers half-lived life.
Chanyeol knows that even without the stain of blood on his church Sunday suit, he'd be where he is now.
And where he is now isn't where he pictured himself being all those years ago when he'd screamed for help, for an ambulance, for something because Chanyeol didn't know what to do. Still doesn't really. Even now he wakes up to the sound of her choked tears.
He wants to blame Kai.
But the needle marks littering the inside of his wrist is no ones fault but his own.
Blindness || Metric, Chanyeol x Yongguk
I was the one with the world at my feet. Got us a battle, leave it all to me.... You gave me a life I never chose, I wanna leave but the world won't let me go.
"My name is Park Chanyeol and I am twenty-one years old. I'm a medica- I'm a doc, I'm Chanyeol- Fuck, I'm a medic for the, the brotherhod and I... God I..."
Chanyeol can't breathe and he's so fucking scared that he can't think straight, the lack of drugs clouding his system more than any real drug could.
He's sitting on the floor, back pressed against the couch and someone is knocking at the door but he's crying and how did he get this way? He remembers being young, he remembers sitting on his fathers lap, he remembers falling asleep outside and waking up in his bed, he remembers....
What does he remember?
Yongguk is in front of him and he's confused and Chanyeol is still crying so the other wipes his tears away and Chanyeol is murmuring incoherently.
"He called me a freak," he says over and over and over again and Yongguk has him in his arms and it has to be serious because Yongguk never touches him. Yongguk never even cares.
And still, Chanyeol can't stop shaking.
Love is Blindness || Jack White, Chanyeol x Yixing
The thread is ripping, the knot is slipping. Love is blindness.
Everything about Yixing is strange. Everything about him is different and unique and insanely intriguing to Chanyeol. He knows it's a little dangerous, knows that being involved with Yixing could lead to more problems than solutions but he just doesn't care.
So they hold hands and they kiss and Chanyeol stands at the edge of the sidewalk, looking up at Yixings apartment window and screams the words he's not supposed to understand up to the other, cupping his hands around his mouth and screaming it, letting it go, a secret for Yixing to hold onto or let the wind carry it away.
Chanyeol doesn't care much either way. As long as it's far, far away from him.
But everything about Yixing is also dangerous. Sometimes they'll wake up to a broken house and sometimes they'll wake up to a broken heart and sometimes they'll wake up to a broken Chanyeol because he can't always smile, after all. He just doesn't have it in him.
He loves Yixing. God, does he love Yixing.
He loves the pain and the screaming and the tears and the way their hands fit together despite the odds.
It reminds him that they're not supposed to be this way but they are. They are. And Chanyeol wants to take Yixing away from it all but they're stuck but god fucking dammit, he loves Yixing.
And that's one thing that was meant to be.
Love can be blind but if brings him to Yixing, then maybe he doesn't want to see.
Earth realm. Now this was different. The Nephalem stretched it's, no, her, wings. She had to remember that now. She was no longer an entity that had no gender, no solid form. Her parents, an angel and a demon had found her this body,a young human female, to use as it's vessel from no until eternity.
She couldn't have survived in the Ethereal realm. Eventually in The Space Between, everything had to go somewhere. You can't just stay there. However, being part angel, she couldn't go to Hell and being part demon, she couldn't go to Heaven. So, they had to find a place to put her, lest their darling offspring be ripped apart by the Aether. That place was the Earth. They had found the body of a young female and prepared to do the ritual that would bind the Nephalem to the deceased. To do this in secret, it was decided to do the ritual in the Amethyst mines near where the body was exhumed. The ritual itself was rather impersonal. The result being that the Nephalem was left alone in the cave, now inhabiting this body of a human female, little to no knowledge of the human race, other than the basics everyone knows.
The next morning, cold and alone, the Nephalem had to quickly cover her eyes, one of her black wings pulling around to aid her, as a bright light cut through the darkness of the cave. A man stood there, shaking a bit, unsure of what exactly he was seeing. It was a girl, that much was for certain. She was dressed in white. In Eulsa, white was often associated with death and when the girl peered over her wing when he lowered his flashlight slightly, he saw why.
"Suji?" the man whispered, taking a cautious step towards the Nephalem. She looked back at him with a blank gaze, not knowing how to react to this human and his question, other than to ask one of her own.
"What is a Suji?"
With this, the man proceeded to ask her questions she didn't really have good answers for. The whole time she kept the same stoic look upon her face. The man proceeded to explain that he was her uncle and that since she couldn't remember, her name was Bae Suji, but most people called her Suzy. He took off his overcoat, draping it over her shoulders, it was tan and long, but she was tall, so it didn't look out of place. She hadn't quite gotten the hang of this body yet, so she hadn't been able to retract her wings, so it kept them covered. He then lead her out of the cave, bringing her to a house up on a hill. He told her to wait on the front porch, while he went inside. Yelling was heard inside the house and the door flung open. This apparent Suzy turned her head to see what it was, only to view an older female and male with tears streaming down their faces. The couple raced out of the door frame and initiated only what she could think was a human ritual of affection, as they both wrapped their arms around her in a restricting manner, yet it wasn't unpleasant.
The next few hours where a blur of even more questions she couldn't answer, people displaying emotions she didn't understand, and a doctor poking and prodding her. It wasn't long before people had spotted the Bae family bringing their supposedly dead daughter Suzy around the city for checkups. The doctor had blabbed about how the girl seemed perfectly healthy other than a noticeable lack of emotion in her face and a pair of black wings that hadn't been there during her last visit to his office. Even the news caught wind of it, earning her both nicknames of the Angel of Eulsa or the Demon of Eulsa, depending on which newspaper or news program you watched. This was mostly brushed off as rumor as there was no evidence showing that that was the case.
The family never spoke to reporters and were only ever photographed.
Suzy herself didn't quite know what to make of it all and her parents were torn between the joy in finding that their daughter was alive, and the terror that came with realizing that whomever or whatever was in their daughter's body, it wasn't her. They tried to keep people as much away from her as possible, but there was one request that they couldn't deny. The Prince of Eulsa, Kim Junsu, requested a meeting with Suzy.
there’s blood on your hands and you don’t know why. there’s coke on the counter and you don’t remember bringing it home. the glass is shattered and you don’t know where it came from but it’s covering the floor and you’re scared that if you move from your position on the tiling of the kitchen that there'll be more blood on your hands.
you don’t know if it’s your blood- you feel too broken to really assess the situation.
if you turn your head to the left you will see junsu and he is crying, quietly, carefully, as if he’s afraid cameras will come in at any moment and use your tragedy as the headline of their magazine.
if you turn your head to the right you will see a letter and it’s wet and there’s blood on it and you won’t know who’s blood it is.
but you don’t turn your head in any direction, all you see is the coke on the countertops and the blood on the walls of the kitchen and the glass all over the floor.
the blood is yours- the words I’M SORRY are written in it, on the wall you’re looking at.
junsu’s still crying, you can hear him, sort of, and he’s saying something like it’s not your fault but you know it is even though you don’t really know what it is. you feel guilty and like you’re falling apart and like whatever high you’ve come down from did nothing but lower the depth of the crash.
are you still crashing? you can’t tell.
but there’s blood on your hands and junsu is crying and there’s coke on the counter and glass on the floor and you stabbed junsu in the chest once and let him fall so hard no one could ever pick him up.
