fnchanyeol-blog

[fnchanyeol-blog]

From convict to cutie real quick // Lotto Making +

[fnchanyeol-blog]

fntaemin:

“You know, it always surprises me.” he started off, the tone conversational, seemingly at odds with the way Chanyeol was panting with anger. “Just how fucking desperate you are. I mean, I know it shouldn’t at this point, but…” he trailed off with a lift of his shoulder, though he took another step back to fit himself back against the railing when Chanyeol boxed him in. “Why would I want this, want you when I already said I have someone?” he reminded him, a snort following soon after at his follow up, had him tumbling into more goading. “I know you can’t. What a good boy.” he hummed out, the corner of his lips quirking up in something like amusement. Though he was entirely sure Chanyeol wouldn’t find it nearly as hilarious as he did. But then, Taemin always seemed to have more fun in winding the strings of Chanyeol’s conscience around his fingers in order to make him dance, until he was all tangled up in himself. It was harder to run that way.

Chanyeol wasn’t sure if the familiar feeling of Taemin prying his fingers back made his stomach churn with regret or a sick satisfaction, or maybe it was both now that he thought about it. It seemed like no matter how or when they got close enough to touch Chanyeol left bruises while Taemin managed to exploit each and every weak spot he had while barely lifting a finger. Chanyeol could bring the world to its knees with his bare hands, but Taemin could do it with a single word. He never stood chance, never will, but no matter how far they fell, Chanyeol was destined to fight tooth and nail until a God finally decides to put him down, and Taemin had always been more than happy to oblige, but it was never quick, never merciful, not with Taemin. Where was the fun in just killing him when he could savor watching the strength drain from his body? As much as he wanted to argue, comparing Chanyeol to a stray was fair. There was no place for a man like Chanyeol in the world anymore. Wars were fought from thousands of miles away with computers and chemicals, and a man like him would never be trusted with a gun, not that he had any interest in one. He used to think he was one of the lucky ones, but the longer he thought about it the more wrong he realized he was. Everyone else had the pain of falling, but Chanyeol had to live with staying practically the same. A part of him wondered if he was drawn to Taemin because he was the only one who could stop him and somewhere deep inside the man who didn’t lose was begging to be put out of his misery. He wasn’t Icarus flying towards the sun because it was beautiful; no, Chanyeol was running head first into a blinding ball of fire, and the closer he got the more it burned, and someday, with any luck, it will finally kill him. He never considered the possibility that he’d fall in love. “Then let me go,” he hissed, letting go of Taemin’s face but not before giving it one last rough shove to the side. “Don’t act like this is all on me. Every time I try to leave you’re always there to pull me right back in. If you want me gone so bad just let me walk away.” He used the hand that had been wrapped around Taemin’s face to gesture at the steps he had stormed down minutes ago. It was nice to pretend that Chanyeol was strong enough to leave even if Taemin would ever let him, but they both knew better. He wanted to ask why Taemin wanted them when he had him, but he knew better than to ever say it out loud. Taemin didn’t need any encouragement to tell Chanyeol all the ways in which he was inadequate. He did just fine coming up with impromptu reasons all on his own. “I know you have someone. You have a thousand someones. I fucking know, Tae.” As if Chanyeol wasn’t hyper aware of everyone he brought into the building, into their apartment. Chanyeol let out a sharp, humorless laugh taking a step back to press his fingers against his temples. His knuckles ached as he unclenched the unconscious fists he had made by his sides. They felt like they did after a fight, but then again, with Taemin, it was somehow always after a fight. Maybe that’s what made him fall in love. Chanyeol was always looking for a fight, and Taemin was always had one to give. They fought wars every single day they were together and possibly even more when they're apart.

Chanyeol had reached the perfect place in his rage where he felt whole and invincible, where he felt like himself. You can only see red for so long until it turns white hot. This was the place where Achilles slaughtered hundreds, the place where Chanyeol broke walls and pulled doors off hinges, and it was a place only Taemin seemed to be able to get him to now. Chanyeol dug into his pockets pulling out another cigarette and lighting it with oddly steady hands before bringing it to his lips as he began pacing on the step in attempts to keep his body busy. “You know, you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” he announced with an exhale of smoke. “I never believed in karma until I met you, but clearly, I am being paid back for Troy in full.” Fair enough, you can only kill so many people before the universe has it out for you, but goddamn, was it really enough to warrant falling in love with Taemin? “I’m the butt of a cosmic joke, and you’re the fucking punchline.” His voice was growing louder again. “I can’t even kill myself to get you out of my fucking head because you’ll probably show up in my next life too.” It was lucky that he didn’t have anything more substantial than the cheap gas station lighter in his hand as he hurled it towards the side of the building shattering it on impact. The worst part of it all was no matter how hard he tried to hate Taemin he just couldn't. Not even his condescending 'good boy' or the obnoxious twitch of amusement in the corner of his lips that made Chanyeol want to grind Taemin's face into the cement until there were no lips left could distract from the sick twinge of satisfaction deep in Chanyeol's stomach at the slightest acknowledgment. “You’re a fucking curse, Tae,” he mumbled around the filter pinched between his lips. “I wish I’d never met you.” Somehow the words were both the biggest lie and the most honest truth Chanyeol had ever told.

strange love

[fnchanyeol-blog]

Chanyeol has had more stitches than most people could count, broken the bones in his hands against jaws and walls time and time again, had thousands of volts of electricity shot into his body with tasers, and his fair share of puncture wounds, but Taemin’s tongue was by far still the sharpest weapon Chanyeol had ever encountered. They were like little poison arrows ricocheting around inside his ribcage shredding anything and everything in their path. When it came to Chanyeol, Taemin seemed to love maximum damage with minimal effort, and he knew damn well that Chanyeol would take him back in a heartbeat no matter how long it had been or what he had done.

When he was right, he was right, which was unfortunately often, but it didn’t take an expert on the man to know Chanyeol was always in the mood for destruction. “Where’s the fun in breaking something that’s already broken?” In Chanyeol’s mind, Taemin was a Frankenstein made up of all the worst pieces of shattered porcelain dolls all jagged edges and mismatched eyes, both ugly and pretty, and his. He told himself he would keep his head down and keep walking no matter what Taemin threw his way, but instead, he instantly froze in place as Taemin’s words somehow seemed to echo around them in the quiet.  

Never took you for a bitch, Chanyeol. It was cheap and juvenile, and Chanyeol would take the bait every single time.

It was as if Taemin had said the magic words summoning him back to his side, and in the blink of an eye, Chanyeol was directly in front of him, pinning Taemin to the railing with his hips as he roughly wrapped his hand around his jaw forcing Taemin to look up at him. “And I always thought that whole self-destruction thing was a cute little act, but I guess you really are asking for it,” he growled. He had seen countless people fall victim to the fantasy of being the one to ‘save Taemin from himself.’ He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes just thinking about it. He held his jaw in a death grip fantasizing for a moment about crushing the bone in his palm; maybe they’d wire his jaw shut. With Chanyeol’s luck Taemin would master speaking through clenched teeth in a matter of hours. Besides, he didn’t have the strength, at least not with Taemin. “Do you want me to hurt you? Is that it? Is that why you keep me around? Or is it because you know I’m the only one who will ever really love you?” His grip on Taemin tightened as the heat behind his words grew. “You’re a manipulative piece of shit who only lives to get fucked up and hurt people. How could they ever love you? They don’t even like you; they just like the idea of you. You’ll always be a pretty little thing with a death wish and enough pills in his stomach to kill a horse, and they’ll keep lining up to kiss your bruises and make you better,” he spat the word as if it was poison, “and the moment the even catch a glimpse of the real you, they’ll forget all about you and find themselves a new tragedy, but I’ll still be here, won’t I?” His blood felt like it was boiling. “You’ll still say my name, and I’ll come running because I love you so fucking much that I could kill you, and where else will you get the bruises for them?” 

Chanyeol’s chest was heaving, and his heart was pounding by the time he finished. All he could see was red and Taemin. His knuckles ached as he unclenched the fist of his free hand to wrap it around the railing boxing Taemin in as if he could have gotten away. “Is this what you want Tae?” He asked through gritted teeth finally easing up on his grip on his jaw but still not letting go completely. “You know I could never say no to you, baby.” The hatred behind the words did nothing to hide the sincerity they both knew was behind them. He was right, there were no rules, and at the end of the day, it would always be Taemin’s game, not Chanyeol’s.

strange love

“Or are you just gonna run away? Never took you for a bitch, Chanyeol.”

[fnchanyeol-blog]

So I came back fully prepared to beg for forgiveness for being so inactive (whines about work forever) but apparently the entire RP has ended in my absence??? I will probably delete this account or repurpose it for another RP, but if you’d like to keep in touch feel free to add me on aim @ a.b.cece (this goes for everyone not only just the people I’ve spoken to!) 

It was fun while it lasted! You and all your muses were lovely, and hopefully we will run into each other again! 

Speaking of which, do any of you know of any good directories? It would seem I’m in the market for a new one...

[fnchanyeol-blog]

Chanyeol wove his way through the crowd plucking a shot off a server’s tray as she passed by with a sigh. It was the same routine every time he came to work: walk around, drink, stop any fights before they happened, or at least put them to an end quickly. Unfortunately, this place didn’t have the same rowdy crowd as the other places he bounced at, and he could settle most of the patrons here with a harsh look. Even in the darkness, his eyes didn’t miss much that went on in the club. He wasn’t sure if it was some sort of muscle memory or just history being doomed to repeat itself, but his predatory gaze seemed to span through lifetimes.

He had seen her before, seen her dealing, but it was never something he particularly concerned himself with —just because he saw everything didn’t mean he cared— but tonight was different. He was bored out of his mind, and if something didn’t happen soon, he was going to start a fight himself. He watched as she expertly passed the pills off to her customer before locking eyes with Chanyeol across the room.

He couldn’t help the laugh that fell from his lips as she flashed him a wink before attempting to disappear into the crowd. She was bold; he’d give her that. He took the shot in his hand, leaving the glass on a random table while silently following her across the room. Just as she was about to round the corner, his hand shot out grabbing her arm and pulling her into the hallway beside him.

“You do know that’s illegal, right?” He asked with a smirk moving to lean against the wall, casually blocking the exit.

pass.

(...)

She winked at him before showing him her exposed back, intending to leave the club to transfer to her next venue. Maybe he could keep a secret.

[fnchanyeol-blog]

Chanyeol huffed out a laugh as his teeth began to unconsciously tear away at a chapped piece of skin on his bottom lip. “Since when were you ever concerned about being cruel?” A part of him had loved that about Taemin. His inability to care about the destruction he left in his wake felt like home to Chanyeol. He just never thought it would be directed at him, but that was his curse, wasn’t it? A part of Chanyeol would always believe himself to be untouchable, and Taemin would always find a way to prove him wrong. “It was worse of you to stay.” The words fell past his lips before he could stop them. The longer they spoke, the harder it had become to keep himself —his emotions— at bay.

Pathetic. It wasn’t a word often used to describe Chanyeol —In fact, it may have been exclusively used by the other— but there was something dark lingering deep in Chanyeol’s chest that was beginning to agree with him. He knew the second he let Taemin under his skin that he would always be there, at least a part of him, but at the time, the idea had been intoxicating. He had wanted to love him. Instead of being afraid of the violence that made itself at home in Chanyeol, Taemin had encouraged it. He could still feel his warm breath fanning across his chest as he whispered asking if Chanyeol would fight for him. He hadn't hesitated to say yes. He would have brought the city to its knees in an instant if Taemin had asked, no man or god could have stopped him. The fact that he still might burned in the back of his throat.

He hated the way he knew him so well, hated that Taemin was always right, but most of all, he hated himself for letting it be true. He tried to remind himself that he was the one who brought them up, not Taemin, that he was just trying to make him angry. It always worked. Chanyeol pulled out another cigarette quickly lighting it. It wasn’t something he particularly wanted, but it was something to keep his hands busy. They remained eerily steady even though his body felt like it was vibrating. All he could taste was smoke and blood as his teeth worked their way too deep inside his lip, and that’s all it took for the floodgates to finally open.

“What do you want from me, Taemin? Do you want me to tell that I still love you? Because I think it’s pretty fucking obvious at this point that I still do, but if you want to hear it I can say it again.” His voice began to slowly rise with each word. He didn’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time the apartment building had heard Chanyeol’s voice echoing through the walls at some ungodly hour, and it wouldn’t be the last. “I love you, and I fucking hate you for it. I still love you, and you don’t give a fuck about me. Was that what you were after? Is that the game? Just tell me the fucking rules so I can either win or lose and just be done with it already.” Lose. Just the thought of it made him feel as if he was swallowing hot coals.

Deep in his mind, he knew the only way to win was to stop caring, but he couldn’t. Whether it was love or hate, Chanyeol did everything with all of himself. Once he had picked a side, there was no going back, even if he had made the wrong choice. He was on his feet in an instant. He had nearly forgotten the question as he tried to see past the red in his eyes. “I’m in the mood to break something,” he shrugged, mumbling around his nearly forgotten cigarette he had placed between his lips as he brushed the loose dirt off his dark jeans. Chanyeol was many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. “So that is exactly what I’m going to go do,” he announced making his way toward Taemin wishing he had the heart to ram into him with his shoulder as he passed. He wasn't the type to walk away from the fight, but they had done this enough times to know this fight would never really be over.

strange love

(...)

He dropped the end of his cigarette, stubbed it out with the heel of his scuffed up sneaker and kicked it toward the gutter, the last wisps of smoke escaping his lips in an exhale. “What are you in the mood for then – apparently something.” Taemin found himself musing out, tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt as he stared down at where Chanyeol sat – he sort of liked the reversal, Chanyeol always seemed to have the edge over him when he stretched up to his full height, and Taemin never liked feeling small. 

[fnchanyeol-blog]

Chanyeol’s eyes were glued to the smile growing on Jongin’s face, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. Jongin didn’t have the stomach to fight because he was the type of person people fought for. He was soft in a way that Chanyeol never could be, not in a thousand lifetimes, and he wasn’t quite sure if he was jealous of the fact or relieved. Either way, he was sure that Jongin could start a war with that smile alone.  

“Nah. That’s not poetry; that’s just—” He paused trying to make sense of his thoughts attempting to hunt down the right words, but he was having trouble finding anything through the pleasant fog of the drinks he had downed. Instead, he let out a loud, slightly embarrassed laugh. “—Possession? Pride? Maybe that’s just being an asshole. I don’t know,” he grinned shrugging his shoulders, the tension from before slowly draining out of his muscles. “But I don’t think it’s poetry.” Granted Chanyeol's knowledge on what did and did not count as poetry was limited, to say the least, but he always associated poetry with making something, giving it life, and Chanyeol seemed to be born to do the exact opposite.

Chanyeol’s grin seemed to widen impossibly at the rush of pure delight that flowed through his body. “Me?” He asked cocking an eyebrow. “Careful, Jongin,” he warned playfully. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me.” It was just the nature of his beast; Chanyeol would always be weak to praise and affection.  Even just the sound of his name falling from someone else’s lips filled him with an odd sort of satisfaction. “If you don’t watch yourself, I just might get a crush, and historically speaking, those never end well for me,” he flashed Jongin a wink before taking a sip of his beer. Chanyeol wasn’t the only one on the island whose love had racked up a body count, but he was pretty confident he was one of the few who actually got their hands dirty to achieve it. He hadn’t had divinity or plagues and powers to hide behind; he looked each and every person who stood in his way in the eyes as he killed them.

An Icarus thing. He liked that. “That’s kind of fucked up,” he laughed watching Jongin finish off his drink. Chanyeol set the last shot that had still been tucked away in his hand on the table gesturing towards it to let Jongin know that if he wanted it, he was more than welcome to it. The motion caused Chanyeol’s eyes to catch on his knuckles, still bright red and angry.  “But I get it.” He had often wondered where Achilles had stopped and Chanyeol began, or if it was even fair to consider them separate entities at times. So many people on the island had seemed to move on from their past self so easily, yet here Jongin and Chanyeol were. Maybe they were just too human to escape who they had been.

“Do you want them to? Wreck you, I mean,” he asked, finally slipping into the seat across from Jongin now that the adrenaline had settled in his veins enough to sit still. He had said he got it, but that was only in theory. In practice, Chanyeol couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. “Or is it one of those you could but you don’t trust type things?”

fight night

(...)

When the other boy, tall and broad and somewhat terrifying, looked down at him and spoke, he clenched his molars and curled his toes because something about it curled heavy in the pit of his stomach, heat that spread up his spine. “On the contrary, I thrive on it.” he admitted with a lazy curl to his lips, swallowed hard. “I have an absurd attraction to the things and people that could wreck me. I think its an Icarus thing,” he continued, ducked his head with a sheepish grin to tousle a hand through his hair, brought his cup to his lips to finish it off.

[fnchanyeol-blog]

Chanyeol released his grip on the man in his arms letting him slowly slide to the floor and cling to his injuries. Her eyes had been burning bright and feral, and Chanyeol found himself feeling slightly disappointed when she looked away, but the feeling only lasted for a second as he watched her take down the last man with a single punch.

He watched mesmerized as blood trailed from her knuckles down her long, thin fingers. He could hardly believe that they hadn’t shattered with the force of her punches. He had seen thousands of fights, fought wars in his past life, but he had never been quite so captivated with seeing someone else fight. He idly wondered if the fire in his eyes looked anything like hers as he fought; he hoped it was half as breathtaking. The sound of her voice wrenched him from his thoughts causing him to blink over at her with a blank face for a second.

Yes.  

Absolutely yes.

A part of him was screaming to answer her that he’d love nothing more than to fight someone so worthy of fighting, but he also couldn’t quite bring himself to fight her. Instead, he raised his hands up to his shoulders in a universal gesture of peace with a bright smile. “Maybe later,” he chuckled looking around the bar to admire the carnage she had left in her wake. He couldn’t help but feel an odd surge of pride for her even though they were complete strangers.

“Are you alright?” He asked gesturing towards her hands. The question was a force of habit. She wasn’t exactly the one he should be asking, but he couldn’t resist. He quickly glanced around the room before locating some napkins resting on a nearby table before offering them to her silently.

interference

(...)

“wanna be the next?” she asks the man, blood dripping from her hands, not entirely hers. she is tired, her body hurts, but if he wants to fight then yuri will fight.

[fnchanyeol-blog]

posting bail

Chanyeol didn’t pay any mind to the sound of approaching sirens or the lights ricocheting through the alleyway as his fists continued to come down on the face of the man below him. It wasn’t until the officers were directly behind him shouting commands that he slowly raised his hands grinning down at his handiwork. That would teach him. Before he knew it, hands were hauling him to his feet and pressing him face first into the brick wall. He stood still and patient as they locked his hands behind him patting his sides for any weapons or drugs or whatever it was cops looked for these days.

He wasn’t afraid of being arrested; it had happened before, and it would happen again, and somehow Chanyeol always manages to slip away unscathed at the end of the day. It always helped that whoever he kicked the shit out of was always a worse guy than him. Nobody at the station seemed to mind all that much when you beat up a drug dealer or petty thief they had been trying to hunt down, but Chanyeol wasn’t some sort of vigilante —in fact, he was pretty fucking far from it— but he did have a knack for drawing the wrong kind of attention. He just had a short temper and took too many short cuts down dark alleys in the middle of the night. It wasn’t his fault they always picked the wrong guy to mess with.

They lead him past the man on the ground towards the car waiting for them, and it took all of Chanyeol’s strength not to kick him on his way past. It was almost as if the universe had heard his thoughts and had had enough of his shit, because when the officer guided him into the car, they severely underestimated his height causing him to ram his head into the roof of the car. He blinked a few times willing the sting to go away vaguely registering the sound of a voice.

“Sorry, what did you say?” He asked scooting over, so he sat in the center of the back seat. “I wasn’t really listening.” It wasn’t particularly rude or particularly polite, simply a fact.

@fnsuji

[fnchanyeol-blog]

Chanyeol often wondered if he was given the chance to change the past if he’d actually go through with it and erase Taemin completely. He’d never feel Taemin’s cold feet pressing against his warm legs beneath the covers or see his sleepy eyes welcome him home from work after he’d fallen asleep waiting up for him, the touch of his soft lips against raw knuckles, but he’d also never have to hear his blood pounding through his ears at the sight of him with someone else as he was torn between destroying them or himself each time. It was getting harder and harder to want to remember him each time.

He simply stared at Taemin without saying a word purposefully ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that immediately replied strangling. At least that way he wouldn’t have to hear him speak, lord knows what sort of last words Taemin had been planning. He was deliberately pushing Chanyeol’s buttons, but Chanyeol couldn’t resist the bait. It was like Taemin was dangling his fingers centimeters from Chanyeol’s skin while chanting that he wasn’t touching him, and Chanyeol wanted nothing more than to break those fingers in half, or maybe he just wanted to feel them against his skin again, he didn’t fucking know. The only thing he knew for certain is that he wanted the taunting to stop. “Well, damn. What are you doing working at the diner with skills like that? You should be nominated for an Oscar because you sure fooled me.” He could feel his anger rising by the second. It wasn’t the thought of Taemin being miserable while he had been with him. Hell, a part of him hoped it was true at this point. He was angry at himself for falling for the same bullshit every single time. “But leaving is your specialty, isn’t it? So, what took you so long if you were so miserable?”  

The implication that he had once loved him was enough to immediately send Chanyeol over the edge, all traces of sarcasm gone from his voice. “Don’t you  fucking dare, Tae,” he hissed, the old nickname fell from his lips like a curse. “Don’t you ever say that you loved me.” To say that he loved him implied that he didn’t anymore, that Chanyeol had lost his love somewhere along the way, and he just couldn’t take that. His posture had changed in an instant from hands casually tucked away in his sweatshirt pocket to a perfectly straight spine and stiff shoulders. “You’ve never loved anyone but yourself, and if you did, you’d know by now that you can never really stop. Trust me. I learned that one the hard way.” His voice had shifted to the low familiar growl that it always did when they used to fight signifying the last sliver of calm as Chanyeol desperately tried to keep himself in check as his emotions got the best of him. He wouldn’t be surprised if this was what Taemin had been after all along.

The tale-tell vein on the side of his neck was beginning to make an appearance as his muscles strained against themselves. I could beat them. The thought was immediate and resounding as it echoed through his mind without a hint of doubt. It didn’t matter who they were now or then, what they did or do; he could beat them all. Chanyeol let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “It’s nice to know you still think of me when you’re with them.” He immediately shot back. As far as Chanyeol was concerned, that was a victory in itself. The fact that he served as a point of comparison only meant that he was still somewhere underneath Taemin’s skin too. “Sorry to disappoint —Although, apparently, it is what I do best— I’m not particularly in the mood to hear it.” He hoped the finality in his tone would tell Taemin that their little game was over, but he doubted he was that lucky. The game never seemed to be over for Taemin.

strange love

(...)

“Of course you mattered, everyone I love matters. Until they don’t anymore.” his voice came out slow, like Chanyeol might have been thick, inhaled once again from his dwindling cigarette and attempted to let the nicotine soothe at the anger that was threatening to ignite. “You say that like I care what you think about me,” the words were spoken through the smoke, like that might mask the fact that Taemin did care, at least in some way. He wanted Chanyeol to want him. Wanted to watch him break. Taemin’s eyes flickered back to Chanyeol when he spoke his thoughts out loud, his gaze steely and it nearly set Taemin off, but then he continued to talk himself right into a hole, the sorts that were baited with Taemin’s traps and secrets. It had a smile spilling slow across his face. “But I already found someone new to fight for me, someone new who cares about me. Should I tell you about them, want me to tell you all the ways they outstrip you?” the words were malicious, and he meant them to be, something calculating in his expression as he watched Chanyeol’s face for a reaction.

[fnchanyeol-blog]

He had a fair point. Chanyeol wouldn’t doubt it to be true either. In fact, he wasn’t entirely positive he wasn’t right. Chanyeol had stared at the ceiling of his apartment for the better part of an hour listening to every little sound filtering in from his neighbors, the wood of the building settling with age, the drip of his shitty sink, and the buzz of the broken light that hung above it until he felt like he was going to lose his mind if he listened to any of it a second longer. He was always unconsciously listening for something in the distance, but he’d be damned if he’d ever admit it was Taemin.

“I’d just never forgive myself if someone beat me to the punch. If anyone’s going kill you, it’s going to be me not some guy looking to make a fast buck a pawn shop.” It was a hollow threat, hardly even worth speaking, but he couldn’t resist. He had pressed bruises into Taemin’s skin and drawn blood countless times out of both anger and love, and he’d do it again and again as many times as he’d let him. He wanted to write his name so deep in Taemin’s bones that no one would ever be able to look at him again without seeing Chanyeol. Just one look and they’d know that even if he didn’t have him anymore that he had had him first, better, but somehow Taemin always managed to wash him away without a single thought. Still, after all he’d done, Chanyeol couldn’t live with himself if he’d actually hurt him.  

Chanyeol’s eyes followed Taemin’s movements without an ounce of shame. The shift of his hips, the arch of his brow, it was all painfully familiar and just as beautiful as it had always been. He remembered how soft and warm Taemin’s skin had been beneath his hands, and the thought of anyone else coming near it had his jaw clenching. He was winding him up, and it was working. It always did. “Not even you could know someone in that much of a hurry to die.” Taemin had a knack for picking up strays, ones that were pretty and easily manipulated, that he could sink his teeth into until he got bored. Chanyeol wondered what that said about him. He hadn’t noticed his hand tightening and crushing what was left of his cigarette between his fingers until now. “You’d love that, though, wouldn’t you?” He mused, flicking the butt into a nearby flowerbed that was nothing but dirt and weeds at this point. “Me tearing some poor soul limb from limb at your feet like a tribute, all because they touched you. You always did like me best after a fight.” Or maybe Chanyeol just always liked himself best after, whatever.

His eyes immediately fell to the soft, pale skin of Taemin’s neck as his head tilted. He could still remember how it had felt beneath his lips, in between his teeth, the feeling of his pulse rising just on the other side, and it did nothing to calm the anger still making its way through his veins. The words should have hurt more than they did, but somewhere along the line, Chanyeol’s thinking had become so skewed that the actual words hardly registered. “Aw so I did matter,” he cooed mimicking the tilt of Taemin’s head. The words were dripping with sarcasm, but the thought sent a flood of satisfaction through his veins. “I’ve learned to not expect much from you.” That wasn’t entirely true. Chanyeol had come to expect being ignored or off-hand comments as he brushed past him in the halls as if he were a ghost. He hated that even the small, cold smile Taemin flashed him had his pulse picking up.

“I just wonder what you’ll do when I don’t care anymore,” he thought aloud. A part of him doubted the day would ever come, but he hoped. “No one else will ever fight for you; they’ll never care that much. You’d be so bored without me.” He was one of many play things, but Chanyeol liked to think he was still his favorite.  

strange love

(...)

Taemin was an eclectic sort of person though, his interest jumping and it was paired with a fear that someone would hurt him in the way that Taemin had hurt countless others. At the heart of things, Taemin was a terribly selfish boy. He let his head loll to the side at Chanyeol’s question, the corner of his lips twitching up in a subtle sort of smile at the defeated drag of his tone – he knew painfully well that Chanyeol wasn’t one to lose a fight, wasn’t one to give up. It had a thrill of accomplishment running down his spine, and cruel words spilling from his lips – “because you don’t matter enough for me to ignore anymore.” It came out rather matter-of-fact, despite being something of a lie. Taemin operated under lies and manipulation though, used them like weapons to inflict pain. “What, were you expecting something else?” Taemin asked him, a flash of his teeth as he smiled, flicked at the filter and watched ashes scatter to the wind.

[fnchanyeol-blog]

extra

Chanyeol patiently waited his turn to order while inspecting his knuckles idly. The guy’s jaw had felt like it was made of diamond as his fist pounded into it, but it had given away with a familiar crack. He hadn’t paid attention to what the man had done to get on Jiyong’s bad side, but then again, he didn’t particularly care. When his friend had asked if he was willing to offer some assistance and fists in exchange for breakfast Chanyeol had been more than willing regardless of the reasoning behind it.

The hesitant “I can help whoever is next” that came from the counter caused him to straighten to his full height from where he had been leaning causally against the rails of the line. He didn’t miss the way the girl’s eyes darted between him, Jiyong, and the blood that had splattered on Chanyeol’s shirt with thinly veiled fear clouding her eyes. “Hey,” he greeted, offering her a wide, friendly smile trying to put her nerves at ease. He was a walking beacon of violence and barely contained rage on most days, but he was hardly a threat to a girl who looked sixteen at most making her living taking orders at a fast food joint at the ass crack of dawn. He rested his hands on the counter taking care to angle his hands so she couldn’t see the blood drying in the seams of his fingers. “Could I get the number seven with bacon instead of sausage?” He couldn’t help but wonder if it was actually allowed or if she was making an exception when she gave him a quick, silent nod in response.

He stepped aside to let Jiyong order. “Oh, hey, can I get an extra syrup packet?” He blurted leaning towards her as the thought occurred to him. One was hardly enough for the number of pancakes they gave with the meal; it was almost insulting. Her eyes widened up at him as she meekly informed them that it would be extra. Chanyeol looked towards Jiyong expectantly waiting for him to either approve or deny the charge. He was the one paying after all.

@fnjiyong

[fnchanyeol-blog]

interference

The dull thud of a sharp fist coming in contact with a solid body and the sound of air being forced from someone’s lungs immediately caught Chanyeol’s attention causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Technically, it was his job to stop fights, but this wasn’t his bar, and he’d much rather join in than bring the fun to an end. He swiveled around on his barstool ready to firmly plant himself in the middle of the brawl, but instead, he froze in place.  

Maybe it was sexist or maybe it was just a safe assumption in most cases, but he had not been expecting to see a beautiful woman throwing the punches. She wasn’t just holding her own, either; she was kicking their asses. Her delicate features were contorted with a breathtaking anger that made Chanyeol a bit envious. He could imagine the way her heart was pounding in her chest as the adrenaline coursed through her veins making her see red as the men kept coming back for more, and he wanted in on the action.

Almost as if an act of fate, the perfect opportunity presented itself. Her back was now turned to Chanyeol and the man who was making his way towards her with a broken bottle held tightly in his hand. Chanyeol was across the room in an instant, his fingers looping through the man’s collar as he yanked him backward away from the girl. His arm wrapped around his throat holding him against his chest as his free hand moved down his arm to lock around the man’s wrist. The feeling of a heel desperately knocking into his shin trying to break free only had his teeth gritting as his grip tightened impossibly.

Time seemed to slow as Chanyeol glanced over to the girl once again. Their eyes locked over the man’s shoulder as Chanyeol felt the bones in his wrist shift out of place as what was left of the bottle fell to the floor with a satisfying shatter punctuated by the man’s scream.

@fnyuri

[fnchanyeol-blog]

[fnchanyeol-blog]

He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol beginning to make its way into his system or the compliment, but either way, Chanyeol was pleased, to say the least. Impressive wasn’t a word he got often; people tended to be a bit put off when they see him relishing in the violence of it all. “Why can’t you be both? Maybe you’re just underestimating yourself; you’d be surprised how poetic fighting can be. Well...maybe not the ones here.” He glanced over at the ring where two men who were so drunk they could hardly stand were throwing sloppy, half-hearted punches towards each other. “But in other places there is. Something about unstoppable forces meeting immovable objects, or how you learn all their weaknesses in a matter of minutes and notice every little detail about them. Like that guy.” Chanyeol pointed to the door they had taken him out of with his thumb. “He may forget my name, but he’ll never forget my face or my touch, and no matter how well he heals, when his ribs ache on a cold winters day, he’ll always think of me. I’m a part of him now.”

He was rambling, but he had enough alcohol in his veins not to care all that much. “My name is written on his bones and in his scars. No one will ever kiss his cheek without knowing my fists kissed it first. I don’t know, I’m not much of a poet, but if I was, it seems like there’s definitely some potential there,” he shrugged, taking another shot. Despite his destructive tendencies, Alcohol always worked to calm Chanyeol down as it slowly numbed him from the inside out calming his anger and washing away the filter between his mouth and his brain. “So, if you don’t have the stomach to fight, why do you come to watch them?” He asked with an oddly innocent tilt of his head considering he had been romanticizing beating people only seconds before.

Jongin had become a bit of a constant in Chanyeol’s life. He wasn’t always there when he fought, but it wasn’t exactly uncommon for him to feel the poet's eyes burning comfortably into his back as he fought, calming drinking and watching his every move. “Doesn’t it bother you knowing that if I wanted to, I could destroy you?” For once, it wasn’t Chanyeol being arrogant but simply stating a fact. Jongin had said it himself; he was a poet, and Chanyeol was a fighter. He couldn't imagine making friends with someone he knew could beat him so easily.

fight night

(...)

He watched just as carefully and just as intently as the boy gulped down a handful of shots and holy shit he could drink, enough even to make the alcoholic young writer blanch at the thought - four shots, two more and a beer? Sounded like a great way to end the evening projectile vomiting into the bushes outside. He shuddered a little and returned to his old standby of rum and coke, laughed when the other approached.  "Chanyeol, I think you give me more credit than you should.“ he admitted wryly, brow arching, "I’m a poet at heart, I don’t have the stomach for that kind of thing. Though I’ll admit you look fucking impressive when you’re in the ring.” he half-joked, lifted his glass in a wordless toast to the other, knew he was weak to praise, as so many denizens of Fantasia seemed to be.

[fnchanyeol-blog]

Chanyeol hated the way his heart immediately sped up stuck somewhere between pure rage and delight at the familiar sight of Taemin turning around the corner. He idly watched him coming closer slowly releasing the smoke pleasantly burning its way through his lungs as Taemin stopped to look at him. Just the fact that he was looking at him was surprising after being ignored for the better part of a month now, but he supposed he was due. He wasn’t stupid. Chanyeol knew the sick little games that Taemin loved to play, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help but run head over heels straight into whatever trap it was he had waiting for him every single time.

The sound of Taemin’s voice was like music to his ears and had his free hand balling into a fist inside his sweatshirt pocket. A voice inside his head was screaming at him to be the one to do the ignoring this time, but he could never ignore Taemin. He could hate him with all his being and love him again in the very same day, that’s how it was when they were together, and it was no different now that they were apart., but they both knew he was incapable of ignoring him.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Baby. I was waiting for you to get home from work,” he deadpanned, holding up his own cigarette before rolling his eyes. “You know you shouldn’t be walking home alone so late with headphones on messing around on your phone.” Taemin’s schedule had been consistent enough and drilled deeply enough into Chanyeol’s mind that he didn’t think he would ever forget it. He’d also never forget the way Taemin always insisted that he liked being out so late on the nearly empty streets, but it had been different then when Chanyeol was walking them beside him making sure he made it home in one piece, now it was just dangerous. Surely, Chanyeol wasn’t the only one from his long list of exes who wanted to ring his neck from time to time, but he might have been one of the few who would care if someone actually did, and he wasn’t particularly in the mood for revenge. “What, no boy of the week to walk you home? Pity. Scaring someone off always helps me sleep better at night.”

No matter how many times he was reminded that Taemin wasn’t his —that he never was— Chanyeol still couldn’t fight the swell of rage when anyone thought they could even look at something that belonged to him let alone touch it. Maybe that’s why they never worked out. They were both two people who could never be fully owned fighting desperately to possess the other, to have the upper hand, but then again, Chanyeol didn’t know. He still didn’t fully understand why Taemin suddenly decided to move on. He just knew that the thought of it still made his blood boil.

Chanyeol brought his cigarette to his lips once more holding the smoke in his lungs as he asked the question that had been burning in his mind since the second Taemin paused to speak with him. “Why are you talking to me?” Defeat wasn’t a tone that Chanyeol’s voice knew, but it did come close as he reluctantly released the smoke.

strange love

(...)

Even now things between them were strange (though Taemin was often strange in general), a perplexing mix of Taemin flaring angry and argumentative when Chanyeol tried to talk to him on the floor of their apartments, of shouldering past him and pretending he didn’t exist when he ran into him getting the mail. But then there were other times, tiny baits of moments like he was hinting that maybe there was a possibility of more for the sole purpose that Chanyeol wouldn’t move past him completely, even if he had no intention of doing so. Taemin seemed to be gauging which mood he was going to slip into as he paused in front of him, had been planning on finishing his smoke before he went inside anyway and it had him shifting his weight on his heels, swayed to the side and let his hip rest against the metal rung of the railing. “What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked him before he took another drag, “it’s like, what, two?” Taemin guessed at the time, glanced briefly down at his phone and then back up at the other.

[fnchanyeol-blog]

Myungsoo’s concerns were perfectly valid and admittedly spot on. From the second he mentioned another place to fight that was organized and full of more experienced fighters, Chanyeol had been ready to dive in head first. Just the thought of finally fighting someone actually worth fighting had currents of excitement coursing through his veins. “I’d definitely like to check it out.” His voice remained surprisingly calm despite his overwhelming interest. Chanyeol’s laugh was loud even over the sound of the shitty playlist pulsing in the background. “Nothing worth doing,” he agreed, raising his glass up towards the ceiling ever so slightly before taking a drink of whatever the hell they were claiming was beer in this bar.   “I just want-” He paused trying to think of the word to best describe his feelings, “-to fight? I kick dudes asses every weekend, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been in a real fight. I don’t care about the money. I just want to win.” He could still vividly remember the feeling of war and victories from his past lingering somewhere deep inside him, and they did nothing but serve as a source of frustration as he continued to chase a high that he had never even come close to achieving in this lifetime. He was willing to do almost anything to even come close to that feeling again. At the very least, the promise of a steady flow of opponents and fights was enough to have his muscles twitching in anticipation.    He shifted in his seat causing the old barstool beneath him to groan in protest. An overly sentimental comment about how the only time Chanyeol truly felt alive was when he was fighting or fucking was on the tip of his tongue, but thankfully, he managed to hold it in. Perhaps the shitty drinks were good for something, then. “How often do you go?” That technically wasn’t the question he wanted to ask, but it didn’t sound quite as eager as the ‘how often can I go?’ that hovered in the back of his throat. The once a week his current employer was offering him was hardly enough to keep him sane as the energy continued to build inside him with each passing day.

–undertow

(...)

There were people you didn’t mess with if you didn’t want someone to tie off a few cement blocks to your ankles and dump you off of a dock, ways to tell when the fights were going to go down, where not to push one’s luck, and Myungsoo was trying to impart it all onto him. He didn’t want to accidentally ruin the kid’s life, after all, but Myungsoo saw the same spark of fire in Chanyeol’s eyes when he fought and so he figured he might as well make the offer. “I can take you along with me the next time I fight if you want to check it out,” Myungsoo mumbled out when he set his glass back down on the bar. “I mean, I guess it depends what you want to do. If you just want to win, then you got your shit covered. But it’s more regular for sure, organized, there’s alright money. Definitely not legal, but what is anymore?” Myungsoo teased out, offered Chanyeol half of a crooked grin as he said it.