#wbvici

Chanyeol is good. He’s always been good, following orders and commands the moment they are given. He’s an obedient boy, prides himself in being the kind that can bring his lover great pleasure with his submission To Woobin, he can be whatever the other pleases. Chanyeol’s acts no different if the orders are barked out at him or given to him via text. 

Today’s, it’s the latter, but instead of following the command as it’s clearly been typed out, Chanyeol keeps himself clothed in his (too small) boxers, leather collar adorning his neck. He’s nervous, perhaps a little hesitant to go through what is to happen tonight. Chanyeol has something to confess, and he wants to do it tonight, completely unaware of what kind of mood Woobin’s in. He’s anxious for possible rejection (and judgement), but knows he’ll be fucked long and hard either way. 

The sound of the front door opening and slamming closed can be heard all the way to the bedroom, and Chanyeol knows better than to leave his position to greet his fiance, waiting patiently on his knees over the mattress. He can hear approaching steps, and it makes his heart rate spike, the excitement obvious as he leans over just so, his cock already half hard and showing through the soft cotton. The bedroom door opens and Chanyeol’s lips tug in a small smile. 

THE OFFICE BUILDING TOWERED OVER SEOUL the way Kim Woobin himself did, or so Junseo was told. The eighteen year-old held the tattered paper in his hands, ink smudged slightly with blood. It read a name and an address, and not too much else. His eyes avoided the stream of people who walked past him, he who stood in front of it lost in thought. Instead, he focused on his scuffed shoes and thought of his friend. Kim Woobin can help, he heard his voice in his head. Junseo took a breath and wiped his nose and walked in. 

Walls made of glass and floors immaculate, Junseo was an eyesore upon entering the lobby and he was not convinced otherwise with the look on the secretary’s face. Halfway to the front desk and one snap of her fingers provoked a couple of guards to head over. Junseo’s eyes widened, not exactly sure why he’d be man-handled when he was specifically told to meet with the guy. 

Sehun felt like shit, not only with the sun beating down on him, -- his cheeks were already a ruddy rouge and his usual jelled back undercut was a mess of black curl atop his head making him feel less of a lawyer to be and more of a salesman ready to hand over his last paycheck-- but with the fact that his new investment had gone to shit in less than a month and he’d only have 50,000W left in his pocket for the next four days. Did he have some kind of bad luck? Was he going to somehow bomb his upcoming exams because of some tragic wild night of shit?  He didn’t know, but he could hope that none of the answers were being discussed in the recitation class he was missing. 

What Woobin knew, he taught Chanyeol, but there were some subjects that were difficult to teach, like why Chanyeol couldn’t sprout wings and breathe fire. “And it’s a good thing you won’t turn out the way I did,” Woobin said. “Humans are frightened of me.” Even in a form that somewhat resembled a human, thorny scales covered the ridge of his back like armor, and his pupils were reptilian, glowering amber and gold. A heavy hand thumped on top of Chanyeol’s top of messy, ruffled hair. “You’ll be loved, though. By everyone who looks upon you.”

The hands feels heavy over his head, and the young child huffs at the other’s words. “You always say that,” he says, shaking his head until Woobin’s hand falls off his head. “I’d rather be a dragon than a prince. I want to shoot fire.” 

And he meant it. No matter how many times Woobin speaks of the joys and riches of the kingdom, of the castle he was apparently born in, Chanyeol didn’t want it. All he needed was Woobin and this tower, and he’d be fine. 

-

He’s thirteen, bored, and beginning the stages of rebellion. 

Chanyeol thinks he’s being sneaky as he takes one last look around the empty hallway, before making his way down to the last door on the left. It takes his entire body strength to push it open, revealing a tiny, enclosed space. A few minutes of him randomly pressing his hands against gray bricks delays him, but soon one of them gives under the touch of his fingers. Chanyeol grins excitedly, stepping back as the wall begins to pull back, slowly revealing a downward spiral of steps. 

The young boy doesn’t look back, quickly making his way down the steps of the tower until he makes it to the bottom. His grand escape is something he’s been planning for days, and there is no trace of hesitation in the boy as he pushes the entrance door open. He doesn’t expect the door to give out so easily, and he makes a soft noise of surprise as he tumbles out, falling face first over soft grass. 

cater to wb and cy’s!!!

“You love too much, Chanyeol,” a friend had warned him once, rubbing circles over the younger one’s back in an attempt to soothe him.

That had been back in college, Chanyeol curled over his bed and nursing his first ever broken heart. Sohee had been his entire world. His high school sweetheart, the muse and inspiration to his first (published!) book, and who Chanyeol swore would be the mother to his children. They had talked about marriage, deciding they would wait after graduation to get engaged and look into their future.

“I just don’t feel the same way about you anymore. Let’s break up.”

When she broke up with him, Chanyeol cried for two straight days before his friends had dragged him out his dorm and gotten him drunk at some party. They made sure to keep him drunk at nights and sober for school, until they got tired of babying him.

Chanyeol meets Lu Han. But he never really loved Lu Han.

Chanyeol loves love. He loves falling in love, loves the idea of first dates and hand holding. Dreams about getting married and sharing his life with a significant other until eternity. And as hard as he tried to love Lu Han, he never actually did. He cared immensely over him,  was heartbroken when he found out the other had been cheating on him, but his period of grieving another lost love lasts perhaps a week. His anger takes over and is placed on vengeance and the publishing of another book. His friend reprimand him, but are mostly relieved for quick healing. 

With Woobin everything is different.

He cries for one week straight. His friends become concerned, taking turns visiting him, making sure he’s sleeping, eating, showering and just generally being a functional human being. Chanyeol loses weight considerably, becomes paler and sadder all together, and manages to worry enough people to get even his parents to call him. He just loses himself during that week, honestly thinking he’s going to die from how much it hurts. 

He holes himself in his house and swears he’s never going to fall in love again.

Alcohol makes the ache in his body bearable though, and drinking becomes both a habit and a sport. His friends take him out to bars, to clubs, take his cellphone away when he starts crying about Woobin, and tuck him in after dropping him home. His agent is kind enough to cancel whatever he had for the rest of the month, being able to sacrifice a few things at the sight of the miserable writer.  They become concerned about his amount of drinking, but no one actually tries to stop him. 

After two weeks, to everyone’s relief, he seems to be getting better. He starts talking more, starts going out, shows up to work after enough angry emails, and actively tries to move on. He keeps getting drunk, keeps drowning bottles of alcohol until he loses conscious, but his periods of soberness increase in lengths. 

It’s funny how it only takes a single text from Woobin for a drunken Chanyeol to lose all sense of dignity. He doesn’t remember much, but he remembers enough parts to know that he poured his pitiful heart to the other with anger and resentment. He also knows he made a fool of himself by crying to Woobin about how much he loves and misses him. 

“He thought I was stupid before, but now he probably hates me,” he sniffles to a friend, as they both lay on his bed and pig out on ice cream. “He probably thinks I’m pathetic, too. He stayed quiet the entire time and kept hanging up. He had said how much he disliked how immature I was, and now I ruined my only chance to make him think differently of me! Ugh, I hate myself.” 

-

Chanyeol really hates himself. 

Chanyeol thought he couldn’t get any more pitiful, any more pathetic, but as he sits in the cell of the police station, ice pressed to a bloody nose while sporting a busted lip, he know he’s reached an ultimate low. 

Fighting at a bar is something he’s never done, but alcohol makes him do silly things, like, for example, calling Woobin. Or the alternate, getting arrested for getting into a fight with a stranger. 

He’s looking up at the ceiling to stop his running nose when his enemy (whoever the hell the guy is) get bailed quickly and allowed freedom. Chanyeol groans from where he sits, leaning against the wall as he makes peace with the idea of having to wait until morning to be let out. His agent is going to kill him, knows at least some people recorded the whole thing on video to be uploaded online, but he’ll apologize once he’s freed and slept. 

“Park Chanyeol,” an officer calls for him, and the younger moves to look at him. “You’ve been bailed out.” 

“What..?” He says dumbly, already getting to his feet as the officer takes out his keys to lock him out the cell. “Who?”

The officer doesn’t grace him with an answer, giving him a bored look as another figure steps behind him. Chanyeol cranes his neck to look over before his heart stops and plummets to his feet. 

Send my muse a text and see how they would react. ; Status, accepting. 

It was like any other day. He got up, got himself dressed, pulled himself to work, and tried to tough the day out in whatever way he possibly could. And now that he did that, he thought it would be a great time to go home. About to lock up, he felt his phone vibrate against his thigh and stopped for a second to pull it out, reading over the text before he finished what he was doing and went to go sit on the bench in front of his shop. 

“the remnants of the kaebbsong” dies