#chanyeol vines

[demure2]

Blood is Thicker Than Wine _ ONE

> BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WINE [MASTERLIST]

— 1930s au

— yandere neighbor!chanyeol x reader || ft. best friend!sehun

— genre: angst, suggestive

— warnings: language, alcohol use, cigarette/substance use, mental illness, watching from afar, anxiety, gun, blood, older fella chanyeol

— word count: 3.1k

— note: this story has been in my drive for 3 years, even tho this is the first piece on my account. i even had a timeline at the bottom of my draft to make sure war dates and stuff lined up hehe. it's O.K. if this doesn't do well since i'm writing for fun, but i'm happy i got at least part one of this out! then i can finally put this series to rest. i’m sorry that this kinda introductory part doesn’t have many interactions with chanyeol yet. i want to accurately convey the reader’s relationship with sehun before i make it fall apart :)

Girls like you loathe compliance but act it, anyway. You go against rules and you wear two faces, but you’re still compliant because nobody knows. Nobody suspects a thing, and you’ll keep it that way.

There’s not much to it, really: keep your papers in neat stacks, your dollars in even neater stacks, and your mouth shut. It’s a commitment, but it's applicable to the art of both compliance and not. That’s how this town runs. Girls like you are compliant.

Lately, alcohol traffic has been wedging tension into champagne bottles ready to pop, like faulty cork stoppers. Tenfold, and you’ve seen it. Tons of progeny craft succumbing to the paradigm of unrelentless violations of law, but you swore to never break the rules. That includes even the unspoken ones, like knowing to not mess with the neighborhood weirdo, Mr. Park.

Technically, you were just helping your best friend Sehun deliver night mail. It’s part of his job. 

“What a hound,” Sehun pants, steadying himself by gripping the fabric layering over your shoulder with calloused hands. Orphically, his brown irises are suddenly void of any liveliness. He’s exasperated, pupils fitfully blown out wide, the onyx barrier warped in various ways. Ways that make him look wild, more unimaginably feral than the manor overgrown with vines and rusted trellises in front of you.

 “I gummed up the works on this one,” he coos, lowly. Sehun’s arm parts from your shoulder to clutch his heart, breath hitching. He shudders, even in the cooling night zephyr. “Guess your momma was right all along,” he breathes. Mimicking a high-pitched voice, “stop hanging out with Sehun! He’s a neighborhood no-good nick who delivers mail for a few cents!”

You grin, wide. “So?”

Sehun looks at you like a stray pet. “Town mail won’t deliver itself,” you offer. "You’re an author, too, delivering your own work. That’s important. Don’t say useless things to me, Sehun.” The tone of the night becomes less tense. Smirking, you continue: “relax, then tell me what happened in that freak’s house.”

Your teeth bite down on your tongue, eyes narrow and reflecting the moonlight. 

You don’t know why you’re expecting a longer, well thought-out response from the Sehun you’re looking at right now. His short hair damp from the sweat and mild rain, parted in awkward tranches - you’re not used to comforting him, although it feels good to be the one seeing Sehun vulnerable, for once.

While you’re waiting for Sehun to rearrange his thoughts, you run your hand against the bars of iron separating you from the front yard of the manor. The sounds are a symphony of metal clink-clanks against your graceful nails, free of overgrown cuticles or ragged whites, unlike Sehun’s. The bars are hollow iron, but their wounds are merely rusted scratches, like they don’t give in over the years. 

Neither does Sehun.

Lazed back. Real lazy. Doesn’t like thinking about what he is, why he is, who he is. He’s thought about it before; things like whether or not cabbage was really nutritious (it’s just water), whether or not he wanted to be a writer forever, whether or not he should tell you about the car shop home, whether or not he loved you more than just a friend. 

It’s fated, and so he doesn’t bother to delve deeper than what he needs to know. He just knows that it’s all bliss when he’s with you. And he knows that he’s in love with this life: the rush, the fights, hell, he had almost forgotten his dad was a cop. Just like magnets, though polar opposites, you stick together. Late night escapades into the apple of the town was just another habit branded deep into your history.

He feels like laughing at his own inanity, so he parts his lips, but not even the chuckle at the edge of his throat makes it past. Something irks him uncomfortably about what happened tonight, so he clears his gullet filling up with phlegm and blames the bright waning moon. It used to be so full of itself, now only a needle in the vista expanse of night. Sehun breathes harder now, because he realizes that they’re not so different.

Sehun finally speaks: “Well, I just tried to throw the freak his mail. But I think I set off his flares, doll. Mr. Park - he’s really a bent man, broken after the war. There was an iron on his hip, a-and as soon as I saw it leave his belt loop, I didn't have a doubt that he’s not wicked.”

Sehun’s joints ache uncomfortably despite wherever he shifts his weight toward, so he leans against the tall wire fence guarding the manor. He feels an ivy trickle down the nape of his neck everytime he tilts his head to the side. Nuances here, nuances there. Last time you both were out here, there weren’t any ivies. Were there?

Mr. Park stands leaning back, intently listening from the arch door frame that separated his balcony from his quarters.

These kids talk so loudly, he thinks, he could hear your entire exchange from up here. The yellow cast light from his bedroom fights with the dark to illuminate his figure carefully in the night, but he knows that you’re both still unable to see him from the ground angle. He feels slightly creepy, standing there in his satin dress shirt and work jeans. He pulls out his gun one more time, loosely, just to swing it. 

Feeling watched, you decide that you both shouldn’t be there any longer. Sehun’s teeth grind against each other eagerly for a taste other than his own metallic blood being drawn. Yawning, his mouth goes dry and his throat parches, longing for the feeling of smoke in his lungs.

Sehun knows he shouldn’t smoke around you. He doesn’t want to ruin your innocence, but he can’t help it. He wishes he had better self-control and restraint, but even so, you were clearly too much of a goody-two-shoes to care. “Drop dead Sehun, are you stupid? How’d he get a gun in this old town? Those are so hard to even-”

“Everybody knows they’re prohibited, doll. It must be ‘cause he’s a veteran, the govs decide that they don’t need to necessarily establish regulations with them,” Sehun glances up back at the house. You know he’s just said a bunch of nonsense.

“Somethin’ like that,” he continues. “Like it’s any work.” He almost scoffs, reaching into his pocket upon instinct. He doesn’t notice, but you’re intently watching. 

You follow his hands well, when he rubs the nape of his neck and pulls out a Marlboro from his tattered satchel. Same satchel that’s been long worn with dirt and grease but vacant of textbooks, pencils, or really a real use, ever since the start of freshman year in college. Sehun still stands that it serves purpose in his mail business. 

He shuts his eyes tight as he lights it between his lips, drawing out the smoke for as long as he can. It blows away in the wind, but you scrunch your nose, in the contingency it dissolves in your nostrils.

You pressed Sehun for more: “Don’t you care that Mr. Park’s gonna smell the smoke? His window’s open and he could still be on his balcony for all we know,” you advise him, worried. “And what’s Mr. Park doing with a gun at this hour, anyway? You could see it from the ground? Should we rat him out?”

Sehun shrugs, not letting on much. 

The smoke ignites something in you, you think. “Sehun, answer me! Isn’t this technically trespassing? Shouldn’t we leave now? All that stuff you said about Mr. Park’s makin’ me nervous.”

He finally feels free and empty of apprehension when he lets go of the cigar, balanced between his lips. He feels powerful. But before he can halt the smile that plays at the curve of his mouth, he chuckles a dry, derisive laugh laced with smoke. “Just decided to be nice this week and stop skippin’ his address on the newspaper list for once. Only trespassin’ if we go beyond his door, these front gates bind nothing,” Sehun smirks. “You should know that by now.”

Thin to a whisper, you display a frown. “I don’t hop as many fences as you. Who knows what else this Park guy has, he’s the real deal, gat and all. You should know that before you do anything else, you fool.”

But he grins right back, and he grins wide. “I should? How touché.” 

When he proves satisfied with the gasper, Sehun withdraws the smoke from between his lips and thrusts it toward the grass. It doesn’t burn the damp grass, barely at all. Just tucks itself neatly in a pile of dandelions, the tarnished flame still warmer than the muted yellows surrounding it.

Quickly, almost lunging himself off, Sehun hoists his body up from the iron gate and firmly turns his heel on the cigar, smiling. 

 And when he lifts up his shoe, even under the dim haze of the moon, you can see that the mud has been imprinted deep into the design on the sole of his shoe and the weeds have been stomped flat, butt of the cigar crushed. He finally lifts his eyes to converge with yours and he deadpans, “You know, you’re gonna want a smoke one day, too,” pausing. “Finally want one, doll?”

Doesn’t Sehun know how to properly take care of a girl?

His hand lazed onto your shoulder leaning on the gate post, your eyes glued to the dirt. He wants you to look up, but his gaze is the only thing holding you down. You can’t break free from his glare, lidded and dazed. 

Last night’s rain drips down the manor’s primary parapet beam. A premonition?

“I don’t need more mess in my life right now.” You hadn’t intended for it to come out so harsh and raspy, but Sehun didn’t pay much attention to it.. “Your parents are too pliant, Sehun.”

Mr. Park sighs a breath of relief. You can take care of yourself. He runs a stiff, left hand through his hair. He wouldn’t have to think about Sehun taking advantage of your company. He quietly hums an incisive tune, like a victory sequence. 

“Give it a try. I know your momma doesn’t like me so much anymore, thinkin’ we’re doin-this and doin-that. You don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to, alright?” He reassures you, something you’re grateful for. “I’m just saying, you can’t be such a high-pillow all the time and expect fun. Even if we landed in jail, my dad’d let us out,” Sehun tilts his head down to hide his smile under his breath, giddy.

“I’m not a high-pillow! Can’t we just go to the next address now?”

Ignoring your question, he’s totally replaying the scene over and over in his head. In his pocket, Sehun crosses his middle over his index. He did not like the feeling of mild defeat. At a weak attempt to cure his frustration, his hand rubs at his forehead. Instead, he’s inundated by the dewy sweat collecting at his brow. How could I let Chanyeol scare me off like that? 

You change the subject. Softer, quieter, your voice barely cuts through the air. “Sehun?” Your voice seems to awaken him a bit. Quickly, he mutters underneath his breath, “huh? What?” His mouth parts uncomfortably, small drops of rain collecting on his bottom lip and cupid's bow. 

“You look like tonight’s over. We can walk home now, you’re very pale.”

Sehun responds, an equally modest, “I’m okay.” Insisting, “let’s hang out a little longer,” pausing to offer a smile. “Gumshoe.”

A smile peels your lip open. “Oh yeah?”

Acquiescently, he smiles. “Oh yeah.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

Sehun winces. “Not yet. Don’t bleed anything against me, ‘kay detective?”

Sehun steadies himself against the tall iron fence again, and it hits him like cold deja vu against his spine. The metal presses deeper into the valleys of his back this time like a knife, but still, he doesn’t move. Instead, he lets it cave against his skin even more, jutting through the fabric of his dress shirt. He takes another look at the smothered cigarette hidden in the grass and laughs a hearty laugh. All he smells is ash and wet dew.

And then, rather obscenely, it comes crashing down on him like dead weight. 

“You know, Chanyeol pulled the gun on me first, looking down on me from that balcony. Then tauntingly, he pointed it back toward himself. What would you do?” Sehun says honestly, turning to face you.

“His blown out eyes wide, but completely still. I’m so pissed that I was scared. Fuckin’ embarrassin’.” he grumbles, matter of factly, a frown thin between his lips as if he’s proven his own point wrong.

“Chanyeol?”

Fuck! “Oh, yeah. That’s his first name. Chanyeol. It means ‘loser’ in the ‘i-can’t-get-any-girls’ language.”

Chanyeol quirks a brow, leaning onto the side railing, still hidden. 

You can’t help but snort. “And why would he do such a thing? Was his tongue stickin’ out too?”

It’s hard to tell where the fabrication starts, but with a pat to your head and a hum in validation, Sehun opens his mouth to protest. “What makes you think he wouldn’t? He’s the town freak.”

Shrugging, you scan the line of trees enveloping the path down the hill. “No, I mean that he was makin’ fun of you with that face.”

 “Sure,” he nods. “But you cannot twist the truth, and the truth is all I’ve been telling you. Don’t you see? That’s creepy, he was pointing the rod at himself. I didn’t want to be responsible in case he actually pulled it, so I left, but now I know that he has no limits. He was ready to die, [Y/N]. This guy’s got no girls, and he’s creepy. You should stay away from him.”

Sehun’s story is like a leaky faucet. It holds enough truth to be believable, but somewhere in the piping, it doesn’t go over well with you. But you believe him. 

Your mind becomes numb and somber for a moment, but the feeling is botched. As if the anesthesiologist didn’t know better, unable to properly administer the drug, and you could still recall Sehun’s words in your head. They lay heavy on your heart, yet you’re not prosaically thinking into the consequences, at all.

Maybe Mr. Park wasn’t as insane as the town recalled him to be. Sehun suddenly speaks. “What a crumb, huh? I don’t think that man’s has mercy on anyone, not even himself.” 

An epiphany makes you feel sick, like a bully. Kids swirl baseless rumors around him. “What are you implying? That he’s lonely and lonely people are crazy?”

“I mean, yeah. He’s a vet, after all. What’s surprising?”

“Listen, you - I mean, Mr. Park, he-he doesn’t have the motive. Stop giving him motives. Rumors say he studied business after his discharge from the draft. That manor of his is built on years of liquified assets, why would he put it all on the line?”

Mr. Park stifles a laugh. You’re defending him. 

Sehun shuts his eyes to think, and for a second you think he’s going to reach into his bag for another cigar, but you think he’s really thinking this time. Sehun definitely knows he is; maybe it’s the lingering tobacco in his throat, maybe it’s the aftershock of what he just said, but he’s really thinking, fitfully. “I - I don’t know, [Y/N]. Maybe he deserves it, for all the people he’s killed.”

A flicker of candlelight moves in your peripheral vision. You nervously glance up at the manor’s ridiculously high arch windows, and wince in horror as the orange glow casted on the balcony shifts. It’s dimmer this time, because there is quite clearly someone blocking the light.

 And the silver alloy shotgun in their grasp gleams under the lunar projection, very, very jeeringly. 

They stand there, eerily forlorn. Lacking real tone or emotion, barren. A machiavellian with a .357 in the limelight pointed dejectedly at the ground. The candlelight behind the figure filters around the silhouette like a stencil on a black canvas, a ghastly spectacle.

And as his arm rises, gun following your bodies, a ghastly spectacle, indeed. It’s hard to tell who he’s aiming at because of the distance. 

The only thing more daunting than the sight itself was the sound of silence. Sehun mutters a curse beneath his breath, beginning to crouch next to you on the dirt. You feel his hands lightly traipse your torso, yearning for your palms in the dark. He first finds your thumb, tender on your clavicle. Then your index, playing with your blouse cloth. You’re glad he doesn’t feel your heartbeat above all, otherwise he would have felt the throb of fear and the mop of tangled love strings evident in the moment. 

Instead, he squeezes your palms together and intertwines your fingers on a whim. Sweaty and scared, they mangle like ropes. He doesn’t know what he’s doing at first, but it was the only way he knew how to provide enough ease for the both of you. It always offers him a little warmth; besides, you were both in danger.

You shudder. “The cover here isn’t good enough,” you whisper. “I bet he’s been listening in on us, Sehun. You see his gat?” Your teeth are chattering now, despite the cooling atmosphere.

“I don’t know what your mama tells you dolly, but now ... we fucking run.” He wants to tighten his grip on his hands on you further and take off like that, but he knows your nature and psyche too well to do that. 

Your chattering halts, “He’s going to see us. And shoot us.” Suddenly apathetic, Sehun finally muses, “Alright. Let’s stay here until that husk of a man leaves.” He exhales, blowing the strands of black hair from his eyes, “promise.” 

Sehun was never very good with promises, and you realize that too late. The fingers caught in yours are already replaced with air and are instead wrapped around your wrist. He juts out his hip, and rises to his full stand. He’s very tall. “Sorry doll. Lied.”

Your stomach sinks. “What are you, a puppy? Do I have to pick you up myself?” He’s towering over you, height teetering past the gate that separated Mr. Park’s property from the town’s. “Sehun, get down, there’s going to be a metal shell in your head anytime now!” With a swift kick to your knee, he pulls you up from the dirt before you can even feel the jolt against your joints, and runs against the wind with you.

[yourdreamsyourwish-2]

Reaction #17: “A date? Sorry but I have to go home and laugh at the idea.”

Chanyeol

“A date? Sorry but I have to go home and laugh at the idea.”  Your arch nemesis Chanyeol sarcastically commented back to you about going out.  

“It wouldn’t be a real one, just to get our parents to back off on the idea.  It would end terribly of course.”  You reasoned, trying to get him to agree to the bargain you had laid out.  He was in his garage changing the oil of your dad’s car, his head under the hood.  

“What do our parents think we are destined for?”  He held out his hand, while you handed him another wrench.  

“Look, I don’t like you, you don’t like me. But they seem to believe we are perfect for eachother, so we might as well do it once and get it over with.”  Chan-yeol peaked his head out from below the hood with a crooked smile. 

“Do it once? Baby, if you wanted that all you had to do was ask.”  You threw the towel you had in your hands at his face.  

“Gross.”  You stormed off into your house, a blush rising to your cheeks.  

Junmyeon

“I’m sorry, a date?”  You looked up at Junmyeon who had taken a seat across from you.  “I think about when I’m laughing my ass off at home. What makes you think I would ever agree to that proposition?”  

“My friends have a bet going, that they think I don’t know about.  I said you would say yes, while they think you would flat out deny me.  You say yes, and we will split the money.”  

“How much?”  You narrowed your eyes on the boy who used to steal your crayons all the time in kindergarten. 

“150 bucks. 50 for you, 100 for me.”  

“100 for me, 50 for you.”  You retorted back.

“75-75, evenly between the two.”  He raised his eyebrow with the usual smirk. 

“Deal.” You shook his hand, agreeing to the date and the price he paid for it.  

Minseok

You couldn’t stop laughing at Minosek’s face while he looked completely serious.

“You’re joking…oh you’re not joking.”  You tried to calm down from the giggle fit his question had thrown you into.

“Why would I joke about a date?” 

“Because of us? Dating? It’s laughable, it’s so funny, I might actually have to go home from stomach pains from how ludicrous it is.”  You reply back, wiping the corners of your eyes. “We both want something right? I want to make my ex jealous-”

“By dating the freakshow of school?”  You blinked up at him.  

“And you want the football to leave you and your friends alone.  Problem solved.”  He raised his shoulders.  

“But that means we have to kiss and stuff…” You shiver at the thought. 

“I’m not a bad kisser, just think about it. Besides, you should be lucky to kiss.”  He left you alone to ponder the solution to the problem.  It was an interesting development to your high school plan, dating a football player had never been on the agenda, especially him. 

Yixing 

“A date? You know I think that’s the funniest thing you have ever said to me before.” Yixing slammed his locker shut, rolling his eyes at you.  

“Why would it be so bad?”

“Why would you want to date a guy you can’t stand?” 

“To prove a theory- to wrongs do not make a right.”  

“I think you mean to negatives-” 

“Okay, this is stupid, will you go to the movies with me yes or no?”  You cut him off before he could go all science nerd on you.  

“Are you paying? For popcorn that is?”

“Yes, I’ll pay for popcorn.”  You agreed.  

“And red vines?”

“And red vines-wait, who chooses Red vines over Twizzlers?”  You asked, following him to the next class, him to continue negotiating the agenda for Friday Night.  

Found Here

Reaction Masterlist

Masterlist

[theonly-vagina-kyungsoo-will-fuk]

it's chan y'all

[joh-ahae]

facts.

[suchathot]

Why can't I live?!?

[xingmithefool]

ĖXØ as vines

[incorrectexoquotes]

chanyeol: don't tell your mother

baekhyun: kiss one another?

chanyeol: ＤＩＥ ＦＯＲ ＥＡＣＨ ＯＴＨＥＲ

baekhyun, terrified: i-

[starrhun]

same energy

[exoxouniverse]

Ride or Die 🏍

[9monk]

(x)

[umsehunmoved]

small bit of my exo as vines video

ignore the watermark alksdjl i’m too broke to buy the full program

[theonly-vagina-kyungsoo-will-fuk]

Dancer : *makes intense eye contact *

Pcy : *shyly smiles away* 〃°ω°〃

[joh-ahae]

ＨＡＰＰＹ　ＶＡＬＥＮＴＩＮＥＳ　ＤＡＹ

 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗖𝗬-𝗟'𝘀 💖

[exols-world]

BEST BOY. ❤

[huachengslastbraincell]

Suho: What do you have in your hand?

Kai*excited*: A KNIFE!

Suho*is alarmed*: NO!

[tartxglia]

So I got bored