#no matter what i blacklist fucking something always wriggles through

[daxite]

oh my fucking christ i am so goddamn fucking tired of seeing shit about the election

[letterstomilen]

i discuss the classification of igneous petrology as you fall asleep during my lecture (PART 2) (ASMR)

Childe/Zhongli, Alternate Universe  When Childe's younger sister tells him about the volunteer at the library, he does not make the connection between that and his new favorite ASMR YouTuber, Rex Lapis.

Childe’s unfortunate love life starts at the age of eight. He, of course, did not call it “love” when he’s eight. When he was eight, he plucked a couple of weeds and sunflowers from his neighbor’s garden before he went to the park and handed them over to a classmate he doesn’t remember the name of now.

Handed over is an understatement here, seeing that she fell over from him shoving the flowers towards her chest before declaring, “Please marry me!”

In hindsight, storming over with the delicacy of an elephant with two left feet was not the best idea. But as somebody who recently discovered that watermelons could not grow out of your stomach no matter what, he was not the brightest. (Lumine now would argue that this is still the case. Unfortunately.)

She, as all eight-year kids would when faced with a loud boy that shoved you to the ground, started bawling. It didn’t help that Childe wasn’t aware of the fact that some worm wriggled in with the weeds and sunflowers he uprooted, with said worm now wiggling on the glittery, cursive ‘i’ in ‘Magical’ on her t-shirt.

This promptly resulted in her mom heading over and a long talk over dinner that night on why you should not ask girls to just marry you at your age.

“So I can ask boys then, right?”

Pleased with the loophole he discovered at age eight, Childe toothily smiled at his mom, who sighed and shook your head.

“You can’t ask anybody to marry you when you’re eight. And please don’t throw flowers at them too.”

The stolen flowers resulted in him being on his neighbor’s blacklist for the next couple of years; this in itself was fine, seeing that Childe was always a bit of a troublemaker and it was bound to happen at some point. However, the crying girl left a big impression on him even as he got older.

It did help that the older he got, the more silver-tongued he became, but this resulted in short-term relationships and a famous incident that once got dubbed ‘Tartaglia’s Shakespearean Slipup.’ (It involved a drunk retelling of Macbeth, several dumb questions, and a shirt that could never get the stain washed off of it.)

So in short, Childe’s love life is, to put it bluntly, a travesty. It has been downhill ever since he was eight years old, and nearly two decades later, he’s sure that he finally hit rock bottom.

“Tonia,” he begins, wondering how his little sister could be so cute yet so cruel at the same time, “what did you not tell Zhongli?”

“Hmm… Oh, I didn’t tell him about your obsession with his channel!” And cue the self-satisfied smile before she took another sip of his coffee.

Oh lord, she learned it from him.

“Anything else?” he presses, wondering what kind of image he has of him now — definitely not a good one. No amount of smooth talking or knowledge about petrology could save him from his past mistakes. He’s sure that Zhongli would not take kindly to the plethora of times that his insobriety has made him infamous among certain groups of people.

And he’ll admit just to himself, he was wholly unprepared for this. He couldn’t even be lulled to sleep by his voice last night — which is unfortunate because the series where he discussed the inspiration behind Tao Yuanming’s work just came out and if there’s one thing Childe likes, it’s poetry — because he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he knew who he was.

Except not as Childe. As Tartaglia, his younger sister clarified, ever so proud of herself that she taught somebody how to say his birth name correctly, never mind that it stumped even the most persistent of professors.

“Not really! He said he likes listening to me brag about my older brother! ‘Cause he’s an only child and everything. Actually… he mentioned that you’d like to hear your stories sometime. Sweet, right?”

“My stories,” Childe echoes slowly. “The ones I told you when you were a kid? The fairytale rip-offs?”

“Yup.”

“Including the one where the kids locked the evil queen up and used her Magic Mirror to cheat on their tests?”

Admittedly, he was a bit lazy with that one. But Tonia was just eight and Childe was half-awake, trying to remember the difference between Hudibrastic and hija. So, like any good literature major with a bone to pick with their academic advisor, he decided that he’d very subtly rehash Snow White and make it all about cheating. (On tests of course.)

“Yuup. They got in trouble, right?”

They didn’t, but his mom would have his head if he said otherwise, so he smiles at her, ruffles her hair, and says with the attitude of a picture-perfect older brother, “Of course. The evil queen immediately sent them to the dungeon. So don’t cheat, okay?”

She nods, rewarding her compliance with another sip of his coffee. The library is fairly close to their apartment, as all things in Liyue are. A tightly packed city by the sea where you were sure to know everything about your neighbor and their neighbor. Which meant that the tenants next door still remembered when Childe first moved in and spent a week high on ambien, only to invest his time in writing a paper about how Snowpiercer was the sequel to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. (When they spoke for the first time, they asked politely if he could please turn down the volume, because it was difficult to sleep when your neighbor watched the two movies consecutively with the volume all the way up at three in the morning, don’t you think?)

(The paper ended up being legible to only the most dedicated of readers anyways.)

Deciding that they’re an appropriate distance from the entrance of the library now, Tonia stops walking and drags her brother towards the benches. “Now, before I take you to meet Zhongli, I just want to ask you one thing.”

He looks at her expectantly, wondering if she’s going to ask if he remembers what Lumine said. Don’t embarrass yourself, don’t act shady, and before you do something—think ITWTWW? (A.K.A Is This What Tsaritsa Would Want? A joke that arose after a particularly hellish class last year after the professor’s attention towards Childe was a source of debate—did she hate him? Did she think of him as her son? Did he—a suggestion brought forth by Aether—remind her of annoying neighbors that’d spend all night partying? To this day, he still doesn’t know.)

“What is it?”

“Did you bring your library card?”

“Huh?”

It turns out, Childe learns five minutes later with relief that his long-forgotten library card was collecting dust in his wallet, that Zhongli has a limit on books he can check out because he’s always forgetting them. And his overdue fees are quite an impressive sum—both for a library volunteer and anybody that’s frequented a library for the past decade.

But to the library’s great relief, he’s only checking out books nobody has ever checked out in the past so by default they belong to him now. (No harm no foul—unless you’re the occasional poor individual that has to research an incredibly specific and niche topic only to find out that the book is not in the library at the moment.)

Tonia sounds immensely proud of herself as she informs him of this while they wait for him to finish help somebody find a book. Help is an understatement, Childe realizes, as he watches Zhongli talk, smiling as he ensnares the visitor in an answer to a question where “yes” or “no” would have sufficed.

It’s ridiculously cute. Really. Tonia seems used to this sight as she drags Childe closer to the two. Zhongli must’ve realized that he slipped into a tangent because he apologizes and points to the nonfiction section before opening his book once more.

“Oh… I forgot.” Tonia purses her lips the same way Lumine does as she sighs, lowering the hand that she was enthusiastically waving moments earlier.

“Hm?”

“He won’t notice us. Ah, Zhongli,” she says melodramatically while they watch him flip through pages in a book, her tone every bit the longing princess in books they poured over when she was younger. “Why can’t you see us? Isn’t my wonderful big brother enough to catch your attention?”

He’s very flattered. Really. He knows that compliment was partially influenced by letting her have a lion’s share of his drink and Lumine’s sarcasm, but he takes it in stride, squeezing her cheeks. Tonia rolls her eyes in response, and heads over to Zhongli, chatting him up quicker than Childe can respond.

“And this is my older brother,” she introduces, gesturing her hand towards Childe, who smiles brightly, hoping he looks every bit the composed person he doesn’t feel like right now.

Zhongli is just as charming in person and it doesn’t help that just the realization he’s standing right here makes Childe’s pulse race, contributing to his increasingly forced smile that he reserves for uncomfortable situations. Oblivious to that, Zhongli smiles at him—one that is ingrained in his memory from days of watching it on loop —and says, “You must be Tartaglia, right? Tonia told me a lot about you.”

Oh fuck. 

His first thought: of course she told him about him. He knew beforehand, the dread of being characterized through his sister’s dramatizations of Childe’s mistakes. It’s partially why he could only get up this morning through two cups of coffee and dunking his head in the freezer for several minutes.

But also his name— 

Childe’s torn between asking why the hell his sister told him his real name or excusing himself to go read a dictionary to cool his nerves. Even though he’s well aware most of his family calls him Tartaglia still—mainly his parents when he’s in trouble (which, to be fair, is most of the time)—most people in Liyue call him Childe for two reasons.

One, Tartaglia is a mouthful and two, after many questions about how his name was pronounced only to get it butchered on several occasions, he’s stopped. (Scaramouche, Tsaritsa, and Signora are the only ones who call him that at this point, really; but he’s convinced Scaramouche does it just to vex him.)

“Yes,” he chokes out. “That’s me. Tartaglia.”

Childe decides that if Zhongli would just say his name and nothing else, he would die happy. Which is a mortifying thought but maybe a little bit of an upgrade from falling asleep to listening him talk about rocks. Isn’t it?

“You can call him Childe,” Tonia offers. “My brother doesn’t like it when people call him Tartgalia.”

His mouth forms an ‘o’ out of realization and sheepishly says, “My deepest apologies, Childe.”

“N-no—” Childe starts, his sister’s expression burning into the back of his head. “It sounds really nice when you say it. Call me Tartaglia—anything you’d like, really.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Tonia smiles mischievously, implying that she never forgot all along as she raises a finger to her chin in mock thought. “You watch his ASMR channel, don’t you?”

“You do?”

They both turn to Childe, who’s sure this is turning into an interrogation; their burning gazes, the expectant silence, and a question he’s reluctant to answer.

“Yeah. I’m a huge fan,” he confesses brightly. “My favorite series of yours is the petrology one. It felt really nostalgic.”

He never thought he’d remember high school clearly ever again, but the videos made his classes a little less lazy. And the heat of the sun on the back of his neck as he slept in class would follow, lulled to sleep by a lecture he couldn’t quite remember. But he recalled his friends’ amusement clearly when they asked how he managed to sleep nearly every class, only to get a cheeky smile as an answer.

“Is that so? May I interest you in some books then? There’s quite the collection here, although I’m not sure which would interest you the most then. Any preferences?”

Ohhh, his expectant look was so cute. But Tonia looks bored at the prospect, so he clears his throat instead.

“Actually, I came here to check out Legend of the Lone Sword so I could follow along with your newest video,” he finally says. “Could you show me where it is?”

“Hmm… We do have two copies but unfortunately both have been checked out. One has just been checked out by Xingqiu and the other… ah, it’s still at my house. We’re having difficulties with the video unfortunately because Venti said… now what did he say?” Zhongli asks himself, humming as he takes out his phone and reads out loud.

“’Find somebody that’s willing to record the video and help you set up b-c’… er, before Christ?”

“Because,” Childe clarifies.

“Thank you. ‘Because I can’t do it without laughing’,” he finishes before sighing. “Also several crying emojis followed by a wine emoji and a suggestion for me to find Diluc…? There are also several other texts that I would not be able to read out loud but that’s the gist of it. As soon as I manage to find somebody, I’ll be able to return the book so you can check it out. My apologies.”

Diluc? All Childe remembers about him is what Lumine once said about him.

‘I was convinced him and Kaeya hated each other until I found out they were siblings.” A pause. Then: ‘I’m still fairly sure they hate each other. They’re at each other’s throats a lot. Diluc more so.’

He had not considered him to be a rival in love. Granted — that’s limited information from several years ago but it’s not as if Childe knows that many people outside of his own department. But still. 

Eager to save any chance of a love life, Childe says, “Why don’t I help you record?”

“That’s a great idea! Then my brother can read the book while he stays over. Right?” Tonia presses on, smiling far too brightly for his taste as Zhongli muses, considering the possibility.

“Are you sure that wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

Childe nearly stumbles at the sight of his relief. Really, his smile isn’t good for his heart—neither is the look he gives him, as if he hung over the moon that very moment. “None at all.”

“What a relief… I’ll tell Venti immediately that I can record the ‘ASMR: Boyfriend Reads to You’ video.”

—What?

Zhongli looks up from his phone after he texts his friend and tilts his head slightly in confusion, his earring brushing against his shoulder.

He looks adorably concerned and maybe a little bit aware that he’s responsible for Childe’s reaction. “Is there something wrong?”

“N-no. Nothing. That’s great. Good. I’m excited to be your boyfriend.”

Tonia lets out a little giggle and he’s sure that there’s somebody at the library silently praying for his downfall as he hurriedly corrects himself. “For the video, of course. Should I give you my number so we can set a date?”

Not deterred by Childe’s flustered expression, Zhongli nods as he hands him his phone. Maybe this is what he expected—that’d most likely be the case if most of his prior knowledge about Childe came from Tonia, who delights in both embarrassing and complimenting her brother like there’s no tomorrow. “Of course. Please give me your number.”

So with the shame of a college student that never managed to shake off his competitive streak from high school, Childe types his number in and promises himself that this won’t happen again.

(His younger sister lords it over him anyways on the way home, a skip in her step as she recalls it.)

Childe 2:34 i got his #

Twin 1 2:35 for the video recording*

Twin 1 2:35 u also embarrassed yourself. tonia told me all about it lol

Ugh. Of course she did. Childe peeks his head into his sister’s room, hearing her recount the library incident with a few more exaggerations poking fun at what he did than he’d like. Aether must be having the time of his life, which should make them equal considering that Childe made him think that Scaramouche was the best TA ever and would be even nicer if you made him an apple pie. (He hated apples.)

Well. They’re even now, aren’t they?

Childe 2:38 ya but he didn’t notice so its ok. BTW neither of u told me he was that airheaded

Twin 1 2:38 itd be funnier that way

Childe 2:39 oh yeah it was really cute

Twin 1 2:41 didn’t need to know that. anyways u do know how to work a camera right?

Childe 2:41 yea…? who do you think takes all of tonia’s pictures

Twin 1 2:42 no i mean like actual professional cameras used to record

Hm… That was a bit of an oversight on his part, wasn’t it? He texts a quick ‘yeah’ because it couldn’t be that bad and he’ll watch several videos on how to work a camera later, won’t he? There should be three buttons max. Easy.

Not to mention he took an elective on film and he’s watched Zhongli’s videos more times than he can count at this point. So really, there’s not much to worry about. The only problem is that he needs to build up immunity.

If he looks like a “blushing maiden”—Tonia’s words, not his—every time Zhongli looks at him, wouldn’t that be trouble? It’s bad enough that he embarrassed himself in front of his twelve-year-old sister but to look like a fool in front of the same guy his sleeping schedule depends on would be debilitating in more ways than one.

Deciding that he won’t let himself lose this time around, he sends a quick text to Zhongli saying ‘Saturday at 4:00 PM, right? See you there :)’ to psyche himself up before deciding a plan of action. There must be something that’ll impress him—no, completely sweep him off his feet.

More aware than ever that he’s fitting the image of a lovestruck idiot his sister painted him as, Childe watches his phone as it pings with a single ‘OK’ and ‘I am looking forward to working with you’ trying to convince himself that his erratic heart rate and the heat rushing to his face is just a side effect of working with somebody that he greatly admires. (It is, by all accounts, infatuation — but he’ll try to ignore that for now.)

[breakyeol]

daddy doesn’t approve

one shot

┗ pairing: chanyeol x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: strong language, smut, fingering, mentions of violence, mentions of depression

You had your night all planned out. You’d finish up your homework and study for the upcoming chemistry exam, take a nice, relaxing shower, then lay in bed and listen to Khalid until you passed out. It was perfect— well, up until you looked up from your chem notebook and damn near had a heart attack upon seeing a human shaped silhouette climbing through your window. Luckily, you managed to recognize the mop of unruly dark grey hair and large, mischievous brown eyes peering up at you before you screamed.

“Chanyeol,” you gasped, palm slamming roughly against your chest, feeling your heart pounding violently within in, “you scared to shit out of me, you asshole!”

Your boyfriend only grinned in that familiar boyish way as he hopped fully through your bedroom window, feel landing on your floor with a soft thud. “Baby,” he purred in that low thunder voice of his, that beautiful voice that never failed to have goosebumps rising across your arms at the sound of it, “I missed you.”

“Missing me isn’t an excuse to break into my room.” The sternness in your voice wavered, unable to keep the light smile that upturned your lips at bay.

“I’d hardly consider this ‘breaking in’,” he chuckled lightly as he smoothly maneuvered his way to your bed. You were about to roll your eyes, when something on his face caught your attention.

“Are you bleeding?”

You didn’t have to ask. There was no mistaking the red substance coating the corner of his bottom lip, nor the fresh scrape going across his left cheek bone. His fingers raised to brush over the scrape on his cheek before he was quickly trying to wave it off with a light smile, “Ah, it’s nothing, really. Don’t worry about it, I’m fine.” In spite of his reassurances, you were quick to jump to your feet, hands raising to gently cup his cheeks as you carefully inspected the damage.

“Chanyeol.” Your voice was thick with concern as your thumb caressed just below his wounded lip, brows furrowing in distress. His large warm hands quickly found your wrists, and he hummed contently as he nuzzled his face into one of your palms.

“You always make me feel so loved.”

You absolutely adored your boyfriend’s playful personality, really you did, the constant light hearted banter and teasing comments always brightened your day. However, there were times when you really wished he’d take things a little more seriously. Like now, while he was standing in front of you looking like someone beat the hell out of him, and you desperately needed an explanation to calm your aching heart. No matter how many times you saw him like this, it still hurt like the very first each and every time.

“Chanyeol, who did this to—” he cut you off as he leaned down and slotted his lips into yours. Naturally, you leaned into him, for the briefest of moments forgetting the current situation as you savored the soft warmth of his mouth against yours. But that short lived state of bliss came to an abrupt end when the taste of something metallic hit your tongue. The trance was broken, and you gently pushed him away.

“Baby,” he whined, jutting out his bottom lip in protest. You dodged him when he tried to lean down for another kiss, giving him a pointed look that told him this was no-nonsense-time.

“What happened?” You questioned softly, though your tone of voice left no room for him to beat around the bush like he usually would and was obviously trying to do now.

He sighed, dropping your hands and stepping around you so he could take a seat on the edge of your bed. You turned, nudging his legs apart so that you could stand between them. He almost immediately melted as one of your hands began to soothingly comb through the hair on the back of your head. As soon as his eyes fluttered shut, head falling forward to rest against your stomach, you asked once again, “What happened?”

His back rose and fell with a heavy breath, defeated. “I mouthed off to the wrong guys, that’s all.” You knew that wasn’t all.

Chanyeol has a tendency to get into trouble. He wasn’t a “bad boy” or delinquent but any means, he just didn’t know when to shut that big mouth of his. And he wasn’t the kind of guy a father would approve of his daughter seeing.

Yours was no such exception.

Chanyeol was prideful and loud and a little arrogant and despite how easy it was for him to make friends, it was also easy for him to make enemies. He took risks when risks weren’t necessary, he pushed the limits of the wrong people, and just didn’t know when enough was enough. And him landed him in nasty, dangerous situations. So you couldn’t help but to find yourself constantly worrying about him.

A deep frown imbedded itself across your face. “Chanyeol.”

He grimaced at the sound of the disapproval and concern lacing his name. “I know, I know, I know—” he leaned back with a deep sigh, grabbing your hands within his own and smoothly interlacing your fingers, “I need to be more careful.”

“Especially around guys that could easily take you on. You might be six foot, but that doesn’t mean your clumsy ass can’t be taken down. Remember that time I beat you in a wrestling ma—” you cut yourself off with a yelp of surprise as he suddenly grabbed your waist and swung you onto the bed, quickly climbing on top of you and pinning your hands above your head. He smirked down at you playfully.

“That was only because I let you win.”

You scoffed, eyes rolling, “yeah right. Is that why you almost started crying when I twisted your arm behind your back—”

This time, you were silenced by a pair of warm, soft lips.

“You talk too much,” he chuckled deeply.

Ha! That was rich coming from Park Chanyeol of all people. And you probably would have laughed in his face had he not started kissing the life out of you.

You moaned softly, the sound coming out half lustful and half surprised as he kissed you fiercely, not wasting a moment before his tongue was lashing out and eagerly pushing into your mouth. Somehow, you managed to wriggle your wrists out of his hold, hands quickly lifting to comb through his thick hair and grip at the back of his neck.

Shit… you always managed to forget just how soft his lips were. Every kiss had you feeling dizzy, like you were getting some sort of high. It was ridiculous the kind of effect that he had on you. Half the time, he didn’t even have to try. All he had to do was look at you to have that giddy, love struck feeling sparking to life inside of you. You hated how susceptible you were to him— to his voice, to his touch, to his presence. It was maddening. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the thrill of being with him. Thrilling, because it was a secret. Kind of. Well, it was a secret from your parents, at the very least.

In the beginning, you’d tried to introduce Chanyeol to them, before things got serious between the two of you. But it hadn’t gone well. Your dad had taken one look at Chanyeol’s (then) blood red hair, piercings, tattoos, and ‘total fucking darkness’ jacket, and had immediately blacklisted him. He was banned from ever stepping foot inside of your home. Indefinitely. And your dad did not want you seeing that ‘hoodlum’ ever again.

But, how could you possibly resist those big, sweet eyes and that charming, boyish grin?

So, you easily took to keeping your relationship a secret from your disapproving parents and continued seeing him behind their backs. It wasn’t difficult. Especially considering how easy it was to claim to be going to one of your friend’s houses while, in actuality, you were hanging out with Chanyeol.

The only real risks you ever took of them finding out was when Chanyeol snuck into your room, like right now. And you really tried to keep that to a minimum. Though, it was hard telling Chanyeol what he was and wasn’t allowed to do. If he wanted to come over, there was very little you could say to successfully dissuade him. And then there were the times he showed up completely unannounced, like tonight. But, you couldn’t say you didn’t find it exciting.

He groaned as you tugged at his hair, biting down gently on your lower lip and tugging. It was about then that you felt his fingers beginning to toy with the hem of you sweatpants. You gasped, hand shooting down to grab his wrist and keep his touch from wandering any further. “What? What’s wrong?” He asked, brows furrowing in confusion and concern, worrying he might have upset you in some way.

“We can’t,” you shook your head, licking your lips and ignoring the lingering taste of mint.

“Do you not want to?”

“That’s not it,” you admitted, nervously glancing at your closed door before looking back up at him. “My dad’s downstairs. He might hear.”

At the mention of your father, Chanyeol paused… and then he smirked. He leaned down, and you shuddered as you felt his lips caressing the shell of you ear. “Then I guess we’ll just have to be really quiet.”

“You’re crazy,” you hissed, swatting his hand away as he attempted to tug at your pants.

He didn’t miss a beat before responding with a goofy smile, “crazy for you.”

Deciding to ignore him, you continued, “if he catches us, you’re dead and I’m grounded for the rest of my natural life.”

“Baby,” he whined, pouting at you as he curled his hand around your waist, “We haven’t gotten to be with each other in so long.”

“I literally came over two days ago, don’t be dramatic.”

“I miss you,” he continued seamlessly, disregarding your interruption, nudging his nose against yours, “I miss your kisses,” he pressed a short, but purposeful kiss to your lips, “I miss your voice. I miss your touch,” he shifted his hips forward, and your eyes widened ever so slightly as you felt something hard roll against your leg. Fuck.

You were getting worked up. How could you not be? Having him this close, breathing out such sensual words in that deep, rich voice, anybody would be losing their mind. He knew just what to say to have you squirming. Desire was beginning to spread like wildfire inside of you, making you feel like you were burning from the inside out. It was overwhelming. You knew that he knew the effect he was having on you, from the dangerous little smirk staining his swollen pink lips to the mischievous glint in his dark chocolate eyes.

This time when he reached down to slide his hand beneath the hem of your pants, you didn’t push him away. “I miss your moans,” he murmured, and you felt a shock shoot through your body as his fingers caressed over you clothed heat, “I miss the way you feel around me,” he tapped your clit, drawing a breathless gasp from your lips.

“Chanyeol,” you breathed softly, fisting at the front of his sweatshirt.

He groaned in response, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, “I miss the way you say my name. It sounds so hot when you say it.” Electricity shot through your veins as he suddenly nudged your underwear aside, easily slipping his fingers through your wet lips. He moaned quietly, dark eyes peering down at where his hand disappeared inside of your sweats, “fuck. I miss how wet you get for me.”

Your head rolled back, eyes fluttering shut as your lips parted in a silent gasp, just basking in the blissful pleasure as his thumb tentatively circled your clit. His head dipped down, and you hummed contently as you felt him beginning to pepper sweet, slow kiss to your jaw and throat. “Baby…” you uttered breathlessly, repeating his words from earlier, “you always make me feel so loved.”

“Mmm, I haven’t even gotten started yet.” He punctuated the statement by slipping his slender middle finger inside of you. Your back arched at the sudden penetration, but your body quickly adjusted to the familiar stretch, pleasure quickly blossoming in place of any short lived discomfort.

“Chan,” you moaned, keeping your voice low and controlled.

“Baby,” he drawled in reply, smirking lazily as he watched your face twist in delight. God, he loved the expressions you made. More so, he loved knowing he was the only man that could make you make them.

He knew he was being selfish. Selfish in wanting to keep you to himself, despite knowing you could easily be in a relationship with a man that your parents approved of. A relationship where you didn’t have to sneak around and lie. A relationship that you could feel completely comfortable in no matter where you were, and never feel on edge or nervous about getting caught. And yet… however greedy it made him seem, he couldn’t, not even for a moment, imagine himself without you.

There used to be a really dark place inside of him. A dark, heavy abyss that existed in his chest and weighed him down. He went a long time trying his best to ignore it, ignore the way it grew and expanded with every passing day, ignore the way it drew his energy and passion out of his heart and mind, ignore the dark thoughts it fed him. Most people ran from it when they discovered its existence. They separated themselves from him gradually, and then all at once. They all expected him to be the same as mask he showed to the world; funny, upbeat, positive Chanyeol. When he didn’t meet that expectation, they turned their backs on him. And so, for a long time, he was alone.

Until he met you.

He tried his best to hide the dark place from you as long as possible. But it didn’t take too long for you to finally catch a glimpse of it. He expected you to run, just like everybody else. He’d prepared himself for it.

But then, you didn’t.

You stared right into that dark place in his heart, without fear or apprehension, and accepted it. You’d accepted it as a part of himself he’d struggle with for a long time, and you were determined to help him. However long and bloody the battle, you’d be there for him, every step of the way.

And once you’d done that… it was game over for him. He became closer to you than he’d ever been to anybody else in his entire life. Before he even realized what was happening, that dark place in his chest began to shrink. The emptiness was slowly becoming full. Full of you. Of your laugh, of your smile, of your love. Until it was all but gone.

There was no way in hell he could ever give you up. Not for any one. Not after everything. Not after falling in love with you.

“Does it feel good?” He questioned softly, pumping his finger slowly in and out of you, taking great care to keep his pace steady and rhythmic, just for the hell of drawing things out.

“Do you even need to ask?” You retorted, though your voice came out less sarcastic and more breathless than you’d intended. He chuckled, letting his nose drag over your cheek.

“Of course… I have to make sure my baby is enjoying herself,” he cooed playfully, nipping at the corner of your jaw.

You scoffed, “‘baby’ my a— ohh.” Any smart ass response you’d been about to spit out died on the tip of your tongue as he slipped a second finger inside. Your hands leapt up to grip tightly at the thick material of his sweatshirt, the muscles of your thighs quivering as his digits pushed in deeply. It took more will power than you’d expected to suppress the volume of your moans, fiercely resisting the urge to cry out his name for the whole damn world to hear. Through clenched teeth you gritted in a strained, hoarse, yet lustful voice, “give me some kind of warning before you do that.”

He snickered, “sorry.” He definitely was not.

Any frustration directed at him was quick to dissipate as his motions suddenly began to speed up, the previous slow, calculated thrusting of his fingers growing faster and more purposeful. And with every thrust, he hit that perfect little spot that had every nerve ending in your body erupting in sparks of ecstasy. It sent your mind into a frenzy.

“F–fuck, Channie,” you choked, brows curling and face reddening with the raw effort of keeping your voice at bay.

“You gonna come?” He asked. You could tell he was feeling something, as the words escaped him in quiet, breathy huffs. He also wasn’t very subtle about grinding against your leg, hips working on their own accord as he watched you climb closer and closer to your peak.

You nodded faintly as you felt something tug in the pit of your stomach. Your own hips began rolling in time with his fingers, meeting them halfway with every thrust. “Y–yeah, Channie, I’m gonna— I’m gonna—” all at once your breathing began rapid, voice jumping up in pitch as your eyes rolled.

If there was one thing that Chanyeol knew, it was that you were physically incapable of keeping quiet when you reached your point of release. He could tell from your expression alone that you were seconds away from coming. He was quick to drop his head and connect your lips in a deep, stifling kiss. Just in time, it seems, as the moment your lips touched, he felt the vibration of your unrestrained moans resonating through his mouth. Your back arched deeply, hips desperately rutting up against his palm, muscles tensing and trembling uncontrollably.

He helped you through your high, fingers not stopping until your body went slack on the mattress beside him. He carefully drew his slick fingers from your heat, apologizing softly and sweetly kissing your forehead when you winced from oversensitivity. Your eyelids parted just in time to witness him slip his fingers into his mouth, giving a satisfied hum as the taste hit his tongue.

Ignoring the faint twinge in your exhausted core, you wrinkled your nose at him, “gross.”

“It’s pretty good actually, would you like a taste?” He didn’t give you a chance to respond before he was pulling you into another kiss, though far more playful than the last. You couldn’t help but laugh against his lips, batting at his arms lightly.

And then there was a knock at the door.

“Y/n?”

Your eyes snapped wide open, immediately meeting Chanyeol’s equally as shocked gaze. Any traces of amusement were gone from your faces as your father’s muffled voice called through your door.

“Hide. Hide. Fuck, hide.” You jumped into action, frantically shoving at Chanyeol’s shoulders until he fell off your bed, hitting the floor with a low thud. “Fuck!”

“Y/n? What was that? I’m coming in.”

You forced your expression to become as calm as possible as your bedroom door swung open, revealing your suspicious looking father.

“Dad,” you smiled easily, “what’s up?”

“Where you talking to someone?” He immediately questioned, eyes narrowing as he did a quick scan of your seemingly empty bedroom.

Your brows furrowed in fake confusion, “no? Who would I be talking to?”

Nervousness prickled at your mind as he suddenly stepped inside, scrutinizing gaze dancing from wall to wall, sliding over and under very last piece of furniture in your room until they finally settled back on you. “I thought I heard… a man’s voice.” You bit at the inside of your cheek as your palms suddenly felt clammy, subtly wiping them on your sheets.

You raised a brow, chuckling lightly, “I’m pretty sure you would have noticed if a man came into the house, dad.”

“I suppose…” He began to voice shallow, wavering agreement, but then he paused, eyes falling on your open window. You felt your stomach lurch, heart jumping into your throat. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You suddenly noticed your chemistry notebook sitting at the edge of your bed, previously discarded, and quickly pulled it into your lap.

“I was—” your voice came out louder than you intended and you quickly cleared your throat, drumming your fingers across the marked up pages, “in the middle of studying… I have a test coming up, so…” you vaguely insinuated that he needed to leave, head subtly nodding in the direction of your door.

Your dad’s suspicious eyes remained locked on your window for a few more painful seconds, before he finally relented. “Alright. Study well,” he gave you a short nod before making his way towards the door, only pausing again to throw out a light “love you” over his shoulder.

“Love you, too,” you called back as naturally as possible, not daring to let yourself relax until the door clicked shut behind him, “holy fuck.”

“Just so you know, there are like three creepy ass stuffed animals under your bed and I was low key scared they might come to life and maul me to death. Talk about a boner killer,” Chanyeol snickered as he rolled out from under your bed, resting his chin on the mattress as he grinned at you like he didn’t have a care in the world. The last thing he expected was for you to chuck a pillow at his face. He let out an ‘oomph’ falling back at the sheer force of your throw. “God damn you’ve got an arm on you! You sure you’ve never played softball before?”

“Get the fuck out, Park Chanyeol! Get out!” You hissed, swinging your legs over the edge of your bed and trying to drag his ass back towards the window. He was heavy as fuck though so you didn’t get too far. He only laughed at your efforts, jumping to his feet and slinging his arms around you, in a tight, restricting embrace. You hit at his arms, demanding that he release you this instant and get the hell out the same way he’d come in.

“Are you mad at me, baby?” He pouted, despite the wild amusement glimmering in his eyes. You glared up at him, having given up on trying to squirm out of his vice like hold.

“Yes.”

His pout deepened, and he shot you the best, most heart melting pair of puppy dog eyes he could possibly muster. “Really?”

You sighed in defeat. “No.” A bright smile broke across his lips, but it dropped right back into a disappointed frown as you added, “but you still have to leave.”

“Can’t I stay? Just for a little longer?” He pleaded. You wished he could. You really, really, really wished he could. But you knew your dad. You knew once he got suspicious he wouldn’t let up. He’d probably come back to check on you again soon. And there was no way you’d get lucky twice in one night.

“You know you can’t,” you hummed apologetically, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

“I know,” he grunted forlornly, dropping his head against the curve of your shoulder, “can I see you tomorrow?”

You chuckled, “how about I come over to your place instead, yeah? Since your parents actually approve me. We can have a movie night?” He immediately perked up at the suggestion, an excited smile lighting up his handsome face as he squeezed your waist.

“Promise?” He extended his pinkie expectantly. You giggled at his childishness, but complied, wrapping your pinkie around his and pressing a soft kiss to your interlocked digits.

“Promise. Now get out of my bedroom, you dork.”

“I’m holding you to that!” He declared as he finally released you, backing towards your window, circling his index finger in the air. “You bail, then you better expect another late night visit from yours truly!”

“Understood,” you grinned, crossing your arms over your chest. He grinned as he slung one of his legs over the windowsill, moments away from swinging over the other before he suddenly paused, astonishment striking his features as he quickly looked back towards you.

“Ah! I almost forgot!” He quickly climbed right back onto your room, taking large strides in your direction.

“What’re you—” you gasped in surprise as he planted a quick kiss to your lips, grinning cheekily as he pulled away.

“See ya tomorrow, gorgeous,” he sang, clicking his tongue as he shot you a two fingered wave, disappearing out your bedroom window in the blink of an eye.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Eighty Nine

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

July 14th, 2003

Remy woke up in the middle of the night, shaking violently. He couldn’t sleep, again, because he had a nightmare about his parents, again. He ran a hand over his face and looked at Emile next to him in bed. At least his fiancé was still asleep this time. He had been waking Emile up far too often with nightmares about his parents ruining their wedding.

He hadn’t told Emile that’s what the nightmares were about recently, but he knew he couldn’t keep that secret up for very long. He just hoped that whenever it came time to invite his parents to the wedding, these nightmares would stop.

  July 15th, 2003

Remy was dead on his feet, but if Emile thought that he wasn’t going to the homeless shelter, he was dead wrong. Remy had an entire day’s worth of food from Sleep Easy that hadn’t been bought, and he wanted it to go to use. He had dressed in one of his blouses and jeans the second he had gotten home, and was heading to the homeless shelter to meet up with Emile.

The second he opened the door, he could hear the children screaming in delight, no doubt playing with Emile. Remy headed to the kitchen to drop off the food before he went to check on Emile. He knocked on the door to the kids’ room and asked, “You kids busy with my fiancé or am I allowed to kiss him hello?”

Emile was currently hog-tied on the floor, and Remy had to bite his lip to keep his laughter in check. “You can say hi,” one of the boys said. “I was showing everyone the wilderness tricks my uncle taught me.”

“Ah,” Remy said. “And you’re using my fiancé as an example?” he asked.

The boy shrugged. “He volunteered.”

“I thought you were...gonna tie my hands together or something, not hog-tie me,” Emile said, wriggling on the floor. “Can you untie me yet? I’m starting to lose feeling in my feet.”

“Let ‘im go, please,” Remy sighed.

The boy nodded and gave the rope a good tug, letting Emile go in one swift movement. Emile just laid on the ground, groaning for a moment, before he sat up. “Hi, honey,” he said, kissing Remy as Remy got down on his haunches.

“I have an aunt who says you guys shouldn’t do that,” one of the girls piped up. “She’s really dumb.”

Remy laughed hard enough at that to the point he couldn’t keep his balance and collapsed on the floor in giggles. Emile shook his head. “It’s not nice to call people ‘dumb,’” he said.

“Well, my mom calls her dumb!” the girl said. “And that’s why we don’t live with her. That, and she had a baby in April. And Jessica cries all the time whenever we go over to borrow a shower.”

“You probably woke her up. Babies sleep a lot,” Emile said simply. “Is this aunt on your mom or your mother’s side?”

“My mom’s,” the girl said. “Why?”

“I’m making a blacklist of all the homophobes in town,” Remy said as he sat up with a groan. “If they’re too nasty they’re not allowed in my shop.”

“Oh. My aunt’s last name is Gaines. She’s Aunt Diane to me, though.”

“Got it,” Remy said, pulling out a notebook and writing Diane Gaines in it. “That’s another report of someone denying their family a home, which is also scummy.”

“How did you know Aunt Diane doesn’t let us live there even if we wanted to?” the girl asked.

“Because you said your aunt doesn’t like men kissing, and your moms are gay,” Remy said.

The girl sighed. “You know, some of the kids at school say I’m going to Hell ‘cause of that,” she said.

“Well, don’t tell them I said this, but those kids are dumb, too,” Remy said, barely biting back a snarl.

“Remy, that’s not nice,” Emile warned.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Remy muttered darkly.

The kids were staring at Remy like he had a second head. Emile cleared his throat. “Sorry, guys. Religion is a...sore spot for Remy sometimes,” he said awkwardly.

“Literally the only time I’ve ever been comfortable in a church is when we went together to stick it to your grandfather, and even then the prayers were weird,” Remy declared.

Emile tilted his head to the side. “You should have told me. I wouldn’t have made you go.”

“I went voluntarily,” Remy said. “The only time I was comfortable-ish was when I went voluntarily. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Wait, people can force you to go to church?” one of the boys said, pulling a face.

“If those people are your parents, yes,” Remy growled. “Still hate my mom and dad for that.”

“You hate your parents?!” another girl asked, alarmed.

“Remy, maybe you should stop while you’re ahead,” Emile advised.

“Yeah, I was literally about to leave,” Remy said, shaking his head. “I’m needed in the kitchen anyway.”

“But why do you hate your parents?! Parents are always nice!” one of the boys said.

Remy could feel his emotions being pushed to their limit, and he stood up, tossing a, “Not always,” over his shoulder.

After Remy helped organize the food for the night, Bernie walked in and called Remy over. “Remy, I need a word with you,” he said.

Remy winced and complied. “Yeah, Bernie?” he asked.

“Some of the kids have come up to me and asked if I know where your parents are, and if they can hurt you still,” Bernie said. “Care to explain?”

With a sigh, Remy said, “I was tired. I didn’t keep my tongue in check properly. That’s my bad. Won’t happen again.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re considering the kids, but that’s not my concern,” Bernie said. “Were you abused?”

“According to my parents, or everyone else in my life?” Remy snarked.

Bernie blinked. “Easy, son. I just wanted to make sure you’re in a safe position.”

“Safe is relative,” Remy said, pinching his nose. “And don’t call me son today, please.”

“Is Emile hurting you?” Bernie asked.

“No, never.”

“And your parents?”

“Don’t know where I live,” Remy said. “They can’t get to me.”

Bernie nodded. “That’s good,” he said. “Long day?”

“Too long.”

“Want a chance to sit in my office instead of doing more stressful work with the kids or with the kitchen?”

Remy felt ashamed of his answer, but he nevertheless nodded his head.

Bernie led him to the back office, and Remy sat down in a chair in front of the desk heavily. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Bernie said.

“You have children running up to you, asking you if there’s an adult equivalent of CPS that can make sure my parents don’t know where I live,” Remy scoffed. “Are you saying that doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m saying that’s not because of you,” Bernie said, sitting behind the desk and flipping through paper records. “That, Remy, is because of your parents. Not you.”

“They haunt me everywhere I go,” Remy muttered darkly.

Bernie said nothing, just looked up at Remy and waited for him to continue in his own time.

“They tried to unsuccessfully force their backwards beliefs on me. They hurt me in ways that I don’t even know how to begin to describe. My mother stalked me, my father guilt-tripped me in a letter for not going home with her. Multiple times. And you know what?” Remy’s voice was rising from a barely audible rumble to a near-shout. “Despite all that, I still want them to be proud of me! I still want their validation, their love! I still want them at my fucking wedding, whenever that happens, in a Catholic church, because Emile’s somewhat religious! They would eat me alive if they thought I was Catholic, nevermind agnostic! But I still want them there! I want them to be proud of me, dammit!” Remy slumped backwards in his seat, covering his face with his hands as he started to cry. “I want them to be proud of me, Bernie. I can’t let them go, because there’s that chance that they could change their minds.”

Bernie sat there, with his hands folded in front of him, a piercing gaze going straight through Remy’s soul. “I can see why Emile thinks you need therapy,” Bernie said drily. “Remy. Can you look at me a moment?”

Remy brought his hands down from his face and his gaze up from the floor.

“Your parents do not define your worth. You’re the only one who is allowed to do that. What they think? Doesn’t matter at the end of the day. I know, that’s easier said than done, but it’s true. And, for what it’s worth?” Bernie nodded. “I’m proud of you. Proud of you for owning up to mistakes, for the progress you’ve made, for the choice you make to continue on every day. I’m proud you’ve opened yourself up to Emile. I’m proud you’ve worked hard enough to make your own shop. And most importantly, I’m proud to call you a friend.”

Remy blinked the tears away, shaking his head. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m not trying to dismiss you. I just want someone to be proud of me as a parent, though. There’s a need there...and it doesn’t get filled by friends, though friends can help alleviate the ache.”

Bernie hummed. “You’re in contact with Emile’s parents, yes?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Remy sighed. “Why?”

“I think you should call them. Not with Emile. Just on your own. Talk to them about your life. If necessary, tell them you need someone to be proud of you, but I don’t think that will be an issue. From what Emile has told me, they shower praise and love on everyone they meet,” Bernie said. “They may ‘only’ be in-laws, but at the end of the day, they will be your parents too. Talk to them, see if them loving you fills that void at all. You might be surprised,” Bernie offered.

Remy laughed in disbelief. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he asked.

“Because you’re caught in the moment, and in the emotions,” Bernie said. “Sometimes you need someone who can cut through all that and offer you a different solution.”

Remy nodded. “Ain’t that the truth?”

“Do you feel better?” Bernie asked.

Remy nodded.

“Then I do believe we should head back out and see how much of your shop food has been claimed,” Bernie said with a smile. “Everyone loves it here.”

“Oh, come on, it would just go to waste if I didn’t bring it here, it’s nothing special,” Remy scoffed.

Bernie and Remy walked out of the office and Bernie said, “Oh, but sometimes that’s exactly why it’s special.”

Emile rushed down the hallway to them, and hugged Remy tight. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Better,” Remy said simply. “How are the kids?”

“Worried about you. And promising not to ask any more questions about you if it means you get to play with them after dinner.”

“I’m a bit too tired to play with them,” Remy sighed. “I’m a bit too tired to work on anyone else’s finances, too, but I can go home straight after dinner. You usually can’t.”

“I’m willing to, if that’s what you need,” Emile offered.

Remy considered Bernie’s words. “No,” he said. “I think I’ll be okay. Might call Mom and Dad tonight, just to get some words of wisdom.”

“I know they’d love to hear from you,” Emile said, frowning. “What brought this on?”

Remy shrugged. “Sound advice from a friend.”

Bernie smiled and shooed them off to get their food from the kitchen. Remy felt numb most of dinner, but reassured the kids who came up to him that he was all right. The second he got the chance, however, he made his excuses and left to go home. He opened the address book and called Emile’s parents. “Hello?” Emile’s mother asked.

“Hey, Mom,” Remy sighed. “Everyone’s all right over here, but I was hoping we could just talk for a bit?”

“Oh, of course, sweetheart! What do you want to talk about?”

Remy groaned, “I had a long day at work and then when I went to volunteer at the shelter, I said some things I shouldn’t have. And it really sucked. Now the kids are worried about me and I feel like a screw-up.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You know that you’re not actually a screw-up, right? You’re incredibly bright, and sometimes we just hit our limits sooner than we expect to. No matter what happened tonight, you’re still an amazing young man. And I’m proud to have you as a son.”

Remy could feel tears coming to his eyes and he choked out, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Emile’s mom asked.

“For being you,” Remy said. “And for being here for me.”

“Remy, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”