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Peaches |Werewolf au | Exo | Chanyeol | Epilogue

Masterlist | Peaches

Werewolf!AU

Length: 2.3k

Note: :)

Warnings: none

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Genre: Fluff/angst

Summary: Werewolves live peacfully with the humans but not always peacefully with eachother.

#exowritersnet #exo #exo k #exo m #exo chanyeol #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic rec #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction au #exo fanfic au #exo werewolf #exo werewolf au

Where Wind Soothes - Crypt (Sehun, pt. 9) [Chronicles of the Wolf series]

I love you guys. Sorry for being gone for so long.

I hope this will help <3. I’ll start replying to all of your answers tomorrow <3

If you need to refresh your memory, and I know you do, read this!

Enjoy!

The mountains seemed even more ominous as you neared them, and you knew why it seemed that way to you. It was most probably a combination of all things- the sky was overcast, sun only slightly visible through the thick layer of grey; an omnipresent and yet still powerless deity, whose power would not reach where you were about to wander. The area surrounding the crypts of the ancient seemed match the atmosphere of a final resting place of dozens of warriors. The ground was hard and cold, and only the harshest and sturdiest of flora survived here, a clear sign for anyone and everyone, that this was not a place for the living.

#sehun #oh sehun #exo sehun #exo sehun story #exo sehun scenario #sehun exo #sehun exo story #sehun exo scenario #exo #exo story #werewolf #werewolf story #werewolf au #sehun werewolf #exo werewolf #exo werewolf story #series: Chronicles of the Wolf

Riding the Red 5

A/N: This is chapter 5 of an in progress fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist.

You gradually regained consciousness, warm and surrounded by softness, then stretched, your limbs sliding over the flannel bedclothes, luxuriating in their comfort. Lying in bad, you thought about the previous day, specifically how pleasant it was to watch Chanyeol’s muscles running like water under his skin. You frowned as your thoughts turned to other matters, such as how long you were going to be snowed into the cabin.

You had responsibilities that needed your attention, not to mention the fact that, having disappeared without a word, everyone would be thinking that some harm had befallen you. You would see if Chanyeol could clear the snow from the dish so that you could at least email your parents and grandmother. They could contact the school. That plan in mind, you rose to begin your day.

You dressed quickly in charcoal yoga pants and a black racer-back tee. Searching the room, you located several pairs of shoes under the bed, and pulled out a pair of black Converse. You found Chanyeol in the exercise room, already hard at his run. He nodded at you, and you smiled, walked over to a free spot on the floor, dropped down, and began to stretch. Chanyeol watched hungrily, yet covertly, as you made your limber way through various splits and stretches. Climbing on the elliptical beside him, you began to work. Forty minutes later, you were out of breath and ready to quit, and he had yet to break stride. After a five minute cool down, you jumped off the machine to go shower. As you were leaving, you didn’t see Chanyeol’s tongue flash around his mouth, licking his lips. You still hadn’t found a bra, and he hated to see you go. He sighed, ruefully thinking at least the view of you walking away was just as good. Back in your room, you pulled out a button-down cashmere patchwork sweater-dress, in varying shades of green, and paired it with eggplant sweater tights. You carried your booty to the bathroom, where you took a leisurely shower, this time using a thick, rich shower cream that smelled sweetly of mimosa. After your shower, you braided your hair into one thick French braid that you laid over your shoulder, and pushed back the tendrils curling about your face with an aubergine velvet headband. By the time you emerged from your room, Chanyeol had finished his run, and was outside shoveling snow. You searched through the kitchen, trying to choose what to prepare for breakfast. You decided to make a simple breakfast of white whole-wheat currant cream scones, scrambled eggs, and fruit salad. By the time you were cutting the scones, Chanyeol came in, stamping snow from his feet. “Well hello,” you said. “How did you sleep?” Chanyeol gave you an oblique look and said, “Not as poorly as I have been. Not as well as I could have.” His eyes dipped down, caressing your breasts as you pressed against the fabric of your sweater. “Nor as well as I will.” You smiled to yourself, having grown somewhat inured to Chanyeol’s bold manner of speaking. You leaned close to him, stretching until your mouth was a few scant inches from his, and paused until his expression changed, and his body grew still in anticipation. Dragging your eyes to his you licked your lips, and then whispered, “Go take a shower you beastly creature!” Chanyeol threw his head back and laughed. Nudging past you with his hip, he loped to his room to bathe. Once he left, you pulled strawberries, a pineapple, lychees, green, purple, and red grapes, and a mango from the refrigerator. When you searched for yoghurt, however, all you could find was a plain single serving container of Greek-style. “Note to self,” you thought, “make more yoghurt…” You chopped the fruit and put it in a bowl, and then moved on to the eggs, scrambling them, and then pouring them into a cast iron skillet coated with hot olive oil. When they had set, you grated a healthy dose of Dubliner cheddar over them, and put them on the back burner so that the residual heat would cook them and melt the cheese. By the time Chanyeol returned, smelling sweetly of soap, you were pulling the scones out of the oven.

You had just put the food on the table, so Chanyeol went to the cabinets to pull out dishes and flatware. You took the opportunity to run your eyes over his wide shoulders, straining against the nubby fabric of his charcoal turtleneck sweater, to his long legs encased in black lamb’s wool trousers. “What are you going to do with this peeled pineapple?” he queried. “Hm?” you said, quick-witted as treacle. “Oh, that was supposed to go into the salad! I was distracted—-I’ll just cut it up and toss it with the others.” You began to slice the pineapple, when Chanyeol walked by, smelling so good that you closed your eyes for a moment. Suddenly he turned, harshly biting, “You cut yourself.” You looked down to see a small slice on your middle fingertip on which blood was just starting to drip onto the fruit. “Oh,” you said hesitantly, nonplussed by the fact that he had noticed before you. “I’m sorry; I’ll just get rid of this—” “No need,” he said, slowly walking toward you. “I trust you.” Taking your hand, he brought the injured finger to his mouth and slipped it inside, gently sucking away the blood from the small wound. “See?” You swallowed hard, your eyes fixed on your own small hand nestled in his large, rough ones. When you looked up, Chanyeol was watching you, his pupils once again strangely dilated. You gently swayed toward him, and he let your finger slip from his mouth. His warm, minty breath fanned your face, and you blushed at the turn that your thoughts were taking. You looked away and heard him sigh. Reaching around you, he took the plate of pineapple, and mixed it with the rest of the fruit. Sitting down, you quietly began to eat. “Are there any preserves?” Chanyeol asked, breaking the silence. “No,” you responded. “I did, however, locate plenty of frozen fruit, fruit juice, and pectin, so I’ll make some later. Also, you’re pretty much out of yoghurt, so I’ll make some more of that, too.” Chanyeol stared at you for a second, and then grinned wolfishly. “Who are you? You can make all of this stuff from scratch? You’re like some atavistic creature from ‘Little House on the Prairie’.” She laughed, all of the previous tension draining from the room. “I like to be able to make things myself. That way I know what’s going into it, and I never run out, as long as I have the raw ingredients.” “Will you show me how?” Chanyeol asked. “You want to learn how to make preserves?” you asked incredulously. “Why not,” he responded comfortably. “I’m always up for learning a new skill.” Then, slyly, “…and I couldn’t ask for a prettier teacher.” You grinned, cocky. “How’s this afternoon?” “Sure. It’s not like we have any pressing engagements.” “Oh, that actually reminds me…I was wondering if it’s at all possible that you could, well, try to clear the snow from the dish. Just for a little while? I need to let my parents and Grandmother know that I’m alright, and tell them to call the school for me.” Chanyeol looked pensive for a moment. Slowly, he said, “Alright. I’ll do it after breakfast which, by the way, is delicious. Thank you for feeding my bottomless pit.” He put his hand over his abs. “Well, it feels nice to see pleasure on someone’s face because of what you’ve made.” “If you want to see pleasure on my face, I can show you a much more interesting way to–” He ducked, laughing as a napkin narrowly missed his head. After you had eaten, and the dishes had been washed, Chanyeol put on his coat to go try to clear the snow from the dish. He opened the door and peered outside at the quickly falling snow. “Go into my room; my laptop is on my bed. As soon as the web is up, make your emails—-with this snow, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay up there, keeping it clear.

You nodded, feeling awkward for making him do something so potentially dangerous. Putting your hand on his arm, you looked up into his eyes, and offered him a sincere "Thank you.” He looked at you briefly, then back outside. Smiling as he started, he said, "You’ll just have to owe me a favour.” You watched as he made his way to the shed, stomping down snow onto the path that he had just shoveled that morning. As he made his way back toward the house with the shovel, you trotted to his room, and opened the door. A warm puff of spicy air surrounded you, smelling strongly of him. Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply, enjoying the luxury of being able to unabashedly take pleasure in his scent. When you opened your eyes, you looked around the room. Neat as a pin, it was done in dark emeralds, chocolates, neutrals, and russets, and all of the wood was dark cedar. It was similar to your room, which was done in autumnal tones and cherry wood, but his was definitively masculine. No diaphanous curtains hung around his bed, no candles littered his dresser or nightstands. You saw an open door leading to his bathroom, which was almost Spartan, housing only soap, and shaving implements. Another door led to a closet, you were sure, but you weren’t bold enough to take a peek, even though curiosity burned. You quickly walked over to his bed and climbed on—-it was much higher than yours—-curling yourself around his laptop. The screen came on as you moved it, the desktop a vivid green picture of a lush forest. His desktop was curiously bare, but you shrugged, assuming that his propensity for neatness must run to his computer, as well. As you were looking for the internet icon, a neat little pop told your that the wireless was back up. You went to your email and quickly typed a message to your parents and grandmother, saying that you couldn’t talk long, but you were safe, and briefly explaining the fact that you hadn’t previously contacted them because of the accompanying hardships that followed being snowed-in in a remote cabin in the woods.

“Ow.” “Hold on—I’m coming out there!” “No, no,” he said. “I’m alright. The snow broke my fall. I’m afraid that the dish didn’t make it, though. Did you get to send your email?” “Yes, just.” Chanyeol grunted. Then, in a surprising display of athleticism, he flipped from his back to his feet. You gasped in surprise and delight, and grinned. “I guess you certainly are alright.” He nodded brusquely, wrapping the cords around the dish. “I’m just going to go put this in the shed. I’ll be in in a moment.” Nodding uncertainly, you watched him trying to make his way toward his shoveled path, in the now waist-deep snow. You gave the snow a pensive look. It seemed as if there were periods when it would melt at a rapid rate, but before things became manageable, it would begin to snow again, leaving you buried in the white fluff. You had never seen such odd-acting weather. Sighing, you shrugged and closed the window, laughing ruefully to yourself as you made your way to the kitchen. It’s not as if anyone could control the weather. You put some milk on the stove to warm, for hot chocolate. You were just stirring in the blocks of bittersweet, when Chanyeol tumbled into the kitchen in a blast of frigid air and powdery snow, breathing heavily. You stared at him for a moment, before starting forward to help him remove his heavy grey wool coat and scarf. Chanyeol ripped the hat from his head and fluffed his hair. His cheeks were ruddy, and his eyes were shining. He grinned broadly, lifted his nose and sniffed the air. “Cocoa?” he asked hopefully. You nodded, handing him his wrappers. “You spiked it!” he playfully accused. “Bailey’s Irish Cream,” you grinned. By the time he returned from hanging up his coat and scarf, you were grating cinnamon into the thick drinking chocolate. He chafed his hands, watching you while you poured the cocoa into mugs, topped them with a healthy dollop of marshmallow fluff, and handed one to him. Chanyeol gratefully wrapped his hands around the warm mug, inhaling the fragrant steam. He tipped the mug to gingerly take a sip, groaning when it hit his tongue. When he lifted his face from the mug, his upper lip was charmingly dotted with fluff. “I may just have to kidnap you, when the snow is gone,” he said, smiling angelically. “I’m very frightened,” you deadpanned. “Also, you have a bit of…ah…” you gestured toward his lip. His curiously mobile tongue flickered out and made neat work of the fluff. Silence reigned for a while, as you had definitively un-friend-like thoughts. By the time you came to, Chanyeol had finished his hot chocolate and had covertly started in on yours. “Well,” you said, briskly clearing your throat and wiping your hands on your thighs. “Let’s get on with the jam-making.” You went hunting for jars, and found some empty glass honey jars that would do nicely. Chanyeol filled a stock pot with water, and put it on the stove to sterilize them, while you perused the freezer. “What type of jam or jelly would you like?” You asked. He shrugged. “I’ll take whatever you want to give me.” You flashed him a sideways glance and said tartly, “Your choices are pomegranate, raspberry, apple, or cherry.” “Why not all? That way we can have variety,” he answered. You nodded thoughtfully. “You do have a point.” You began pulling labeled freezer bags from the deep freezer and handing them to him to put on the table. Then you looked under the counters and pulled out a few bottles of apple cider, and pomegranate juice, and grabbed the packets of pectin from one of the cabinets. “Okay. The jelly will be the easiest, so let’s start that first,” you said. “Grab a sauce-pot and put it on the stove.” While he was doing that, you popped the bags into the microwave to defrost. You filled the pot with cider, let it reduce to a third, then divided that into two bowls, and added the pectin to one of them. When that dissolved, you poured some of it, along with more juice, back into the pot, and let it come to a rolling boil for about a minute. “Take out one of those jars from the stockpot and put it on the counter, will you?” Chanyeol cautiously fished one of the jars out of the boiling stockpot, and put it on a coaster. You carefully poured the boiling juice into the jar until it was almost full, then gestured for Chanyeol to put on the lid. “Now what?” he asked. “Pop it back into the stockpot to process for about 10 minutes.” He did so. “And that’s your first jar of jelly. Easy, no?” you teased. He smiled slowly. “I feel so Martha Stewart right now.” Uou rubbed his back. “As well you should, you manly jelly-maker, you. Now back to the grind. You should have read the fine print, my lovely jam-slave. We have one jar down, and three to go.” After repeating the process for the pomegranate jelly, you were ready to make jam. “Would you grab two bowls for the fruit?” you inquired. After Chanyeol set them down on the table, you poured the defrosted bags of fruit into the bowls, and grabbed the masher from the drawer. “Now mash them.” “Me?” he protested. “Hey, you wanted to learn. You have to obey Teacher,” you grinned. “Obey, hm? This could be fun,” he said, mashing the fruit. As he did that, you poured more cider on the stove to reduce, and procured another bowl. “Okay, now I’m mixing the pectin with some of this reduction.” When that was done, you took another pot and poured in the raspberries and some of the pectin mixture and let it come to a full boil, then poured in more of the cider reduction. After letting it boil for a full minute, you turned it off. “Why aren’t we filling another jar?” Chanyeol queried. “We could, but then all of the fruit would float to the top,” you responded. He nodded sagely. “Ah yes. That could destroy worlds.”

You rolled your eyes and said, “You clean, I cook.” “I suddenly have a second wind,” he laughed. After Chanyeol finished the dishes and wiped down the counters, he sat down at the table and grinned endearingly. “I am ready for you to prepare items for my gustation.” You burst out into peals of laughter. “You are slightly ridiculous, do you know that?” He put his hands on your hips and guided you to stand between his legs. Smiling up into your face he said, “Yes, but you like me for it.” Slightly breathless you could do little more than nod acquiescence. Smiling tremulously, you backed away and turned toward the deep freezer. Chanyeol’s eyes tracked your every move as you bent over to pull out a plank of salmon. By the time you turned around, you were once again in possession of your faculties. “How’s salmon?” “Sounds good,” he said, softly. You nodded, your chin firm, and reached into the refrigerator for broccolini, feta, a lemon, and an orange. “We’re having it with pasta.” Chanyeol leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. “My stomach likes it when you’re bossy.” You flashed him a campy look, patting your hair, and saying in a vampy Mae West impression, “And what of the rest of you?” “Oh, I’m sure all of my various and sundry body parts would like it, if only given a chance,” he winked. Sighing deeply as you raided the pantry for shallots, garlic, cumin, olive oil, red wine vinegar, and whole-wheat linguine, you rejoined, “I have the sneaking suspicion that some of your body parts would like it six ways from Sunday.” Smiling indulgently, he moved his hands to lace them over his taut belly. “You’re not wrong.” You smiled secretly as you put on the water to boil, preheated the oven to 500 degrees, and sliced the lemon, onions, and garlic. Though it was true that you were a bit overwhelmed by his blatant flirtation, there was a blossoming part of your that reveled in it. You felt by turns shy and powerful, and it was a new, heady feeling. Unlike the sweet, endearing boys that you were used to, Chanyeol had an underlying layer of iron that made you simultaneously wary of, and attracted to him. You felt pretty confident that he would never force you, but you knew that if he actually turned on the full measure of his charm and persuasion, you would be lost.

You decided to poach the salmon en papillote, laying down the parchment paper, and then placing the salmon on a bed of lemon and onions. “Don’t you need to thaw it?” Chanyeol asked. “No, salmon can be cooked from frozen,” you responded distractedly, as you sprinkled salt, cumin, and sliced garlic over the top. After you put it into the oven, you poured the pasta in to boil, and set the broccoli to steam on top in the strainer. Over your shoulder, you saw Chanyeol moving his hands, and you asked, “Are you rubbing together your hands like a cheesy 50’s sci-fi villain?” He paused, his face carefully blank, then gave a wolfish grin and said, “Maybe. I’m just excited. It all smells so good.” “Well, gird your loins and set the table, because it’s almost done,” you said, zesting the orange into a bowl of vinegar, and salt. You whisked in the olive oil, then drained the pasta and tossed it, the feta, and the broccolini into the bowl. “Could you toss this, while I grab the salmon?” you requested, already turning, confident in his acquiescence. “ I see that you’re a natural at giving orders,“ he chuckled. Giving him an arch look, you riposted, "And you’re a natural at following them, so grind some pepper over it all, would you? You’re going to have to work for your supper.” “It seems as if I’m going to have to work for everything,” he said meaningfully. “Anything worth having is worth the work put into it,” you parried. Chanyeol conceded with an inclination of his head. “I’m counting on it.” This time, you didn’t back down. You blushed furiously, but held his gaze until he looked away. Your heart tripped in your chest as you sat beside him at the circular table. You reached for the tongs, but he stopped you. “No,” he said, “Let me serve you.” Sitting down, you studiously watched his strong hands as he put food on your plate. There was something exceedingly intimate about being served food by him, but you couldn’t put your finger on what made it so. You grinned broadly as you watched him pile his plate high. “How are you this hungry? We just had breakfast a few hours ago,” you said, poking his belly. “I’ll have you know that I have a very high metabolism. This,” he said, indicating his body, “is a finely honed machine. It requires a lot of fuel to look this good!” Smiling, you gave him an exaggerated once over. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Eyes dancing, he sat and began to eat, only to stop and groan. “I know that I keep saying this, but seriously, this is delicious.” You smiled, and twirled your fork in the pasta. “I’ve yet to meet any woman who could become tired of well-deserved comments,” you said cheekily. By the time you were finished with your meal, Chanyeol had neatly downed two more helpings. You leaned back, and he picked up the bowl asking, “Would you like some more?” She shook your head. “No. I have just enough room for that orange I zested,” you said, reaching for it. Putting his warm hand over yours, he said, “Let me peel it for you.” You watched as he slowly began to peel the orange. His fingers were deft and sensitive, gliding over it, removing the skin in one continuous piece, without spilling any juice. Your face heated as you remembered something that your grandmother had told you, regarding men—- “Watch how he handles an orange. That will tell you a bit about how he’ll 'handle’ you.” You had both watched in silence as some nearby man haplessly ripped into an orange like a frustrated ape, juice, peel, and chunks of orange flying past his head. “That’s the opposite of what you want,” your Grandmere had said tartly. You were brought back to the present as Chanyeol handed you the orange, the golden globe peeled and halved in his hand, its segments plump with juice. “Thank you,” you said hoarsely, taking it from him. His grin was as wicked as if he had been reading your mind. “Anytime.” You slipped a plump segment of the fruit between your lips, reveling in the splash of juice that burst over your tongue. Chanyeol watched you closely as you closed your eyes to experience the full impact of the tangy, sweet fruit. A low sigh escaped your lips as you savoured its sweet taste. You bit into another segment, and a trickle of cool juice dribbled down your chin. Chanyeol was there in a flash, offering, “Let me take care of that for you.” He slid his thumb slowly up your chin, brushing it lightly over your sensitive lower lip. You involuntarily opened your mouth slightly in shock. Looking tempted, Chanyeol pressed his thumb slightly at the entrance of your mouth, then pulled back and slid it into his own. “Mmm,” he rumbled, “Sweet.” You stared at him, all appetite for the orange gone in the wake of a much stronger hunger. Smiling knowingly at you, Chanyeol offhandedly queried, “Are you going to finish that?” “No,” you whispered, and then watched as he made short, sensuous work of the rest of the orange. You swallowed heavily, thinking that it wasn’t fair for him to even make eating fruit look arousing. He grinned happily at you. “So…what do you want to do with me, now?” Chanyeol queried. You shook your head, to clear yourself of the fog. “I should…I should brine that chicken that I saw in the fridge, for dinner,” you said absently. “Kinky,” Chanyeol said comfortably. “May I watch?” At a loss for an appropriately biting comeback, you merely nodded. He pulled the chicken from the refrigerator, and began to rinse it as you pulled fresh herbs and sundries from the pantry. You mixed thick, creamy raw honey with plenty of salt, some water, and a few bay leaves. “Garlic?” Chanyeol queried. You nodded, and he sliced a few cloves for you, while you stuffed fresh sage leaves and lemon slices under the skin. “Add it to the brine, please,” you said, watching his deft movements as he obeyed you. You lowered the chicken into the pot, and gestured for him to carry it to the pantry. You both washed your hands together in silence. “Is something wrong?” he finally asked. “No, no…not at all,” you rejoined. “I’m just…thinking.” You smiled sweetly up at him. “How do you feel about roasted root vegetables with the roast chicken?” “I feel good about it. Very positive. I feel like my vote is making a difference here. A straight course has been implemented—-more flavour, fewer calories, lower taxes, higher pensions for the elderly, improved education, and kissing babies…” Chanyeol grinned foxily at you. You shook your head, amused. “You are the silliest man. That you are.” Leaning up on your tiptoes, you kissed his soft cheek. “If silliness garners me sweet cheek kisses, I wonder what puns would do,” he mused. “Puns, sir…puns will garner you swift shoulder punches,” you grinned. “Mmm…” Chanyeol drawled. “Some guys like that.” Throwing up your hands in mock defeat, you walked out to the living room, and began dressing in one of his scarves and coats. Chanyeol followed you, looking nonplussed. “Where are you going?” he asked plaintively. “We are going outside to enjoy the snow. I can’t stand being cooped up inside for so long—I’m coming down with cabin fever,” you stated. “I can help–” “Stop,” you said, deadpan. He grinned wolfishly. “I’m just saying…” he muttered under his breath, dressing in layers for the cold day. “I’ll need to borrow a pair of your boots,” you said imperiously. He glanced pointedly at your small feet. “I have to say…I don’t think that they’ll fit.” “That’s why I’ll also require a few pairs of your woolly socks to make up the difference.” “So bossy,” he chuckled. “That’s why you like me,” you called to him as he disappeared down the hall. He returned several moments later with the socks and boots. Kneeling at your feet, he gently took your left foot, rested it on his taut thigh, and began to slide the socks up your foot to your ankle. You balanced by resting your hands on his tight, broad shoulders, watching as he gently slid the boot onto your foot, and then repeated his ministrations on the other. Standing, he tucked the scarf snugly around your neck, buttoned up the oversized coat, and eased you into two more coats, for good measure. Taking a step back, he surveyed you from head to foot. “You look like Nanook of the North,” he grinned. You stuck out your tongue, waddling along behind him as he led you through the kitchen. Chanyeol opened the back door, and you tramped outside. You gasped as a sudden frigid blast of air took away your breath. The snow was up to your hips, but you plunged into it, determined to work off some of the maddening sexual tension that had been plaguing you since…well, since you met Chanyeol, really. You floundered gracelessly ahead, forging a new path, determined to work off as much energy as possible. You were huffing and puffing, but you couldn’t hear Chanyeol at all. You turned to see where he was, only to discover that he was directly behind you, almost on top of you. Scowling at him, you turned to stalk off…only to immediately trip in a furrow in the ground under the snow and fall flat on your face. “Ow”. “I’ll bet,” he agreed, reaching his arms around you, and lifting you effortlessly back onto your feet. Your face flushed with embarrassment as he patted you over to ensure that you were alright. “And then, that happened,” you said tightly. He grinned up at you from the crouched position where he was patting your calves. “You do seem to have a tendency to fall at my feet,” he drawled. Ripping your leg from his grasp, you planted your small foot neatly onto his shoulder, and kicked him flat on his back. Standing over him, with one foot planted along each side of his ribs, you said, “There. Now we’re closer to even.” You started to stalk off, which was really impossible in hip deep snow, when you felt his hand snake around your ankle and yank you backward. Sprawling gracelessly on top of him, you sputtered while he threw back his head and laughed. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you vainly endeavoured to climb off of him, succeeding only in writhing ineffectually against his solid body. Your frustration mounted as you saw the amusement in his face at your vain struggles and, in a fit of pique, you growled, grabbed a handful of snow, and shoved it into his mouth. In his surprise, he let go of you, and you climbed onto his hips, grabbing big hands of snow and shoving them down his shirt, in his hair, wherever you could reach. You felt a steel-taut, wiry arm wrap around your hips as he suddenly sat up and flipped you over onto your back, pinning you to the ground. He grabbed your wrists in one hand and held them over your head, against the cold, hard ground. His face was red, and his eyes glowed gold. “Now, now, now,” he rasped, low, “That wasn’t very nice, little girl.” You vainly bucked and struggled under him, but he was just too heavy. You lay back, panting, then reared up and growled, “Well, maybe I’m not a very nice little girl!” Chanyeol became impossibly still, as if he were holding himself in check with the barest control. His pupils dilated, and his mouth opened slightly, as his warm breath fanned your face. You glared up at him defiantly. His gaze fell to your mouth, and then flickered back to your eyes. You held your breath, suddenly realizing the position that you were in. His eyes caressed your face. Watching you, he slowly lowered his mouth to yours. You closed your eyes, every nerve screaming with anticipation. His breath ghosted over your mouth and, for a moment, there was no sound but of his raspy panting. You knew that if you lifted your mouth the merest fraction, it would meet his. You wondered briefly why he was so out of breath, when he growled low, “I’ll keep that in mind,” then groaned, rolling onto his back beside you. You opened your eyes and realized that you were trembling. “Chanyeol,” you started, “I’m–” “No need,” he interrupted briskly. “We’re both a bit on edge.” You nodded, looking up at the heavy grey clouds in the sky, swollen with even more snow. You reached out a hand toward him, only to discover that he was already reaching for yours. You both held hands for a long time, each lost in private thoughts, while watching the clouds roil by. After a time, you realized that the snow was seeping into your clothes, wetting you to the skin, and making you shiver. At the same time, Chanyeol flipped onto his feet, and pulled you to yours. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get you inside, and warmed up before you die of hypothermia.” You grinned tremulously, allowing him to take hold of your hips, as he guided you through the path in the snow, back into the cottage. You tramped back inside, with Chanyeol pulling ahead, leading your to your bathroom. He leaned over the tub, plugged the drain, and turned on the steaming hot water. Walking over to the cabinet, he pulled out a bottle of lemon-scented bubble bath and raised an eyebrow at you. You nodded, and he poured some into your bath, the bright citrus scent quickly enveloping you both in a cloud of steam. You stood dumbly watching him as he went to the closet and pulled out the various accoutrements that you would need to take your bath. Standing in front of you, he began to unbutton the layers of oversized coats. You stood motionless as he stripped the heavy, wet garments from your cold little body, and threw them into the laundry basket. He then unwound the scarf from around your neck, and tossed it into the basket with the coats. He sat on the edge of the tub, and drew first one, then the other foot into his lap, as he deftly untied and removed the heavy boots, and the multiple layers of woolen socks. He reached up under the sweater dress, and slowly drew your tights from your legs, launching them into the quickly filling laundry basket. Your feet were pale and cold, and after he pulled the tights off of your second foot, he unexpectedly leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of your icy little foot. Standing up, he looked down at you, slowly bringing up his hands to undo the oversized buttons of your sweater dress. You looked up at him, feeling the cool air brush your exposed skin. When he was done, he stepped back, and looked over you. A healthy strip of skin glowed from between the edges of the sweater, leading down to the tiny white cotton panties covering your most intimate place. His eyes continued traveling down your long, shapely legs, and he softly sighed. He slowly reached a hand into the opening of your sweater, resting it on your hip. His hand was so large, that while the thumb rested on the hollow beside your hip bone, his fingers wrapped around your hip, curling around the beginning swell of your bottom. He slowly stroked your hip with his thumb. You were aware of your nipples tightening and rasping against the fabric of the sweater, at the heat of his hand on your cool flesh. You swallowed hard, and stared straight ahead at his chest. After a moment passed, Chanyeol chuffed a breath through his nose, and then planted a kiss on the top of your head. Lingering for the merest second to inhale the sweet scent of your hair, he then took a step back. With a self-deprecatory little bow, he gestured to the tub. “Your bath awaits, Lady,” he murmured. Straightening, he reached over to turn off the water and, giving your one last raking glance from head to toe, stepped around your and left the room, closing the door behind him. You just stood there for a moment, processing. You slowly reached up and slid the sweater from your shoulders, feeling it brush over your back as it slid down your arms to pool on the floor. You slowly slid your panties down your legs and then gathered them, and the sweater, to toss into the basket. Sliding into the steaming water, you bit back a whimper as the water heated your chilled limbs. Leaning back in the tub, you langourously closed your eyes, and let your thoughts wander to Chanyeol. Why had you attacked him? You sighed, realizing that you always lashed out when you were angry, or frustrated. He had been so understanding about your quick temper that you felt guilty for having lost it in the first place. You were going to have to do something nice for him to make up for your fiery loss of control. You snickered to yourself. Or had it been an icy loss of control? With those thoughts lazing about your head, you drifted off to sleep. A time later, you awoke. The bath had gone lukewarm, and the sun was long gone. You quickly washed, and stepped out of the tub into one of the fluffy, body-length towels. You dried yourself, and put on a yellow pair of cotton panties, a pair of oversized red plaid flannel pajama bottoms, and a black tank top. Hunting for Chanyeol, you found him in the library, reading a first edition of “Call of the Wild”. Standing shyly before him, tendrils of hair curling loosely around your face, you said, “I’m going to start dinner, now.” He nodded, seemingly engrossed in his book. You didn’t see him look up to watch you as you left, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. You went to the kitchen and started the cake first. Baking had always soothed you, making you forget your worries for a time. Eggs, fat, flour, milk, sugar, salt, vanilla, and leavening. Simple ingredients, but put together in a million different ways to make a million different things. Mess up the ratios, and you end up with flat cakes, concrete crusts, and bricks masquerading as biscuits. You decided to make a coconut-flavoured cake with coconut oil, and coconut milk in place of butter and cow’s milk, and to top it off with a coconut milk chocolate frosting. After the cake was safely in the oven, you blended coconut oil, coconut milk, coconut extract, and powdered sugar in a bowl. The toasty scent of coconut wafted around you as you stirred. In a double-boiler, you melted bittersweet chocolate, then added your coconut mixture into the dark, rich, thick, shining liquid. Moving it to the counter, you set it in the stand mixer, to whip until light and creamy. While that was happening, you went into the cool pantry, and pulled some purple fingerling potatoes, celery, parsnips, red onions, small turnips, and a rutabaga. You re-entered the kitchen just in time to catch Chanyeol wandering in from the dining room. Hands in his pockets, he silently watched you. “Need any help?” he asked finally. “Well,” you said, “you may wash the vegetables, if you like. Maybe…peel some garlic, and chop these onions?” He nodded, moving forward to take the vegetables from you, and carry them to the sink. “Do you want the veggies peeled, as well?” “No,” you said, while checking on the cake. “I always leave on the peels.” “Fair enough,” he said, handing the washed vegetables to you for chopping. You worked together in silence. Taking the finished vegetables, you tossed them in a bowl with olive oil, rosemary, fennel seeds, freshly cracked black pepper, and kosher salt. You pulled the chicken from the brine, and proceeded to stuff it with the vegetables. Setting it in the pan, you arranged the rest of the vegetables around it, in a colourful array of rich purples, bright oranges, cool greens, and creamy whites. After massaging the chicken with coconut oil, salt, and pepper, you placed it in the oven, while taking out the cake to cool. You cut off the mixer, and dipped a finger into the fluffy frosting. Turning to Chanyeol, you asked, “Would you like to do the honours?” Smiling beatifically, Chanyeol strode forward and bent down to wrap his lips around your finger. Lapping at it as he slowly drew it from his mouth, he looked up at you. “Mmm…tastes good,” he said softly. “And the frosting is nice, too.” Smiling, you dipped your finger back into the frosting, and then slowly, precisely licked it off of the tip of your finger. Chanyeol stared at you, swallowing hard as your pink tongue lapped and curled around the finger that he had just had in his mouth. Looking up at him, you cocked your head to the side and purred, “Sweet.” Taking a shuddering sigh, Chanyeol closed his eyes asked, “Now what?” Leaning forward, you rested one hand on his shoulder, pulling his ear down to the level of your mouth. “What now?” you whispered. He nodded, eyes closed. You leaned closer, feeling him sway toward you, “Biscuits,” you purred. He was still for a moment. Then in a voice filled with puzzlement, he asked, “Biscuits?” Leaning back against the counter, you nodded. “Yes. Biscuits. For dinner. Isn’t that what you were asking?” Chanyeol opened his eyes and looked directly at you. “Biscuits,” he repeated, deadpan. Shaking his head, he straightened. “Okay, biscuits. How do we make that happen?” You ticked off a list on your fingers. “We’ll need flour, cold butter, baking powder and soda, salt, milk, and buttermilk powder. We mix the dry ingredients, and then grate in the butter, and blend. Then we add the milk, mix it until it’s dough, turn it out on a floured surface, and knead briefly. Cut into rounds, bake, and enjoy.” Chanyeol turned to search the kitchen and pantry, gathering the ingredients for you. After he had it all assembled, you went to work. As you were rolling out the dough, he poked it a few times. “What are you, six?” you asked. “Hey, I’m a guy, I like poking soft things,” he retorted, grinning. You finished putting the biscuits onto the cookie sheet. “Well, poke these into the fridge, will you? We’ll leave them in there until the chicken is almost done.” You silently watched him as he did what you asked. “Chanyeol,” you said suddenly, “What do you do when you’re not rescuing damsels in distress.” He paused, then said smoothly, “As I said, I have many talents. I work for people who need to get things done,” He turned to face you. “A maverick-for-hire, as it were.” “How interesting,” you said politely. “Tell me,” here you paused delicately, “just what are some of the things that you’ve been hired to do?” “A tid of this, and a bit of that,” he replied evasively. At your raised eyebrow, he gave a long-suffering sigh. “I…find people. I protect people. I’ve even been known to fix people, here and there.” You looked him over, saying, “You…hunt people.” Chanyeol bit out his answer. “Yes.” Your voice was soft now as you asked, “And…do you hurt people?” Looking directly at you, Chanyeol matched your tone, saying, “Only the deserving.” You surveyed him quietly. “I believe it.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs and asked, “How…did we come to this subject?” “Well, we’ve been stuck together in this cabin for two days, now. I wanted to know just who is my gracious host.” You looked away. Changing your tone, you said, “I noticed that you had some Billie Holiday records. Why don’t you put them on, and we can chat about nicer things like the weather, cinema, and nuclear holocausts?” Chanyeol hastily agreed, and you sat on the sofa, lightly chatting until it was time to bake the biscuits. He did the honours, while you sat on the edge of the table, enjoying watching him bend over to put the biscuits in the oven. You whistled saucily, “Nice buns,” you said. He heaved a mock-long-suffering sigh. “I’m more than just a piece of meat, you know.” “Oh, I know, Wolfie,” you said. “You’re a whole slab of beef!” He straightened suddenly, turning around to look incredulously at you. You held it in as long as you could but almost immediately broke, bursting into peals of laughter at the same time that he doubled over, guffawing, and clutching the counter for support. “That was…awful!” he sputtered. “I know!” you giggled. “I couldn’t help myself, though. You just walked into that one!” “I suppose I did,” he sighed. “Don’t hate me because I’m luscious.” She rolled your eyes. “Alright, alright, let’s stop before one of us devolves into vulgarities regarding hot beef injections.” He looked disappointed. “Hey, you took my joke!” “And thank goodness for that!” You bantered back and forth, until the warm, brown smell of the buttermilk biscuits mingling with the rich, herbaceous aroma of the roasting chicken made you realize that dinner was done. He served you again, his capable hands deftly carving tender, crisping slices of roast chicken, scooping up a medley of colourful vegetables that had caramelized in the melting chicken juices, and sliding a steaming, golden biscuit onto your plate. “Oh, and lest we forget!” He sauntered over to the refrigerator, and pulled out a jar of the fresh raspberry jam. Plopping down in his chair, he quickly served himself, and you began to eat. At the first bite of chicken, Chanyeol growled low in his chest. “I’m telling you, woman. You keep feeding me like this, and you’ll have me following you around like a callow pup for the rest of your life.” “I can think of worse things,” you said lightly, your eyes twinkling. You ate in companionable silence, the only audible sounds the clinking of silver against plate, and the occasional groan from Chanyeol as he discovered a particularly tasty tidbit. “You’re very vocal,” you observed. He grinned roguishly. Leaning forward confidentially, he said, “You should hear me howl.”

Your eyes widened at the implication. “Well,” you said, standing up quickly, “better go frost that cake!” Chanyeol watched you turn to the counter, amused at your shocked expression. While your back was turned, he ripped off a chicken leg and sank his teeth into the crispy skin with relish. You sliced the now-cooled cake into three layers, and assiduously covered them with plenty of the decadent brown frosting. Taking it to the table, you apologetically said, “It’s not much to look at, I’m sure, but it should taste alright.” Eyes shining with a gourmand’s delight, Chanyeol waited while you cut him a hefty slice and put it on his plate. Looking woefully up at you, he asked, “Milk?” Shaking your head, you turned to the fridge to take out a frosty jug of skimmed milk. Pouring it into a tall glass for him, you sat back in his chair and watched as he attacked his cake like a little boy at Christmas. You smiled indulgently at him, somehow liking him more like this—-innocent and cheerful, as opposed to his usual dangerously seductive mien. He looked up at you, his eyes shining with greedy happiness, a dollop of chocolate beside his kissably coral mouth. You leaned forward and wiped off the chocolate with your thumb, and slipped it into your mouth. For once, Chanyeol was intent on something other than seduction as he asked you, “Aren’t you going to have some cake?” “Yes,” you said. “But first, I wanted to watch you eat. You can be quite adorable, do you know that?” He laughed. “I’ve been called many things, but adorable hasn’t been amoung them since I was 12. Meanwhile, I really enjoy this flavour combination. More people should do this—you should make more people do this!” You grinned at him, “I’ll be sure to hop right on that,” you said as you cut a piece for yourself. Wrapping your lips around a generous bite of cake, you closed your eyes to concentrate fully on the rich flavour. Grinning, you conceded. "I guess it is pretty good.” He reached out to brush an errant tendril of hair behind your ear. “Yes,” he agreed amiably, looking affectionately at you.

Chanyeol was in his room, fiddling with his computer. A cheerful “pop” told him that the wireless was restored. He quickly established a connection with a large, dark, silent house in America. Duncan MacTavish silver head filled the screen. “How is it coming?” he asked gruffly. “Aside from a bit of cabin fever, no problems to report,” Chanyeol responded. “Very good.” Here, Duncan paused. “Her parents have flown to France. They’re looking for you, of course. You may want to hurry. I’m not sure how much time you have.” Chanyeol raised an eyebrow. Sighing, he said, “I’m doing my best. You have a very… stubborn granddaughter.” “Gets it from me,” Duncan asserted with rumbling pride. “Yes, well…” Chanyeol cleared his throat. “You may want to have your weather-weavers step up their efforts with the snow to ensure that she stays here. Today, she insisted on going outside. I’ve no doubt that, unless the effort seemed completely futile, if she took the notion, she would try to dig her way back to the city.” Duncan grunted. “She’s a MacTavish, all right. Do you need anything?” “Not at the moment, no.” “Is she…is she alright?” Duncan asked. Rather tentatively, for him. “She’s fine,” Chanyeol said shortly. “Get it done, then.” Duncan signed off abruptly. Chanyeol sighed and leaned back on his bed, his eyes pensive. Much later that night, he made his way to your room. your door was ajar, and he could see no light emanating from your room. Chanyeol slowly pushed open the door, and padded over to the bed. Moonlight shone through a break in the clouds, illuminating your peaceful features. You were on your back, hair unbound, the coverlet pulled up to your shoulders. He grasped the covers at your feet, and slowly pulled. Inch by inch, your small, curving body was gradually revealed to his hungry gaze. Your loose hair draped artfully over your breasts, hiding them from his view. As you breathed, the silky mass slid slightly, threatening to expose you to his eyes. You were dressed only in a chaste pair of lemon yellow cotton panties, the cloth barely covering your hidden place, and your legs were slightly bent, ankles crossed demurely. Chanyeol swallowed hard. He spent a long moment, just staring at you. Then, gritting his teeth, he delicately pulled the coverlet back over your body. He watched you sleep for a few more moments, then bent down to place a soft kiss on your brow. Backing away silently, he left the room, and closed the door. Your eyes opened, and you spent a long time staring into the dark.

Growl pt1

Genre: Fluff (will contain smut/angst in future chapters) Length: 4.5k Pairing: Jongdae x reader Other member’s stories ✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*

part 1. part 2.

You run your fingers through your hair and stuff your keys in your jacket pocket, wind nipping at your legs. Leafs of the trees along the sidewalk ruffle loudly, and a thick choking smog scent is ever present. Even in July, the air is still cold this early in the morning. Despite all the complaints you could think of, you like the city. You like the liveliness and the fact that you get a new shot whenever you need it.

The air though, is a little much for someone with a sensitive nose like you. It's overwhelmingly gross, and you don't think you'll ever get used to it. You’ve lived in cities bigger than this one for long enough to at least appreciate that there’s small parks littered all in between the houses. A last remnant of the wild nature that used to bloom underneath the stone buildings. Strange how much you still long for the open woods, after being away from them for so long.

Moving through rows of people who all stand much taller than you, your eyes shoot across the street as if automatically. A pale man, tall, with pitch black hair. Your skin twitches almost uncomfortably, and with a knowing gaze he meets your eyes. He seems inconspicuous enough, and you know no human would ever notice him, but you're no human and sensing another is very easy. He disappears quickly, barely sparing you a thought, and so you step into the tram without a second glance. Passing through most likely, since most don't like spending time in the city like you do. Too many people, too many chances to get recognized. But, you think, taking a seat in the plush chairs, way more chances to just blend in and be normal.

Marked (HAYGAFYI – Sequel)

Author: @julietsoddeye

Genre: Smut | Angst-ish???

Au: Werewolf

Pairing: Jongin x Reader

Word Count: 1,096

TW: Blood

A/N: I just suddenly became inspired to write a sequel to my Jongin HAYGAFYI drabble that was requested by @ninibears-erigom. Hope you guys like this. Writer’s block is a real bitch! 😭😭😭

When you do it at school

Smutty Friday scenario

Characters: Baekhyun / OC Genre: Vampire, werewolf AU Word count: 4,116

Silently your eyes darted around the classroom, the sound of steady heartbeats and shallow breaths filling your ears as you tried your hardest to push it away. Somedays would be harder than others, and you noticed that today was one of those where it would be hard for you to focus on anything else but the veins inside of people’s necks. It was very annoying, because you were trying as hard as possible to live a normal life, but that wasn’t easy if you were anything but that. While catching your breath your fingers curled around the edge of your desk, trying to concentrate on what the teacher was saying in the front of the classroom as you tried to fight the sudden hunger that came over you, you should have known that you had had to feed this morning before you came here.

You had already received some weird glanced from your friends today, who had been wondering why your eyes had seemed darker than usual, you had tried to fool them by saying that you were wearing colored contacts, and you could only hope that they believed you. There was a certain person inside of the room that was wearing a new perfume, and it was smelling insanely good. All your senses seemed to be on overdrive as you lowered your eyes on your book and bit down on your pencil, almost breaking it into two. Why did these kind of things always have to happen at the wrong moment? Maybe you just had to call in sick for the next classes, maybe then you would be able to get yourself something to eat so that you would be able to get through the rest of the day without making any mistakes.

Silver Tongue (Mini Masterlist)

' "OW!" He screamed, his hand flying up to inspect his burning lips, "WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?!?!" '

In which your boyfriend is the clumsiest werewolf in existence and you are his tattoo artist girlfriend who has had more than enough of his antics...

(Pic is not mine)

Status: COMPLETED

Part I | Part II (Final)

A Wolf and His Mate

Pairing: lay x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 1,607

Maybe aggravating him was not a good idea.

You knew how testy he got when your period was approaching, you knew how it affected him when your body was starting to ovulate and you knew what it did to him when you purposely went around other males.

Throughout the week lay had been more on edge than he usually was when this happened.