Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty, and Shrug

Mistresslist Follow me @vampwrrr

[vampwrrrmistresslist]

Areumdaum

Once upon a time long, long ago, in a land far, far away, there lived a beautiful young girl who was the daughter of the town uisa, Jung Chungnyeol.  The maiden was lovely in every way that mattered–solicitous to strangers, generous with the poor, respectful to the elderly, patient with children, hard working, humble, intelligent, and temperate.  It was because of her father’s steadfast love for his wife, Choi Aera–who died in childbirth–that he named his precious daughter Aeri, and every day she increased in gentleness and cheerfulness, further exemplifying her name.   Yet though the Jung clan was peaceable and agreeable, faithful and honest, there was one who wished them ill.  

For you see, an evil fairy, spurned by Chungnyeol’s late wife, had laid a horrible curse on the innocent young babe, even as she lay against her mother’s cooling breast.  This fairy, bitter from rejection, had resolved that if he couldn’t have Choi Aera, then he would have her daughter, and thus devised a plan to keep the young girl from falling in love with anyone else, until the day he decided to claim her.  

The curse that he cast was so insidious, so subtle, that no one could fight it, as no one even knew that it existed.  For this curse, virulent yet devious, was only experienced by the young maiden, who never thought to question its manifestation.  The curse was as follows.

Read it on my main.  My tags aren’t working again, TT.TT.  

[totallyconfirmedexofacts]

SM never lets EXO do anything fun anymore.

[brokeandjetlagged]

SM: That’s it. Three scandals, you’re out. You’re all grounded. EXO-K - it’s all work and no play for you. EXO-M - you’re not leaving the dorms to go anywhere until your comeback. You’re definitely not going to China. You hear that, Kim Minseok?

Xiumin: Mhm. Sure.

SM: Minseok - who are you texting?

Xiumin: Definitely not Luhan.

SM: The way you said that makes me think it’s absolutely Luhan.

Xiumin: Nope.

SM: See, this is why I have trust issues. For all I know, Kyungsoo could be texting Kris right now.

Kyungsoo: I am.

SM: WHAT

Kyungsoo: I’m texting him artistic photographs I took of marbles trapped in various places, looking terrified.

SM: I don’t even… that doesn’t.. what?

Kyungsoo: Aren’t you proud of me?

SM: I don’t even understand why you’re doing that.

Kyungsoo: I especially like this one. The composition is slightly off-center, and the shadow over the ball eludes to a looming sense of failure that comes with being a marble that abandoned it’s friends and rolled off to China where maybe it has lots of acting opportunities but does it have eleven loyal brothers or a large-eyed drawing teacher that makes up for his lack of height with superior skill and

SM: Suho, calm Kyungsoo down I think he’s going to hyperventilate.

Xiumin: Also, Suho, Luhan says hi.

Suho: HI LUHAN!

SM: XIUMIN!!

Xiumin: What? I’m not texting Luhan. The amount I’m not texting Luhan is 100%.

SM: Xiumin, you need to - wait… where are Tao and Sehun?!

Suho: Oh, don’t get worked up. They’re not on a date or anything. They’re just helping Kai move in with SHINee.

SM: Oh, in that case… WAIT WHAT

[vampwrrrmistresslist]

Announcement

I crafted this sideblog to post my stories, as they were not showing up in tags when posted on my main.  It would appear that, now that I’ve returned from hiatus, that problem has been fixed.

I won’t deactivate this blog, because who knows when I’ll need it again, but I will no longer be posting any more stories to it, as long as my stories are showing up in tags on my main.  

So...as I’ve said before, and I’m saying one last time...

If you want updates, then follow me @vampwrrr

[vampwrrrmistresslist]

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.

You heard a sharp curse come from the roof, and a loud dragging noise that ran to the end of the room. You quickly clicked “Send”, just as a small “poof” and an impassioned expletive came from under the window. Running over to it, you opened it to find Chanyeol buried in the snow, under a very large dish, and a complicated array of wires. “Are you alright?!”

“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 giggled, gently punching him in the shoulder. After 5 minutes, you filled another jar with the raspberry mixture, repeated the sterilization process, and made the last jar of cherry jam. Chanyeol collapsed into a chair with a long-suffering sigh. You dimpled. “Oh, come on! It wasn’t that bad!” He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can make it another step without sustenance,” he said, raising his eyes hopefully.

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.

You reached for his glass to take a sip of milk. Chanyeol chuckled. “Drinking from my glass? Cheeky baggage.” “I trust you,” you said saucily, echoing his earlier affirmation. “Good to know,” he returned, quirking an eyebrow. Leaning back, he helped himself to another slice of cake. After the dinner dishes had been done, Chanyeol inclined his head to you. “I hate to be a poor host, but I have some work that I need to do. I fear that I must bid you an early goodnight.” “Oh,” you responded, quick-witted as ever. You had assumed that he would spend the rest of the evening with you, and you had hoped that he would continue the tradition of tucking you into bed. “Well, if you must, you must. I can amuse myself with something from the library.” “I’m relieved to hear it,” he said. His face looked as though he wanted to say more, but he shook his head. You both made your way to their separate destinations—-he to his bedroom, and you to the library, with the hopes of finding something with which to occupy your time. You found a nice novel, and took it to bed with 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.

A/N:  If you would like the latest updates, then please follow @vampwrrr, as I post everything there, first, and everything is linked for ease of reading.

[vampwrrrmistresslist]

Hurt 5

A/N:  This is chapter 5 of a finished fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist.)

You awoke all at once, almost everything about the previous night coming back to you.  Turning over, you saw Cosette tumbled beside you, her normally healthy complexion pale as moonlight.  

“Cosette!” you whispered, fear clutching your heart, as your hand slid across bed.

She didn’t respond.

“Cosette!” you whimpered, touching her cheek.  Your stomach flipped.  It was cool.  

“Cosette!” you exclaimed, dragging her up by the shoulders.

A snort escaped her mouth, and her face wrinkled in dismay.  “Mademoiselle, s’il vous plait!  Such a headache I have!”

“Cosette!  Cosette!  My own little dear Cosette!  You’re alive!” you cried, holding her to your breast, and squeezing her tightly.  

“Bien sur, mademoiselle,” she murmured sleepily, with a jaw-cracking yawn.  

“But how?  What happened?  In that state…I was as a wild beast!”

She shook her head, wriggling out of your grasp to to slump back on the bed, slowly but determinedly climbing under your covers.  “Mais oui, mademoiselle,” she agreed listlessly, snuggling under your counterpane, her bronze curls splayed in a riotous tumble over your pillowslip, “but I couldn’t allow you to lose yourself to the dark.  I knew if you killed me, you would never forgive yourself.”  Her voice was soft and sleepy, and it was clear that she was fading quickly.

“Mais, Cosette, how did you stop me?”

“Eh bien, I punched you in the face.  Quite hard, you see.”

Silence.

“Ah.”

***

You managed to ready yourself on your own, leaving Cosette in your bed, your breakfast on the table beside her, so that she could eat as soon as she awoke.  Fortunately, you hadn’t been required to take breakfast with your parents in months–ever since Jongin had stopped hindering you in your nightly jaunts.  Your parents were ecstatic to see you up and about, looking so healthy, and though they were a bit scandalized that you were allowing Cosette to sleep in your bed, they were so grateful to her for “taking care of you”–(your face froze at the unerring truth of that statement) that they allowed you this peculiar flight of fancy. And so with a hug, and a smile, you told them that you were going to take a constitutional in the garden, and left them to their morning chatter.

Once there, you sat on the stone bench, and whispered.  “Jonginah!  Jonginah!”

He appeared before you, his expression worried.  

“Come sit by me,” you invited.  

He did so, but his face didn’t change.  “What happened last night?”

You smiled, shaking your head.  “Cosette is fine!  She’s upstairs snoring away the morning, as we speak!”

“Truly?”

Nodding your head, you slipped a bit closer to him.  

“But how?”

You waved a hand, then unthinkingly patted your jaw.  “She’s a lot hardier than one would expect.”

He smiled then, but his eyes were sad, and he looked away.  “That’s wonderful.”

You leaned even closer.  “Jonginah…”

He turned to you then, registering your proximity.  His pupils dilated, and his voice deepened. “Yes?”

“I saw my arrière grand-mère last night!”

He was speechless.

You nodded, leaning just a bit closer.  “Jonginah…do you know what she told me?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to your mouth.  “I…couldn’t imagine.”

“You’re alive!”

Jongin didn’t react.  

Tilting your head, you considered him in confusion.  “Did you hear what I said?”

He finally brought his eyes back up to yours.  “I beg your pardon, mademoiselle.  I was…distracted.  Please, go on.”

Beaming, you repeated the glorious phrase that had been burning through your mind all morning.  “I said…you’re alive!”

He froze.  “I’m…sorry?”

“You’re alive, mon amoureux.  Somewhere.  We just have to find where.”

“I’m afraid that I don’t…understand…”

“Well, according to Grandmere Genevieve, the only way I could see you like this is if you were still alive.  She says that ghosts do not walk the earth.  A sire can cause the spirit of his ward’s first victim to wander, but only if he keeps the victim alive!”

“But…how?”

“You…don’t really want to know that part…”

“I most certainly do!  I insist!”

You grimaced.  “Well…to create a…revenant, the victim must be brought to the brink of death.  Then, instead of being allowed to die, the sire just…” you coughed delicately, a blush suffusing your cheeks.

“Just what, mademoiselle?”

“Gives you a drop of his blood, every day.  Just enough to keep you alive, but not enough to either heal you–if you have enough blood of your own–or turn you–if you don’t.”

“I’m alive.”

“You’re alive, ma cherie!”

“I’m alive?!”  His eyes filled with tears.  

Your voice gentled.  “You…are…alive!  Gloriously, wholly, completely alive!”

“What happens when you find me?”

You sat back, and swallowed.  “I just have to…incapacitate Boudreaux, and…make you swallow his blood until your body takes over, and you drink the rest.”

“And will I be truly alive, then?”

You looked away.  “Honnêtement, mon coeur, it all depends on how far along your body has healed.  If you have enough blood in your body, then you will be as ever you were.  If you don’t…”

“If I don’t?”

Swallowing, you turned away from him completely.  “If you don’t…you will become as I am.”

He was quiet.  Then he stood abruptly.  “I need time to think about this.”

Nodding silently, you bowed your head.  “Jonginah…were you…being quite honest when you…when you said you still loved me?”

An agonized groan broke forth from his lips.  “Mademoiselle, if possible, I love you now more than ever I did on that night I endeavoured to make you my own dear little wife.”

“Ah, I see.  So, you love me…you just don’t want to be like me.”

Sweet birdsong in the distance was the only sound in the garden.  You stood, still not turning to him.  “I understand your meaning completely, sir. I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”  Back straight, you left him there.   You never turned.  You didn’t want him to see your tears.

***

Wearily climbing the stairs to your room, you opened the door to find that Cosette had eaten, and gone back to sleep.  Sighing, you took off your dress, and in your chemise, climbed into bed beside her, grateful for the comforting sound of her soft snores.  Sometimes, when you were little, and she had had a nightmare, she would come downstairs, and sneak into your bed.  The warm scent of her hair brought back those simpler times, and tears filled your eyes when you thought about what you had lost.  Curling up behind her, you wrapped an arm about her waist, and buried your face into her soft curls.  Then, with the quiet sounds of her snores as a background, you silently cried yourself to sleep.

***

When you awoke, it was dusk, and Cosette was gone. A solitary, insistent hunger pang pierced your stomach, and with a groan, you rose to dress.  Once you left the house, you walked though the usual streets, but you weren’t hunting, not really.  Your thoughts were jumbled, but your emotions had thankfully gone numb, and so aimlessly, you wandered.  

A hand came out of nowhere and wrapped around your mouth, while a strong arm wrapped around your waist.  You were pulled back into the shadow of an old abandoned building, the windows black and broken, testament to the fire that had gutted it.  Your attacker shoved you against the wall, quickly following to cage you between his arms.

Hot breath blew across your face as he muttered something, you didn’t really notice or care what.  Then his body was pressing against yours, his face in your neck, the stubble sharp and prickling against your delicate skin.  You stared, dead-eyed into the dark.  

Suddenly, his body flew back to fall with a sharp crack against the ground, several feet away.  Then Jongin was there, reaching for your face, cursing in anger when his hands merely brushed through your skin.  

“Mademoiselle?  Mademoiselle!  Look at me, mademoiselle!  Mademoiselle, please,” he pled.

You closed your eyes.  

A husky whisper, quiet as thought brushed past your ear.  “Jagiyah…”

You swallowed.  

“Ouri jagiyah…nae aegiyah…”

Tears slipped from your closed eyelids.

“Come back to me, nae jagi…”

Then you were sobbing, collapsing in the filthy street as your knees gave way.  

He couldn’t touch you.  But Jongin was there, through the entire storm of your tears.  He was there, whispering to you, comforting you, his words desperate as he tried to make up for his lack of corporeality.  

When your tears were spent, and he had coaxed you to have something to eat, he asked, “There.  Do you feel better now?”

You nodded shyly.  

“Excellent.  Then, let’s take you home. We have much to discuss, but I want you inside, where it’s safe.”

Your heart thrilled, as you bowed your head and nodded, a blush dancing across your cheeks.  Neither of you mentioned the fact that you could probably protect yourself from the majority of all threats the night had to offer.  

***

Safely ensconced in the soft lamplight of your room, you changed into your nightdress, and climbed into bed, pulling your knees to your chest.  

Jongin settled cross legged at the foot of your bed, a mischievous smile on his face.

You tried to look serious, but there was a light air, reminiscent of childhood, when you used to have sleepovers with your compatriots.  You opened your mouth to start, but he held up a hand.

“Please, let me.”  Sighing deeply, he looked down at your little feet, peeking from under the ruffled hem of your nightdress, and smiled to himself. “I love you.  I want to be with you, I care not how.  I merely…” he sighed again, and ruffled his hair.  “It may seem silly, but…having children was–is–eminently important to me.  I’m the uncle of a beautiful niece and nephew, and I can’t imagine a life without them in it–can’t imagine my life without…” he swallowed.  

The lighthearted air of the room sobered, and your eyes were drawn to his hands, which were nervously plucking at the hem of his trousers. “I understand.  Believe me, mon cher, I do.  Being an only child, I wanted nothing more than to fill my household with love, and laughter, and chubby, sweet-cheeked babies.  However…I guess that is not to be my fate.”

“Well, that’s one of the things that I’ve been thinking about, you see.  If I…if I am not human at the end of this enterprise, we can still both have what we want.”

Your eyes filled with tears.  “How?”

“There are children–just like little Angeline–all over the world, who have had the misfortune to find themselves orphaned.  Do they not also deserve parents who love them?  They might not be our blood, but could you find it in your heart to love them, as you would have loved the children that I wanted to give you?  And if I do…turn…think how many of them we can save!  An immortality of love…”  Pausing, he looked at you.  “Do you think me mad?”

Shaking your head, you smiled through your tears.  “Jonginah, if I could, I would just…just…kiss you!”  You clapped your hands over your mouth, eyes widening as you blushed to the tips of your ears.

He tilted his head, smiling at you sideways.  “If I can once again become master of my own body, then that’s the first thing that I would like to do.  Now,” he started, looking off to the side in serious contemplation, “we need to think.   How are we going to find my body?”

You fidgeted uncomfortably.  “I know a way.”

Jongin looked up at you from under his brows.  When you didn’t clarify, he raised them.

Standing, you walked to your dresser, and opened your keepsake box.  “Do you remember that night that you took me to the opera?”

He nodded, smiling as he reminisced.  “You cried.  I remember wanting to keep you from ever feeling the need to cry again, except from joy.”

You smiled, and held out your hand.  “You gave me your kerchief.  I…kept it…”  Your voice trailed off as you blushed.  

Jongin put a hand over his chest, as if in sweet pain.  “My own darling, sentimental dear heart!”  But how is that to help us?”

“It still smells of you, mon amoureux.  I can…find you…by your scent…”

He looked bemused, but nodded.  “Well then, that’s one less worry.  Now we must come to the real heart of the matter.”

“Have we not already?” you said, looking up in surprise.

“I fear not, mademoiselle.  For one of the utmost concerns in my mind in the undertaking of this endeavour is this.  How are you to obtain Boudreaux’s blood?  He is the stronger, by far. I couldn’t bear to think of you perishing by his hand, or even worse, falling into his monstrous clutches.”

“Eh bien…do you remember when I was attacked?” you asked slowly.

“How could I forget?  That was one of the most terrifying nights of my life.  I thought that I was going to lose you, without having the opportunity to tell you how I felt.”

“That man stabbed me with a…with a wooden stake…and Boudreaux said that if that stake were removed, I would bleed to death.  We must have some…innate sensitivity to wood.  If I could have a weapon fashioned out of wood, then we can use that to mortally wound him.”

Jongin nodded.  “Just so.”  Then he groaned, running his hands over his face.  “Nae sarang, I must confess–this proposal makes me uneasy.  I detest the thought of your own dear little hands being turned toward such dark purposes.  Your hands were made for love…for holding flowers, and soothing children. I wanted to cover you in precious stones, not some vile fiend’s blood.” He looked down, jaw working, as he strove to blink back tears.

You didn’t see fit to mention that you were covered in just such, on a nightly basis.  After a long silence, you said, “Jonginah…”  He didn’t respond.  “Jonginah…this is our only chance.  If we don’t seize it…” here, you shook your head, “then we are both doomed.  We have no other option!”  Your eyes shone with unshed tears.  “If you die…truly die…then what becomes of me?  How long can I go on without you, until…until he has me, body and soul?  Years?  Decades?  Centuries?  Without you?  I cannot fathom it!  We must accomplish this. Don’t you see?  I have to save you to save myself!”  

He set his jaw, and slowly lifted his eyes to yours.  Boyish softness was gone, and determination shone forth.  “Mademoiselle…I am for you.  I will follow you to the end.”

If you want the latest updates, and links for easier reading, then follow me @vampwrrr.

[vampwrrrmistresslist]

Sweet Lies 5

(A/N:  This is not how dual citizenship between the US and South Korea works.  Suspend your disbelief, dear Reader.  Also, this is chapter 5 of an in progress fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist.)

Baekhyun’s eyes shone when he picked you up, looking appreciatively up and down your tempting figure.  You were wearing a loose ice blue silk button down blouse, tucked into a figure-hugging, high-waisted, charcoal-and-ice-pinstripe pencil skirt that hit you just below the knee.  Your thick, wavy hair was gathered over one shoulder, leaving the side of your neck bare to his gaze.  You were grateful that you had taken the time to go thriftwhoring that morning, and were in clothes that made you feel more like the “you” you had been before you had  given up.  Charcoal stilettos that you hadn’t worn since university completed the look, but still put you an inch below him.  

The small of your back was warmed by the delicate pressure of Baekhyun’s hand as he gently led you through the doors of the Mercier Fine Art Museum, where they were having an exhibit on The Modern Reclamation of the Power of Women topos, with paintings on loan from around the world.  You wriggled playfully in excitement, beaming up at him when he looked down questioningly.

“I love museums,” you whispered confidentially, causing him to chuckle indulgently.  “I haven’t been to one since I graduated.  I’m so excited!”

He nodded, his eyes scanning the room before coming to rest on your face.  “You really are a nerd, aren’t you?”

You went to punch him on the shoulder, but stopped yourself just in time, and let your hand fall back to your side.  “Says the man who attended Vanderbilt and Cornell.”

“So, we’re both nerds,” he said comfortably, his thumb gently stroking the base of your spine.  “Which exhibit would you like to see first?”

“The Klimt.”

He guided you through the doorway on your right, into the Klimt exhibit. You gasped softly to yourself as you both came to stand in front of Klimt’s The Kiss. “Oh!  It’s lovely…”

Baekhyun spared the painting a glance, turning slightly to look at you while you looked up at the work in wonder.  “Indeed,” he said quietly, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of your profile.

You continued to look at the painting, eyes moving back and forth as you tried to commit every inch to memory.  “Klimt is one of my favourite artists.”

He nodded.  “I prefer modern art, but I can acknowledge the appeal.”

You wrinkled your nose, glancing at him briefly, before turning your eyes back to the painting in front of you.  “Modern art is so cold.  So calculating.  For the most part, anyway.”

“Not cold.  Clean.  Neat.”

“Well, you may just have to teach me to appreciate it.  I can’t say that I do right now.”

He smiled, looking thoughtful. “That would be a pleasure.  There are a lot of things that I would love to teach you.”

You grinned cheekily.  “How do you know that I don’t know them already?”

He grinned mischievously.  Reworking his query from the previous day, “So, you know everything I know?”

You tsked and pouted.  “What if there are things that I want to teach you?”

He laughed loudly, then looked chastened when the security guard gave him a glare. “I learn well,” he stage-whispered, as he led you away from The Kiss.

You smiled up at him, allowing the soft press of his hand to guide you to Klimt’s next work, Danae.  You bit your lip to hold back a squeal.  “It’s gorgeous!”

He tilted his head, considering.  “I think that I can appreciate this one a bit more.”

You looked up at him as he studied the painting.  “What do you like about this one?”

He shook his head.  “I’m not an art critic.  I don’t really analyze it.  I just…like what I like.  If it strikes me as pretty, I like it.  I don’t think about why.”

You nodded, looking back at the painting.  “I can verbalize why I like it, but I agree with you.  It all boils down to, I like it, because I like it.  That’s enough. Taking it apart is just justification after the fact.”

“Well, now I’m curious.  Why do you like it?”

“Mmm, first of all I love the juxtaposition, which you also find in The Kiss, of comfort and discomfort.  Look at how she’s positioned.  It looks unnatural, and cramped, but look at her face; it’s blissful.  I also love the way he creates texture in his paintings.  Look at the veil. Doesn’t it look real, like you could reach out and pull it from the painting?  Another thing that I find fascinating about most of his work is the contrast of styles, within the same paintings.  For example, her hair looks like a painting, but the veil looks real.  The Kiss almost looks as if he painted the figures, and then put fabric, and gold overlay over them.  Something about that contrast just pulls at something inside of me.  I don’t know; I’m weird.  I’m probably not making sense.”

“No, I understand.  We’re drawn to opposites. Sweet and sour, light and dark, pain and pleasure.  It’s not weird at all.  I’m afraid that I think you’re quite normal, pet.”

“Give me time.”

You tried to hold in your excitement as you moved to the next painting, but a little bounce escaped, causing him to bite his lip to hold back another burst of laughter.  You groaned.  “Oh, now this…this is my favourite one,” you said, your hands reaching out to clutch air, as you make cute little grasping motions.  You both looked up at Judith and the Head of Holofernes.  “Do you know the story behind the painting?”

Baekhyun smiled ruefully.  “Not really.”

You smiled up at him.  “Well, it’s part of the Apocrypha, which are the books that didn’t make it into the Bible, due to their being of doubtful origin.  Anyway, in the story, there’s this widow, Judith, who gains the trust of Holofernes, an enemy Assyrian general, by promising to give him information on the Israelites’ plans for battle.  So one night, she goes to his tent, finds him dead drunk…and decapitates him.”  Here, you smiled again, looking back at the painting.  Almost reverently, you whisper, “She takes his head back to her camp, and the Assyrians, without their leader, flee in defeat.”

Baekhyun’s eyes roved over your rapt face, lit with a beatific smile as you recounted the dark tale.  He smiled affectionately at you as your eyes took in the graceful lines of the painting.  “You’re…kind of bloodthirsty, aren’t you?”

Your smile changed to an introspective one.  You sighed, glanced back at him, and then slowly began to walk to the next exhibit.  “Only to the deserving.”

He followed you, his eyes lazily trailing from your ankles all the way up to the crown of your head.  He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Just my style.”

You both wandered through the rest of the Klimt exhibit before making your way over to the Caravaggio display.  You gasped and hurried over to Caravaggio’s Judith Beheading Holofernes.  “They have multiple versions of this in the exhibition?!  Oh…” Sucking in a breath, you looked up in satisfaction at the image, biting your lip as your eyes took in the rich reds, and elegant chiascuro of the work.

Baekhyun came to stand behind you, replacing his hand on the small of your back, which you barely noticed, so enrapt were you with the painting.  He looked up at the far more graphic representation of the tale.  After a pause, “Should I be worried?”

“Are you currently planning to wage war against the Israelites?”

“It’s not on my to-do list.”

“Then you may keep your head.”

“Thank you.”

“I am beneficent in all my ways.”  You paused, and then gestured to the painting.  “Just look at that red.  That is my favourite colour.”  You suddenly shivered, the thin silk of your shirt doing nothing to insulate you against the glacial temperatures of the museum.  Baekhyun looked at you in concern.

“Are you cold?”

“Of course not,” you bluffed.

He glanced down to see goosebumps sweeping across your skin, see the way you unconsciously hugged your arms around your waist in an unsuccessful effort to warm yourself.  “Here,” he said, taking off his suit jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“Really, I’m fine—“ you started, but then involuntarily closed your eyes, sighing in appreciation of the left over body heat from his jacket.

He raised an eyebrow.  “Fine?”

You settled gratefully into the warm jacket.  “Perhaps, I…was a bit…chilled.  Thank you.  Aren’t you going to be cold, though?”

“Well, I’m still wearing an undershirt, a shirt, and a vest, so I’m fine.”  He looked down at you, looking up at him, your doe-like eyes blinking at him over the collar of the jacket as you burrowed into it, up to your nose.  “You are so cute!”

You blushed, and looked down shyly.  You started to thank him when you glanced into the next room, and something that caught your eye.  You sucked in an incredulous breath.  “They have Gentileschi?!”

Anticipating your next move, he gently guided you out of the Caravaggio exhibit into the Gentileschi room, where you stood between Judith Slaying Holofernes and Jael and Sisera one hand to your mouth, eyes hungrily looking back and forth between the paintings, as if unable to choose which to consume first.  You decided to start with the Judith.

“Which version do you prefer?”

You sighed in contemplation.  After a moment, “The Gentileschi, hands down. It’s the most visceral; it delivers the highest impact.  Also, look at her expression compared to Caravaggio’s, and Klimt’s Judiths. Klimt depicted her erotically, while Caravaggio depicted her as almost timid, even as she’s right in the middle of beheading Holofernes.  The expression on Gentileschi’s Judith is the most realistic, I think. Repelled, but determined.  Also, look at her maidservant.  I mean, she’s really getting in there.  That’s loyalty.  That’s teamwork.”

“I would like to revise my earlier assertion.”

“Oh?”

“You are weird.”

“Thank you.”

***

The sun hung heavy in the sky when you emerged from the museum.   You divested yourself of Baekhyun’s jacket, handing it back to him with a grateful smile.

He took it from you, smiling as he eased into it.  “It smells like you.”

You looked at him in horror.  “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry.  I like the way you smell.  Like fresh cut lemons, and pretty girl.”

“What does pretty girl smell like?”

“You.”

“I should have seen that one coming.”

“You really should have.”

He guided you to one of the shaded benches under the trees.  “Ah, it’s so hot!”

You leaned back on your arms, taking note of the temperature. “It’s not that bad, now that the sun is going down.”    

“Wait a moment, I’ll be right back.”  

While he was gone, you tipped back your head, soaking in the dying rays of the sun, and listened to the cheerful babble of the small brook that ran through the trees beside the museum’s picnic area.  The leftover heat of the day seeped into your bones, making you feel like a lizard, and you were just starting to drift when–

“This is a pretty sight.”

You lazily opened your eyes to see Baekhyun standing in front of you with an obscenely large soft serve cone.  You raised an eyebrow.  “Where did you get that?”

“The museum cafeteria.  I’m hungry.”

You smiled, ruffling his hair as he sat next to you.

“You know you’re going to help me finish this, right?” he said, eyeing you over the cone.

“I thought that you said that you were hungry.”

“I’m hungry, not suicidal.  This thing is huge.”  You snorted.  “I wasn’t sure which you’d like, so I got swirl.”

“I like vanilla, but a little bit of chocolate with it is nice.”

“Perfect.  I like chocolate, with a little vanilla.”

“Are you just saying that?”

“No, I really do like chocolate.  And vanilla.  And strawberry.  And caramel.  And–”

“I get the point,” you laughed.

He handed one of the spoons to you, and you both went to town on the rapidly melting cone, giggling as you tried to eat it before it dripped all over his hand.

“So, Baekhyunnie,” you started, as you casually licked ice cream off of your spoon, “Tell me more about Byun Baekhyun. The man, the mystery, the legend. Tell me something interesting.”

He thought for a moment, cheek pouched adorably with a store of chocolate soft serve.  “I was actually born in South Korea.”

“What?!  Really?!”

He grinned, pleased at having surprised you.  “I moved to the US when I was 11, and I have dual citizenship.”

“That’s pretty neat.”

“I’ve never heard of my dual citizenship being described as neat before.”

You shrugged.  “What can I say?  I’m easily impressed.  Impress me some more.”

“I’ve…served in the military?”

“Really?!”

He nodded, chest puffing unconsciously.  “Mmm, right after high school. It’s mandatory for men in South Korea so, since I wasn’t willing to renounce citizenship, I just went back and did it.”

“What was it like?”

Baekhyun grimaced.  “I, in my finite wisdom, decided to enter the Marine Corps, since that’s the manliest branch, right?”  He laughed.  “They kicked my butt so bad, I coughed up my coccyx.”

Your eyes widened.  “They beat you up?!”

“No, no, nothing like that.  It was just a lot more physically demanding than I had anticipated.  To be honest, I’m glad that I did it, though. It made me a stronger person, I made friends that I otherwise never would have, and I learned a lot of useful skills.”

“What you did…when we first met…did you learn that in the military?”

He shook his head.  “Actually, no.  I have a fifth degree black belt in hapkido. I’ve been studying it since I was six.”

“Oh, wow.  So you know how to kill me with a napkin?”

He tossed you a cheeky smile, and leaned forward until there was only an inch of space between you.  “I’d rather kiss you to death.”

You turned away, face burning, as you tried to control a goofy grin.  You raised your hand to gently punch his shoulder, thought better of it, and then dropped it in your lap.  “That was so cheesy,” you muttered instead, trying to hide your amusement.

“You liked it.”  He offered you the rest of the cone, which you turned down, not wanting to accidentally spill melted ice cream on your shirt.  Shrugging, he opened his mouth and inhaled it in one go.  

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at his chipmunk cheeks as he studiously crunched.  

He grinned at you, then stood to throw away the spoons and napkins. Returning, he held out his hand to help you off the bench, and then once again rested it against the small of your back, as he led you to his car.  

You wanted to say something cheeky about way he had been guiding you about all day but, if you were honest with yourself, you really enjoyed it; you didn’t want him to stop.  

He turned to you after you were both back in the car.  “I was thinking that we could go down to the floating pier at Miller’s Park, and just chat a bit more, before I take you home?”

Nodding, you rested your hand on his forearm as he shifted gears.  “I’d like that.”

***

You both sat on the swinging bench, your bare feet brushing softly over the cool grass as he used one foot to push the swing.

He looked down at your naked feet happily kicking in the air, as you swung.  “You’re like a little gypsy.”

Shrugging, you said, “I like to be barefoot as much as possible.  I can’t be tamed.”

He grinned, then nodded to your feet.  “Is it nice?”

“Bare feet on soft grass?  It’s the best.”

“Aren’t you worried of stepping on something sharp?”

“I have before.  It’s not the end of the world.  It hurts, you heal, and you get over it.”

“Shall I?”

“Please do.”  He took off his shoes and socks, and gingerly rested his feet on the bare grass.  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” you teased.

“It is nice.”

“See?  I taught you something new.”

He rested his arm on the bench, behind your shoulders.  “So…”

“Mm?”

“I was thinking.”

“Yes?”

“How about you go out with me again this Friday?”

“Okay.”  He smiled in satisfaction.  “Oh, wait, no!  I can’t!”

He pouted, sliding his hand into your lap to wrap around yours.  “Why not?”

“I’m supposed to go to a thing with my best friend on Friday night.  Her boyfriend is out of town, but she has been wanting to go for weeks, and I can’t let her go by herself.”

He nodded.  “You’re very loyal.”

“That’s my curse.”

“What about Saturday?”

You shook your head flirtatiously.  “I don’t know.  It depends.  What do you want to do?”

“Spend time with you.”

“Hm.  Sounds good.  Count me in.”

“It’s a date.”  He leisurely stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.  “So, tell me about your family.”

“I just have two older brothers, Jameson, and Keegan.  Well, they’re my half brothers, but they’re my brothers, you know?  They’re annoying, overprotective, annoying, sweet, annoying, thoughtful, did I mention annoying?” You sighed.  “I love them.”

“Do they help you with your dad?”

“No, they’re my mother’s sons, from her first marriage.  Her first husband was a soldier, and died overseas.  What about you?”

“I’m the eldest.  I have three sisters, and a younger brother, all of whom live in various parts of the world.”

“Do you miss them?”

“A little.”

“I would miss my brothers terribly if they left the state.”

“That’s because you’re a delicate flower,” he teased.

You snorted.  “That’s certainly not true!”

“A dainty bloom.”

“You can shut all the way up.”

“A fragile blossom.”

“How many synonyms are you going to go through?”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

You started to push him playfully, but then caught yourself, and lowered your hand.

He frowned.  Tentatively, “I’ve noticed you start to touch me a few times, and then stop.  What’s wrong?”

You shook your head.  “You’ve noticed me start to hit you a few times, and then stop.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“You want me to hit you?” you asked dubiously.

“Well, it’s not like you’re about to punch me in the face.  I like it when you’re playful.  It’s cute.”  You shook your head, and looked away, your expression shadowed.  “What’s wrong?  Did I say something wrong?”

“Of course not!  It’s just…when I was younger, I used to be very physically playful—I was a tomboy.  I used to love play-wrestling, and I would hit my brothers when we were joking around, that sort of thing.  But one day, when I was 19, Jameson told me to stop hitting him–that it was unfeminine, that I was always so violent, and that he didn’t appreciate being touched like that.  I was kind of surprised, considering he’s the one who taught me how to wrestle, and I had never hit anyone in anger. But…I said ‘Okay.  I’ll never touch you again,’ and from that day to this, I never have.”

“So, your brother’s a jerk?”

You blew out a breath.  “He was right.  I shouldn’t hit people.  It’s uncouth.”

He leaned forward, taking his hand from behind you and running it frustratedly through his hair, before curling it back around your shoulders, and pulling you almost imperceptibly toward him. “You weren’t going around pile-driving people. People give friends and family love taps all the time!  It’s part of the human experience.  And unfeminine? Since when is he the arbiter of what constitutes femininity?  If he didn’t want you to interact with him that way anymore, that’s fine, but there are nicer ways to say it than he did.”

“Wow.  You, uh, feel really passionately about love-taps, huh?”

He subsided, cracking his neck, and leaning back.  “Sorry.  I just…feel…a little protective.”

“Of me?!”

“Of course!  I like you, and I don’t like seeing you upset.  Listen,” here he lifted the hand that he had been holding, and used it to roughly tap his chest.  “I can take everything you’ve got.  You don’t have to feel inhibited around me.”  His hand moved to your wrist, and relaxed, the weight of it causing your hand to open against his chest and slowly drag down.

You stared wide-eyed at your hand, splayed across his chest, feeling the firm muscles ripple under his clothes as he breathed.   You were suddenly very aware of his proximity, of his arm resting lightly against your shoulder blades, of his heart beating under your palm.  Swallowing involuntarily, you felt his eyes on your face, but you were too shy to meet them.  So, you turned to gaze at the glittering light the gibbous moon cast on the water.  You felt Baekhyun return your hand to your lap.

“So…” he started.

“So…”

“Is this awkward?”

You thought for a moment, then shook your head.  “No.  No.  It’s…nice.  I think I like it.”

***

90’s alternative blasted through the club speakers as Suzy wrapped her arms around your neck, slowly undulating to the beat.  Your arms were around her waist, your eyes closed as you moved to the driving cellos of Rasputina’s Transylvanian Concubine.

You were two drinks into the night, and feeling pretty mellow as you danced to the sultry music of your childhood.  A few minutes later, the song ended, and you and Suzy jumped up and down in delight.

“That was my favourite song!” you yelled, trying to make yourself heard over the stripped lo-fi drumbeat of Virgin State of Mind.

“I know!  I didn’t think that they’d play the indie stuff, too!”

“That’s why this club’s 90’s Night is the best.  You can even make requests.  The DJ is pretty cool.”

“Oh, do you know her?”

“We’ve hung out a bit.  I’ll introduce you later, if you like.”

You nodded, looking up at the DJ booth to look at the tall brunette, arms snaked with tattoos, silver nose ring glinting, side shave freshly cut. “Ugh, she’s so pretty!”

“So are you,” a smooth voice whispered, entirely too intimately in your ear.  You shivered in distaste, involuntarily turning as hands reached around you to remove your arms from your friend’s waist, and spin you in the opposite direction.  A tall, oily, middle aged man looked down at you.  Well, down at some parts of you, anyway.  His thick black hair was shellacked with product, and his shirt was half unbuttoned, showing a toned, but disturbingly shiny chest.  He had probably once been handsome, but bloodshot eyes, and a fine network of broken capillaries across his nose whispered that dissipation had begun to take its toll.

“Sorry guy, I’m not interested,” you said, shaking your head, and removing his hand from your wrist.

Suzy came to stand behind you, wrapping her arms possessively around your waist, and resting her chin on your shoulder, her black hair falling in a curtain over your arm.  “Sorry, this one’s taken.”

He held up his hands, grinning.  “Oh, two for the price of one.”

Your temper flared.  “No, none for the price of nothing.  Move along, old man.”

He held a hand to his heart in mock pain.  “Aw, come on, I just want to get to know you.  Would you like a drink?”

“She’s fine,” Suzy said shortly.

“I asked her,” he said with attitude.

You raised an eyebrow.  “I’m fine.”  You rolled your eyes, as he looked you up and down, biting his lip.  From which scum soaked swamp slogged this caricature, anyway?

“In that skirt, you certainly are!”  You had let Suzy dress you tonight, and she had chosen a flouncy black lace mini skirt, over a long-sleeved black lace shirt, and thigh-high, lace-up leather boots.

You decided to take the high road.  “Listen, whatever you’re looking for tonight, I hope you find it, but we’re not really interested in anything like that.”

He sighed heavily, shaking his head.  “Alright.  Take it easy.”

“You, too!” you chirped with false friendliness.

“Ugh, what a creeper,” Suzy said, as he sauntered off in search of fresh strange.  You nodded, leaning back to confidentially let her know that you had to use the bathroom.  “Alright, I’m going to get another shot.”

***

Your eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Suzy after you emerged from the bathroom.  Darn her and her tiny, birdlike bones.  You should start putting bells on her.  Starting for the bar, you figured that you’d begin your search there.  A strong hand grasped you by the wrist, and pulled you backwards.  For a split second, you let it, thinking that it was Suzy, but you quickly realized that her hands were much smaller than the one that was tugging you.  You turned to see the same greasy guy from earlier, a cocky grin on his face.

“Got rid of your little girlfriend, I see.  Wanna dance?”

You ripped your wrist from his grip, hissing in anger.  “I already said no.  Don’t touch me again!”

“Come on, baby!  Just one dance.”  His eyes roved hungrily up and down your body. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I don’t want a drink!”

His eyes shot above your head as you felt an arm snake its way across your neck, while another slid across your hips, pulling you back against a very hot, very taut body that gently, comfortingly rocked you from side to side.  Warm breath sighed past your ear, and you smiled in recognition.  You leaned your head back against a broad shoulder, turning to look at look at the side of Baekhyun’s face, as he smiled darkly at the finally silent stranger.

“Is the old man bothering you, pet?”

You lazily shook your head in negation, smiling up at him.  His eyes dropped to you, and then he turned you around, your bodies in profile. You reached up, and lightly raked your nails down side of his face, leaving livid red stripes against the warm gold.  He closed his eyes, jaw hardening against the slight pain.  Seeing his expression, you stood on your toes, slipping your hand to cradle the back of his head, while wrapping your other around his shoulder, pulling him closer to you, so that you could gently bite the side of his jaw. Baekhyun growled low, and then lifted his head, bringing his mouth close to yours, snarling softly as you undulated against him, your open mouth sending warm air over his, as you returned the snarl.  He lowered his forehead to yours, and all you could see was black, black, black as you looked up into his eyes. You smiled a wolfish smile and, in unison, you turned your heads toward the man who wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Any questions?” Baekhyun queried.

After a lengthy pause, the man came up with a response he thought the height of wit.  “I didn’t want you, anyway,” he muttered, backing away, and quickly disappearing into the crowd.

You hid your face in Baekhyun’s chest, your body shaking as you tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back giggles.

“Shhh!” he admonished.  “You’re going to blow our cover!”  He pulled you behind one of the club’s carved pillars, holding you tightly as you laughed hysterically.

“Did you see his face?!” you guffawed.

“It was priceless!”

You stopped laughing long enough to imitate the man’s stunned expression, and you both doubled over, holding your stomachs, and whooping.  You looked up at him, his mouth wide with laughter, and noticed how red the side of his face was.  “Oh, wait, wait!”  You lifted a hand to his reddened cheek, caressing the skin.  “Did I hurt you?”

He smiled, “Nah, it looks worse than it is.  I’m easily marked, remember?”

You nodded, but then another thought occurred to you.  “What are you doing here?”

He looked around, and then gestured toward the bar.  “You see my guy over there?”

Your eyes scanned the bar in the general direction of his hand until you saw a man slumped over with a drink in his hand.  You nodded.

“His girlfriend just broke up with him, and…here we are.”  He cocked his head, and sucked in a breath through his teeth.  “By the looks of it, I don’t think that I’m doing a very good job of cheering him up.”

You playfully tugged at the lapels of his black jacket, then slipped your hand inside to pull him closer to you, your palm sliding over the warm silk of his black dress shirt.  “You’re cheering me up marvelously.”

“Whoa,” he grinned, tapping your nose.  “Someone’s been in the sauce.  Feeling a bit tipsy, are we?”

You crinkled your nose, then pouted.  “I’ve had two whole drinks!”

“I’ve had two whole drinks!” he mocked.

You laughed and then stomped your foot.  “Don’t imitate me!”

“Don’t imitate me!”  

You snorted, and swatted a hand over his jean-clad bottom. He grinned mischievously, looking at you sideways.  “I guess I’ll have to give you back to him, huh?” you pouted.  Just then Suzy walked up, looking between the two of you uncertainly.  “Suzy!” you said, throwing your arms around her, and pulling her closer.  You leaned over and whispered in her ear, “This is Baekhyun.”

She surveyed him coolly up and down, and held out her hand.  “Suzy.”

He shook it with a charming grin, “Byun Baekhyun.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Suzy gave him a cold smile.  “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.

You hissed, and bumped her with your hip, giving her a look.  Be nice!

She looked back at you.  I am being nice!

You pouted.

She narrowed her eyes, and then rolled them, throwing an arm around your shoulders.  “Look, Byun, I’m sure that you’re a really nice guy, and I’m all ready to love you, but I have to tell you, if you hurt my best friend, I’m coming for you.”

Baekhyun smiled angelically.  “If I hurt her, you have full permission to put your Louboutin so far up my butt, I taste shoe polish.”

Suzy grimaced, side-eyeing you.  “Sooo gross.  You two are actually made for each other.”

You grinned, and turned your attention back to Baekhyun.  “Why don’t you invite your friend to hang out with us?

He made a face, and then said, “Let me go talk to him for a minute.”

You watched him as he walked off, eyeing him as he smoothly moved through the crowd.  Leaning toward Suzy, you said confidentially, “I hate to see him go, but I love to watch him walk away.”

She turned to you.  “You, my friend, are cut off for the rest of the night.  You are such a lightweight!”

You gave her a brilliant grin, glancing at Baekhyun as he threw his arm around his friend.  “Sometimes I want to sink my teeth into his bottom, like a peach.”

“I don’t want to hear about your perverted fantasies.”

Dreamily, “His shoulders are so wide, and strong.  He really knows how to fill out a suit well, if you know what I mean.”

Suzy glanced toward the bar.  “I’m not entirely sure that I do.”

“You know what else?  I can’t stop thinking about how good his thighs would look in tight black leather pants.”

“Down, girl.”

“No, seriously, though, just look at them.  He has the thighs of a mythical Greek hero.”

She squinted, then looked back at you incredulously.  “Just what did they put in those shots?!”

“What’s so confusing is that he’s simultaneously so hot, and so cute.  Have you seen his upper lip?  It’s like a baby’s!  It’s so pink and delicate. I don’t know if I want to kiss him, or stuff his mouth with sweets.  I’m so conflicted.”

“That’s why I like you,” she said drily.  “You really get to the heart of the hard-hitting questions of our age.”

“Okay, did I not listen to you wax rhapsodic about your precious boyfriend’s Adam’s apple?

“Valid.”

“Thank you.”  You sucked in a breath, “I know that we’ve only been on two dates, and okay, maybe part of it is because he saved my life, but something about him is driving me crazy.  He’s so perfect that it’s scary.”

“Everyone feels that way in the beginning.  It’s called infatuation.”

You gave her a look.  “Are you really trying to give me a psych lesson?”

“No, I’m just trying to be the voice of reason.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

“Which is why this is so scary!”

You laughed.  “Don’t worry.  I know I sound obsessed, but I’m just enjoying being in crush.  It has been…years.  I didn’t think that it was ever going to happen again.”

Her eyes softened.  “I told you that it would.”

Sighing, “I know, but just someone says something doesn’t make it true. Especially if they love you.”

She was silent for a moment.  Then, “Okay.  Logic-Suzy is gone.  Let’s perv.”

You turned to her, grinning.  “He usually wears these three piece suits to work, and he looks so delicious that I just want to tie him down, blindfold him with his own tie, and—“

Suzy glanced up, eyes widening with panic, and then clapped a hand over your mouth.  You mrphed indignantly.  “Hi, Baekhyun! Welcome back!” she said brightly.

Your eyes widened as you heard his amused voice behind you.

“No, no, no, move your hand.  I want to see where this goes.”

“Why doesn’t the earth ever open up and swallow you when you want it to?” you moaned, turning to him, with your head hung low in shame.

Baekhyun smiled sweetly, looking at you as if you were the cutest thing in the world.  Leaning forward, he whispered in your ear.  “Don’t feel bad. That pencil skirt that you were wearing at the museum caused me to have a few inappropriate thoughts of my own.”

You felt your face flame, and you floundered to change the subject before you could go into a full-body blush.  “Uh…so…what about your friend?!”

He shook his head, and gestured behind him.  You peered over his shoulder to find his friend had gone.  “He decided that drinking his sorrows wasn’t the healthiest idea, so he’s going to go home, and drown them in ice-cream, instead.”

“Shouldn’t you go with him?” you asked.

“Nah.  He mumbled something incoherent, but the general gist was that at least one of us should be happy.”  He raised his eyes to look at both you and Suzy.  “Are you hungry?”

You and she looked at each other, reading each other’s thoughts.  Hours of dancing had made you both ravenous. She answered for the two of you.  “Starving.”

He gestured to a booth near a quiet corner that had just opened.  “Let me get us something to eat.”

Suzy raised an eyebrow.  “I like you better, already.”

***

The table was littered with partially-drunken glasses of liquour, empty bottles of cider, and well picked-over dishes, most of which belonged to Suzy.  You and Baekhyun slipped out of the booth, leaving a very unconscious Suzy to sleep off her alcohol haze.  Before you could spirit him away to the dance floor, he took off his jacket, and laid it over the gently snoring body of your best friend, covering her bare legs. Your heart throbbed at the conscientious gesture.

“To be so tiny, she can really put it away,” Baekhyun whispered incredulously.

“That’s her charm.”  You clasped his hand in both of yours while Shirley Manson’s voice purred seductively over the speakers.   Walking backwards, you pulled him through the crowd, his eyes on yours as you guided him to the dance floor. Once you sensed a clear spot, you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him close, and tilted back your head to look up at him. “…I lose what I love most…Did you know I was lost until you found me?…”  “Do you have any idea how glad I am to see you tonight?”

His arms tightened around your waist at your whispered words.  He smiled down at you, face full of satisfaction as his eyes lazily roamed your face.  “Do you have any idea how glad I am that you’re glad to see me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

His eyes darkened as he looked inward at some unpleasant memory.  “Some people want to claim you, but still play around behind your back.”

You sighed deeply, swaying to the music like a slender reed in the summer breeze.  “That’s not my style.  I’m not built to cheat.”  You scrunched your nose, and wriggled your hips, making him laugh.  “I’m built for comfort, not for speed.”

“Good girl,” he said, firmly patting your lower back.

“So…is there a story there?”

“Isn’t there always?”

You leaned closer, gently caressing his jaw, and watching the emotions play over his face.  “Tell me?”

He shook his head, eyes closed.  “She doesn’t matter.  You’re here, now.”

You tilted his head down, capturing his eyes when he opened them.  “What about you, Baekhyunnie?  Are you faithful?”  “…You say that you’ll be there to catch me… Or will you only try to trap me?”

He leaned forward and nuzzled his nose to yours, causing you to smile.  “I couldn’t cheat–wouldn’t even want to.  I think that an unbreakable connection between two people is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

Your sigh of content ghosted over his mouth.  You closed your eyes, letting his sweet words sink past your slight inebriation to touch the cold, dark place deep inside.  “Stroke of luck, or gift from God?  Hand of fate, or devil’s claws?  From below, or saints above, you come to me…”  You slowly shook your head.  “What’s wrong with you?”

He raised his eyebrows.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s wrong with you?  You present as perfect, so I know that there has to be some sort of nasty little secret you’re keeping deep down in the dark.”

He looked away from you, and smiled.  “I…like eating crackers in bed.”

You gasped.  “Shameful!”  Turning in his arms, you wrapped his hands back around your waist, rolling your body to the music.  His breath hitched, and you smiled to yourself.  “What else?  You heard him swallow hard before continuing.

“Sometimes I open snacks and eat them while I’m shopping.”

“Do you still pay for them?”

“Of course!”

“Well, then, that’s alright.”

“I’m trying to confess here, pet.”

“What else ya got?”

“I’m stubborn.”

“You don’t say!”

He chuckled.  “Well, what about you?  What are your darkest secrets?”

You pondered.  “Once, when I was six, I accidentally stole a candy bar…”

“You little criminal!”

You slapped him on the arm.  “Shut up!  I still feel guilty about it!”

“How does one accidentally steal a candy bar?”

“I thought that my dad said, ‘Yes’, when I asked if I could have it, but he was saying ‘Yes’ to someone else with whom he was talking.”

“That’s not so much stealing as a misunderstanding.”

“He threatened to send me to jail.”

“At six?!”

“Well, he didn’t believe in corporal punishment, so he did the most drastic thing that he could think of, to leave an impression.”  You laughed. “By the end of it, he was ‘crying’ more than I was, at the idea of having to be separated from me, due to my impending jail time.  So, we made a pact that he wouldn’t tell, so that I could stay with him.”

“Unsure if that’s adorable, or horrifying.”

“It’s a ‘look back and laugh’.” Baekhyun just smiled uncertainly.  “I guess you had to be there,” you said awkwardly.

He spun you around, running his hands from your shoulders down to your waist, rocking his body from side to side to the beat.

“You’ve got some pretty sweet moves, there, Byun.”

“You’re a pretty good dancer, too.”

“Eh, just because these are all slow songs.  What I lack in rhythm, I make up for in enthusiasm.”

He smiled, shaking his head.  “Don’t try to distract me, pet.  You were busy baring your soul.”

“Ah, yes.  Let’s see…”  You leaned up to whisper in his ear.  “I cheated on an Econ exam once.”

He looked shocked.  “Wow!  I really am dating a criminal.”

You blushed.  “I had to take first year Econ as a requirement for PoliSci, and I had no idea what I was doing, so…”  You shrugged.  “I cheated just enough to pass the exam–I wasn’t trying for an A, or anything.  I even left a question blank.  After the papers were passed back out, the professor called me up to the front–I just knew that I was going to be busted–but he just yelled at me for the question that I left blank.  He said that he knew that non-Econ majors had to take the class, as part of their major’s reqs, so he took that into account when he graded, and would go easy on us.  He told me that if I put anything, anything at all that related to econ, he could give me some points for it, but if I left something blank, he’d have no choice but to give me a zero.  I skated by his class with a B-, and I’m still grateful for it.  That man was a saint.”

“That was really nice of him.”

“I know!”

“You’re still a lawless hooligan, though.”

“I’m bad to the bone, baby!  What’s it like dating a bad girl?”

“I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I find one.”

“Contrarian!”  You leaned over and nipped his shoulder.  

He laughed, his eyes shining.  “What else?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?!”

“Those are my deepest, darkest secrets.”

He reached up to gently stroke your hair.  “You are a good girl.”

Wrinkling your nose, you moved your head away from his hand.  “Make no mistake, Byun.  I’m not a good girl.  I’m a nice girl.  There’s a distinct difference.”

He pulled you a little closer, causing you to blush at the intimate contact, and you were thankful that the darkness of the club hid the heat in your cheeks.  “What is the difference?”

“I pretty much always follow all the rules.  But I don’t always enjoy it.” You waved a hand airily.  “I keep my evil on the inside.”

“What rules would you like to break?”

“I wish that I could say what I actually think, instead of being polite, and politic all the time.”

“Everyone feels like that, pet.”

You flirtatiously pressed closer, letting him feel your curves slide against him as you slowly danced.  Standing on your toes, you drew close to whisper in his ear.  “Are you trying to convince me that I’m actually a good girl, after all?”  This time, as you drew back, you had the pleasure of watching him swallow involuntarily at your query.  

He raised his head, closing his eyes in an effort to stay in control. After a moment, he opened his eyes, and smiled down at you.  “I think that it’s time for all good little girls to be in bed.  Even you.”  You started to protest, when he sucked in a warning breath.  “It’s gone three, you’re tipsy, and I like you too much to co-sign your doing anything that you might regret tomorrow.”  He stood, holding your hands, and waiting.  After a bit of thought, you reluctantly nodded in concession, and he slipped an arm around your shoulder, and walked you back to the table where Suzy continued to peacefully snore.  “How did you get here?”

“We took an Uber.”

“Excellent.  I’ll take you both home.”

***

Baekhyun helped you carry a nominally conscious Suzy upstairs to her apartment, dropping her unceremoniously on her bed with a huff.  

You led him back to the living room couch, saying, “Wait here,” as you returned to change her into pajamas, clean off her makeup, and tuck her in.

He watched you from the couch as you quietly closed the door to her room. Standing, he reached for you, saying, “I’ll take you home, now.”

“I think that I should stay with her tonight.”

He smiled wistfully.  “You’re a loyal friend.”

“I just want to make sure she’s okay.  Take care of her if she gets sick, or anything.”

Just then, you both heard a key in the lock.  Turning, you saw Suzy’s boyfriend enter, and you skipped over to greet him with a hug. “Jongdae!  You’re back!”

He patted your back tiredly, cautiously looking over your shoulder, at Baekhyun.  “Yay, I’m back…” he said with markedly less enthusiasm.  He straightened, smiling down at you, though his gaze kept flickering behind your shoulder.   “I didn’t want to stay anothere night away from Suzy-Q, so I just drove back after the last lecture.”  Seeing the question in his eyes, you introduced them.  “Ah, so you’re the man trying to steal our little chickadee’s heart,” Jongdae laughed, ruffling your hair, as you unsuccessfully tried to push him away.

Baekhyun smiled, reaching out to gently card his fingers through your wild hair, carefully combing, and smoothing it back into place. “That’s me. And since you’re back…?” he looked at you questioningly.

You nodded.  “Sure, you can take me now.”  You turned to Jongdae, “I was going to stay with Suzy, after sending Baekhyun first, but since you’re here, I’m going to go home.”

Jongdae smiled at both of you, his eyes already starting to drift closed.  “I hate to be such a rude host, but I’ve been going since before dawn, and I’m dead…”

You got behind him, pushing him toward the bedroom.  “Go to sleep.  I’ll see you later.”

He waved vaguely over his shoulder as he entered the darkened bedroom, quietly closing the door.

You and Baekhyun tiptoed out of the apartment, and down the stairs.

“He seemed nice,” Baekhyun stated as you both slipped into his car.

“He is nice.  He’s an assistant professor of music.”

“Vocal, or instrumental.”

“Vocal.  Like you.”

“I like him already.”

You snorted, snuggling down into the plush seat.  You didn’t see Baekhyun look over at you, his gaze soft as he watched your face begin to relax into sleep.  

***

You awoke still in Baekhyun’s car, your seat pushed back, his jacket over your legs, as he gazed out his window.  Yawning, you sat up, and looked around.  “Home?”  He turned to you with a smile.  “How long have we been here?” you queried.

“I wasn’t watching the time.”

You looked at the sky, noticing the imperceptible lightening that preluded the dawn. “Why didn’t you wake me?  You must be tired!”

“I’m fine. Come on; let’s get you inside.”

He held your hand as he walked you to your door, guiding you up the steps as you practically sleep-walked across your porch.  

You unlocked the door, and then turned to give him your farewell.  After a moment, you realized that you were just staring at his chin, so you raised your head to look him in the eye.  

He leaned closer, eyes sweetly caressing your face.  

You watched him as he lowered his eyes to your mouth.

After a moment however, he seemed to come to a reluctantly made decision.  He moved his head to your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you, and giving you a warm, all-enveloping hug.  

You leaned into him, closing your eyes.  His hold was so steady, so comforting.  You could fall asleep just like this.  

With a sigh, he released you, moving back just far enough to drop a chaste kiss on your forehead.  “Goodnight, pet.”

[liviasdata]

EXO-L Demographics (EXO)

Survey closes : Friday, March 1st, 2019. If you share this on any other platform other than Tumblr or Twitter, please let me know. To check out other results and surveys, or even to contact me, here is my website: https://liviasdata.wixsite.com/liviasdata

Hi, y'all!!!

By taking this poll, we’ll be able to see what the demographics of K-pop fans are.

This poll will close on March 1st, 2019. From there I will compile the data and create charts. Please share!! If you share this to any other social media platform, please let me know.

Currently Open Surveys:

엑소 (EXO) EXO-L 인구 통계 설문 조사 *2019 년 3 월 1 일 마감*

TxT Pre-Debut Survey *Closes the day after their Debut – Date of Debut is still TBD* (NOTE: Please read this information before taking, so that way you have know what goes into it.)

Future Surveys *Open until further notice*

Future Projects (In no particular order):

TxT Post-Debut Survey (NOTE: this will only be open to the people who took the Pre-Debut Survey.)

GOT7 Fan Demographics

Twice Fan Demographics

Published Results:

VIXX (STARLIGHT) Demographic Results

If you’re so inclined, please follow me on my Social Media to get regular updates on future surveys and results:

My Tumblr

My Twitter

My other blog, Livia’s Data

And please share this post, to help me get as many responses as possible before it closes and to be notified when results are posted! Thanks!~

[liviasdata]

EDIT:

DEADLINE EXTENSION TO MARCH 15th, 2019!!!!

[yourdailykyungsoo]

[xui-n-soowillbethedeathofme]

Under the lights. Jongin. Yixing. Moodboard.

@vampwrrr I believe I owe you a dream moodboard?

[exo-library-project]

CALLING ALL EXO FIC WRITERS!  Welcome to the EXO  Library  Project!!

I’m sure you’ve noticed the ongoing problem with Tumblr’s tagging system. Fics not showing up in the search due to links and what have you. Certain key words causing trouble, you all know the drill.  I am here to propose a solution until the powers that be try a different tactic against the porn bots. 

The goal of this blog is to create a space where all of the EXO fandom writers aren’t lost to the void. Where readers have a place to find a new story. Where we UNITE as a fandom to create more content and ensure the content creators get the recognition they deserve! (Wow that was cheesy. Just roll with it.)

The idea is fairly simple. And one you yourself probably make use of yourself. 

MASTERLISTS. 

Or more specifically a compilation of Masterlists and Writers. 

All I ask is for you to let me know that you are a fic writer and what type of fics you mostly write. I will then reblog your Masterlist  if applicable and add you to the appropriate list of writers. I will attempt to include as many as I can find/already know of so if you see your blog and don’t wish to be included for whatever reason let me know and I’ll take you off the list. (Although WHY would you want to do that? Your writing is awesome and should be seen!)

See? Easy as Pi! No need to apply to a writers network, you don’t even need to follow if you don’t want. Just send an ask and let me know you write for EXO! All skill levels welcome!  

The Writer lists will be split according to what you mostly write :

Reader Insert Writers- for all the Y/N main characters.

OC Writers- If your main character has a name and its not one of the members

Shipping Writers- Self explanatory really. Crossover fic writers will also be welcomed, so long as one of the main pairing is an EXO member.

(Further refinement may happen in the future but for now let’s keep things simple.)

 SO IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN JOINING THE PROJECT SEND AN ASK OR A DM OR A MESSENGER PIGEON. (Messenger pigeon receival not Guaranteed)

DON’T FORGET TO REBLOG THIS POST SO OTHERS CAN SEE IT PLEASE! THIS ONLY WORKS IF THE NEWS IS SPREAD. SO REBLOG MY PRETTIES! REBLOG!!!!

Tl;dr making a list of exo writers please help!

[exo-library-project]

Masterlists

Reader Insert

OCs

Shipping

[exo-library-project]

Hello and Welcome to the Library! Below the cut you will find a list of Reader insert Writers. Happy browsing! Don’t forget to show the Writers some form of Appreciation, like reblogging or leaving them a nice ask or something! They deserve it!

A

    @aegipcy     @allyreactions @angstyexo

B

   @baekberrie @baekbuns  @baekhyunbitz @baeklooming-day  @band-imagines-by-me  @byuniebh

C

   @cherrydae   @crappyfics   @chrisbang-bang-bang @crzygirls

D

    @daisybaeks    @dmumts @dorkyungsoowrites @dreamythoughtsmood

E 

     @ephemeral-writings @everybodyloveslaymond  @exodestroyedmylife @exosmutcafe @exo-soft  @exo-waithowdidigethere@exo3lysion

F

   @fairyscribbles  @fanficsofmine @fantasies-from-nami

G

   @gyeommark

H

    @hautecores  @homemade-scenarios

I

   @its-the-love-shot-exo-writer @im-genie-for-your-wish

J

    @jjangpanda

K

   }{ @kilighappens  @kinqtansonyeondan }{   @kpopcorn-requests @kpopimagi @kpopmalereader  @kpoppwriter @kpop—scenarios  @kpop-scenarios-theaddiction  @kpurereactions  @krismebaobei   @kreactionsentertainment  @krungkyungie   @kyungseokie

L

   @liusboy   @lucyandthepen

M

   @marshmallow-phd  @maximum-salty @melonkooky  @messyscriptorium  @myeoning-call   @myforeverforlife

N

   O

    }{     @olkapippin @omyeol  @ooshu  @optimizche   }{  @overdosed-for-exo 

P

  @parkbearum  @peachy-hoshi  @pisunyak @pcygoldenchild  @

Q

R

    @red-exo @ritzee-snow

S

    @sailorimagines   @scftuan  @simplyyeol @softyexo  @softyn  @songofsehun  @soobadnoonecanstopher  @sweetyeolies

T

    @taexual   @theclawofaraven

U

V

@vampwrrrmistresslist   @velvetchen  

W

@weishenbwi

X

Y

  }{ @yours-truly-sophie  }{  @youxidol }{ @yonglvoe  @y3h3t-ohorat 

Z

0@0506lover

[knightly-whispers-deactivated20]

010 / 101 kisses

♡ 010; impromptu ♡ optional bias x female reader (you/your) ♡ neighbors!au ♡ when you share your first kiss

[ re-uploaded from my previous blog; after- you-fall-asleep ]

   xoxo

rummaging through your kitchen at 1am for a snack wasn’t something unusual.

hearing your doorbell ring while you were face first into the refrigerator with cheeks filled with blueberries at 1am, however, was somewhat unusual.

Keep reading

[vampwrrrmistresslist]

Sweet Lies 4

A/N:  This is chapter 4 of an in progress fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist.

Your phone buzzed with a text.  

“What are you doing?”

“Working”

“Can you take a break?”

“No”

“They’re legally mandated to give you a 15 minute break after you’ve been working for 2 hours”

“Legally, yes, logistically, no.”  A picture of Baekhyun pouting. Your eyes sharpened as you caught the background behind his uncomfortably adorable face. “Are you outside?”

“Maybe”

“Baekhyun!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, and looked at the pile of emails you still had to handle.  They were never-ending.  You sighed.  He was right. No one would know if their answer was emailed to them 15 minutes later than it would have been.  You locked your computer, and walked to the front door in the break-room, opening it, and squinting in the harsh light of the July sun, until your eyes focused on him.  You raised an eyebrow.  

“What?  I’m using my legally mandated 15 minute break to take a walk around the block, which is good for my heart, which lowers the likelihood of heart disease, which lowers the amount that health insurance will have to cover, which saves the City money.  They should be thanking me.”

You ushered him inside. “Ugh.  I can’t believe that you walked over here in 107 degree weather in a three piece suit.”

“Well, it’s just across the street.  It’s not exactly a marathon trail.”

“Still… I don’t do sunlight, if I can help it.”

“Are you a vampire?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess you don’t want any of these,” he said, pulling a bag of gummy bears from behind his back.

You bit your lip and tried not to look interested.  

“I’m good.”

“Are you?”  He tilted his head.  You looked away.  He slowly opened the bag, and then waved his hand, wafting the fruity scent of the candy toward you.  You turned around, and walked away, to sit on the couch.  Grinning, he slowly approached, still wafting.  “What’s wrong?  Overwhelmed by the scent of delicious fruit-flavoured Haribo?”

“You don’t know me.”

“I saw a bag of them on your dresser during our call last night.”

You sniffed.  “Those were sugar-free.  I don’t want cavities.”

He said down beside you. “Hey…  One little packet of gummy bears is not going to give you a cavity.”

“It’s a slippery slope.”

“You can rinse your mouth when you’re done.”

“I don’t like gifts.”

“It’s not a gift.” He popped one into his mouth.  “I wanted to share.  You’re not going to make me eat this whole bag by myself, are you?  Don’t you care about my teeth?”

You gave him a look, and said sweetly, “You can rinse your mouth when you’re done.”

He opened his mouth to respond when you were dubiously saved by your gossipy, old-biddy’s-soul-in-a…relatively-young-woman’s-body, co-worker, Kim.

“Oh, hi, there!” she greeted in her annoyingly saccharine voice, moving to stand between you. “You’re the new ACM, aren’t you?”

You gaped up at her back. How could she possibly know that? The man was just hired.  Her powers of busybody must be strong, indeed. He stood, holding out the hand not clutching the packet of gummy bears.  “I am.  Byun Baekhyun.  And you are?”

Simpering, “You can call me Kim.”  You rolled your eyes behind her, trying to keep your evil on the inside, but he caught your expression, and grinned before quickly schooling his expression back into a mask of polite interest. “How do you like working in the City Manager’s Office?”

“Well, it beats what I was doing before.  Far fewer hours.  I actually have time to sleep, eat, and bathe, all in the same day.”

She tittered.  You wanted to strangle her, but instantly felt guilty.  It wasn’t her fault that she was terminally annoying.  And passionately insincere (toward you, at least).  And had the voice of an especially particular nosy little old church lady.  “Well, what are you doing over here?  Do you need me to get you a supervisor?”

You muttered under your breath, “I am your supervisor, Kim.”

“Ah, well, I was under the impression that she—“ here he gestured to you, “is a supervisor.”

“Oh, yes, well…”  The door opened, and your boss walked in. “Ken!” she trilled.  “This is Byun Baekhyun, he’s a new ACM!”

Ken’s eyes flitted over all of you, as he came forward to shake Baekhyun’s hand.  You kept your expression neutral.  “Nice to meet you; Ken MacDermott.”

Baekhyun shook his hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“Can I help you with anything?”

“Ah, no, I was actually already being helped when Kim came in, so…”

Ken looked between you two, a knowing expression on his face.  You groaned inwardly.  He started for his office.  “Okay, well, it was nice meeting you.  It’s always nice to make connections with people throughout the City.  Make sure to come back and visit us, sometime!”

“I will do that.”

You wanted to die. Ken turned around at the doorway, “Kim, I was wondering if you could help me with the quarterly report.”  

“Oh, sure, Ken, what did you need?”  Their voices trailed off as they walked down the hall to his office.

Baekhyun sat back down next to you, giving you a look.  “Well, that was awkward.”

“I know!”  You shared a laugh.  You looked at the clock.  “You should probably go.  How much more of your break do you have?”  

He looked at his watch. “Ah, 3 minutes.”

You stood up.  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“When do you take lunch?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“What?”

“You can’t come over here for every break!”

He pouted.  “Why not?”

“Because it’s unprofessional.”

“Why?”

“Because…I don’t know why, it just is!  How am I supposed to retain an air of supervisory cool if you’re over here every two hours making moo-cow eyes at me?”

“I made no moo-cow eyes!”

“You’re making them right now!”

He smiled charmingly. “That’s because you’re the prettiest girl in the room.”

“I’m the only girl in the room.”

“So, if you don’t want me coming over here, why don’t you come to me?”

“Because I get 30 minutes for lunch, and if I come to you, between the walk there and back, and the elevator, I would get 20 minutes to eat, and I left horking my food in 2 minutes behind in high school.”

He gaped at you in horror. “You actually only have 30 minutes for lunch?”

“Of course.  How long do you have?”

“An hour.”

You tilted your head. “How?”

He fidgeted.  “Well, a lot of business is conducted over lunch, and we often have to do a lot of uncredited overtime, so we officially have an hour, though we can take longer.”

“Must be nice.”

“We could FaceTime.”

“I’m not FaceTiming my lunch with you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not some soldier deployed to a foreign war, trying to catch every precious moment with me, because it might be your last.  It’s not like you won’t see me soon enough.”

He whined, “But I want to see you all the time!”

“That is called infatuation. You’ll get over it.”

“But—“

You pushed him out of the door.  “Goodbye, Baekhyun,” you sing-songed, and closed the door.  

Faintly, from the other side, you heard, “Baehyunnie!”

You poked your head out of the door, and poked out your tongue at him.  “Baekhyunnie!”

He smirked, finally satisfied, and waved as he walked away.  You watched him go, admiring the way he filled out his suit.  He turned around, to catch you oogling, and you jumped, and slammed the door.

You jumped again, when you heard your boss’s voice above your head.

“Baekhyunnie?”  You died a little inside.  He was grinning down at you.  You cleared your throat, and looked away.  “I hear he’s single.”

“You just met him. How could you possibly know that?”

“Kim told me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course she did.  And how did she know that?”

“You know she knows things.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

“He seems nice.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

You looked past him. “Don’t do what you’re about to do.”

“I’m just saying…an ACM…  That’s a pretty big deal.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He seems very intelligent.”

“I’m aware.”

“You could—“

“Okay!  That’s it!  My 15 minute break is over!  Sorry, Ken, I really have to get back to all these emails!”  You power walked back to your desk with your boss’s chuckling ringing in your burning ears.  As you sat down, you saw something fly by you out of the corner of your eye.  Turning, you saw your boss grinning goofily at you, before turning and heading back to his office.  You looked at the side of your desk.  Gummy bears.

***

You stopped typing when the doorbell rang.  “I’ll get it,” you told your coworkers.

A delivery boy from Jason’s Deli stood outside.  He handed you a ticket, saying, “I have an order for someone here.”  

You read your name incredulously.  “That’s me, but I didn’t order anything.”

“Well, it has already been paid for, so it’s yours now, if you want it.”  You took the bag from him.  “Just a moment.  Let me grab my wallet, for your tip.”

He shook his head. “Already been tipped.  Have a nice day.”

“Have a nice day,” you echoed, looking confused as you wandered back into the break room. Something clicked.  “No way,” you said to yourself.  You grabbed your phone, and shot off a text.  “Did you send lunch to me?”

“Hm?”

“Did you buy Jason’s Deli, and have it sent to my office?”

“Hm?”

“Did you call Jason’s Deli, order food, and tell them to deliver it to my office, in my name?”

You watched the screen as the little notification bar indicated, Baekhyunnie is typing.  This went on for a solid 30 seconds.  Then—

“Hm?”

You growled.  “I hate you”

“No you don’t”

“I told you I don’t like gifts”

“It’s not a gift”

“Then what is it?”

“Lunch”

“Gift.  Noun.  ‘A thing given willingly to someone without payment’”

“I’m just trying to feed you”

“I keep myself fed quite well thank you”

“You’re welcome”

You gaped at your phone. Taking a deep breath, you dove back in.

“I owe you”

“Okay.”  You reared back in surprise.

“Okay?  Really?  No clever comeback?”

“I’m perfectly fine with you being indebted to me”

“Well I don’t like it”

“Fine then you don’t owe me”

You chewed on your lip. “I really hate you”

“We’ve been over this. No you don’t”

“This was very kind of you but at the risk of sounding like a jerk there’s a lot that I can’t eat”

“You mean like carbs and oily foods?”

You looked around incredulously.

“How did you know?”

“I looked up information on cholecystectomies.”

“Wow.  That was…actually really sweet of you”

“I’m a really sweet guy”

You snorted.  “Beyond that though there are a lot of things that I don’t eat”

“I figured so I told them go make a salad but to package everything separately so you can add what you want.  Also, I ordered the vegetable soup.  You can eat that right?”

You fidgeted.  “Well yes…  How did you get to be so thoughtful?”

He sent you a picture of himself grinning.  “Decades of practice”

Sighing, you typed. “Thank you for this but please don’t do it again.  It’s burdensome.  And don’t think that I didn’t notice that you left the gummy bears.”  A long pause.  Then, a new picture.  A pouty face. “Oh don’t do that.”  Another pouty face.  “Argh, stahp!”  A third one, even more adorable than the last two.  “I really hate you”  

“You like me”

You groaned, and then conceded.  “I’ll eat it well.”  A picture of him beaming.  You shook your head.  

***

After work, you cautiously poked your head out of the door.  No Baekhyun in sight.  He didn’t pop up during your post-work jog, either.  While part of you breathed a sigh of relief, part of you looked for him. You came home, and showered.  Your phone rang as you finished tapping in your sleeping mask.  You looked at it, sighed, and picked up.  “Again with the video calls?”

“You don’t like to look at me?”

You laughed.  “Yep, that’s it.  My eyes hate beauty.”

He preened.  “What are you doing?”

“I just finished getting ready for bed.”

“Getting ready for bed? This early?”

“I do it as soon as I come home from work, so that I don’t have to drag myself through the motions when I’m sleepy.”

“Well, what if you have to go back out?”

“That never happens.”

“Well, what if it did?”

“Then, I would just get dressed and go out?”

He narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion.  “Very well…”

You chuckled.  “So, um…I was kind of surprised that I didn’t see you after work?”

“Did you miss me?”

“No,” you lied unconvincingly, your voice pitched high.  You cleared your throat.  “It’s just uh, you know…you’ve been around a lot lately so, I just…wondered…”

“Oh, I’m sorry, kitten. I had to stay late because of work.”

“Ah, okay.”  

“Why?  Do you want me to walk with you after work?”

“No, no!  That’s okay!  I often have to stay late too, so that wouldn’t make sense.”

“Ohhh, you’re starting to miss me…”

“Shut up.”

“You liiike me.”

“Whatever.”

“IIIII light up your liiiife!  I give you hooooope…”

You put your head in your hands and groaned.  “What’s it going to take for me to live this down?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Ugh.”

“So, how was work?”

“Worky.”

“You are the princess of loquaciousness.”

“My job is pretty uninteresting.  I try to devote as little of my time off to it, as possible.  How was your day?”

“Well, I guess my job is pretty boring, too.”  He went into detail about his workday while you listened avidly.  

When he was done, you nodded.  “Now see, I think that your job is interesting.” You asked some thoughtful questions, and he looked surprised, but answered you.

“You know, not many people would have known, or wanted, to ask those questions.”

“I’m not sure how to respond to that.”

He nodded, looking thoughtful.  “What did you major in?”

“I started out double majoring in International Comparative Studies, and Political Science, but then switched PoliSci to Psychology.”

He tilted his head. “Psychology? Why?”

“Well, to be honest, I had planned on being a lawyer for most of my life, but when I sat down and thought about it, I didn’t really want to be?  So, after thinking about what I actually enjoy, and for what I have an affinity, I decided on Psychology.  I wanted to go either into Forensic, or Clinical Psychology.”

“So, what happened?”

You blew a rueful breath. “That…is a story for another day.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“A little university in Durham.”

His eyebrows shot toward his hairline.  “You went to Duke.”

“Mm.”

“So, what the heck are you doing working as a mid-level manager in a municipality?”

“I still don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay…okay…”  He looked off, nodding his head.  “So…you’re brilliant.”

“That is woefully hyperbolic.”

He imitated you with a goofy voice.  “That is woefully hyperbolic.”

You burst out laughing. “What was that?”

“That was my impression of you.  I think it’s rather good.”

You snorted. He smiled, watching you laugh. “So, where did you go to school?”

“Vanderbilt.”

“Oh, wow!  I hear that that’s a really good school!”

“Yep.”

“Where did you do your post-grad?”

“Cornell.”

“Wow!  I’m really impressed.”

“You should be.  I’m brilliant.”

“And modest.”

“Also, handsome.”

“What did you major in, handsome?”

“I, too, double-majored, but in Business Management, and Musical Arts.”

“Musical Arts?”

“Yep.  I figured, if this whole government thing didn’t pan out, I’d become a singer.”

You laughed.  “So…sing to me.”

“Mmm, I’ll do it later.  I’ve been talking all day, so I’m a bit hoarse.”

“I think that you sound nice.”

“You like the sound of my voice?”

You were suddenly shy.  “Yes…”

“Well, then, I promise, I will sing for you, sometime.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” you said, pointing at him.  “I’ll hold you to it!”

“Just as long as you hold me.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That was sooo cheesy!  I have goosebumps!”

“Ah, I didn’t expect to be affecting your body so soon in the relationship.  As expected, my charm is overwhelming.”

“What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I’m going to hang up.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I have to make breakfast, and lunch for tomorrow.”

“I can just order them for you.”  You gave him a look.  “Well, then. Can I watch?”

“You want to watch me cook?”

“I want to watch you.”

You thought about it. “Okay.  I’ve always wanted to have my own cooking show.”  You headed toward the kitchen.

“Which reminds me.  I didn’t ruin the cake; it went over really well.”  You stared at him blankly.  “Remember…the cake that you advised me to make when we ran into each other at the grocery store?”

“Oh, yeah… Well, I’m glad to hear it.  See, I knew that you could do it!  I believe in you!”

“Can you just…stay next to me….all day…giving me constant affirmation, and validation?”

“Only if you pay me.”

“Can I pay you in hugs and kisses?”

“No.”

“Grinch.”

You set down the phone and pulled the makings of your breakfast smoothie out of the freezer.  

“What are you making?”

“Breakfast.  It’s just a smoothie.”

“What are you putting in it?”

“Cauliflower, strawberries, chia seed, and pea protein.”

“I’m not even sure what half of that is, but okay.”  You put the frozen ingredients in the blending cup and then stuck it in the freezer. “That was quick.”

“That’s the one good thing about summer.  I have smoothies for breakfast, and they take, like, two minutes to make. Just fill the cup with water in the morning, blend for a minute, and you’re good. Also, they help beat this unholy heat.”

“What do you eat for breakfast in the winter?”

“Mostly soup, or stew.”

He watched you while you pulled vegetables out of the fridge.  “What are you making for lunch?”

“A salad.  I only crave salads this time of year.  By fall, I just want to eat all of the things that I shouldn’t have.”

“What are you putting in it?”

“Well, see…something you should know about me is…I’m pretty lazy, so I do the minimum of work necessary. My daily summer salad usually just consists of two tomatoes, a cucumber, an avocado, some sort of lightly steamed greens like kale, turnip, or mustard, garlic, salt, and pepper, and two boiled eggs on the side.  Oh, and whatever herb looks ready to be clipped from my windowsill herb garden.”

“And you like that?”

“I think that it’s delicious.”

“No dressing?”

“I hate dressing.  What’s the point of eating a salad if you can’t taste it? Besides, the avocado coats everything, and acts like a dressing.”

“What else don’t you like?”

You thought for a moment, while chopping the vegetables.  “Not much, actually.  Raw onions. Carrots, unless they’re pickled, or in soups.  Parsnips. Anything with mayonnaise, or ranch, or anything like that.  Tartar sauce, blue cheese, blah, blah, blah.”

“Hm.  That’s not too much.”

“Oh, and I don’t eat meat.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I…don’t eat meat?”

“You’re a vegetarian.”

“That’s the word for it, yes.”

“Wow.”

“Wow?”

“You’re the first vegetarian that I’ve ever met.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously!”

“That’s weird.”

“So, is it a moral thing, or…”

“Not really, to be honest. I went on a radical diet in school to lose weight for a play, and…just kind of kept going after it finished.”

“You were in a play?”

“I was in a lot of plays.”

“What was the role?”

“A psychic prostitute.” He looked dubious.  “It was Canadian.  I had to be…shall we say…scantily clad?”

“Is there…any…video footage…of this play?”

You waved your hand loftily. “Oh, sure, it’s in the archives, somewhere.”

“Note to self.  Make weekend visit to Duke.”

You put your finished salad in the fridge.  “All done.”

“I like seeing you in the kitchen.”

“You like seeing me.”

“That’s true.  But you know what they say, “The way to a man’s heart…”

“…is through his rib cage.”

He looked at you, delighted. “Well, that was dark.”

“You should have seen me in high school.”

“You didn’t go to a Catholic high school, did you?”

“No?”

“Darn.”

You looked at him, lost.

“Just would have been nice to imagine you in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform.”

“Weirdo.”

“With the little knee socks…” You gave him a sarcastic look, and sighed.  “And the pigtails.”  You rolled your eyes.  “Oh, wait. You do have pigtails, at least.”

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I went to a public school with no uniform.”

“I had to wear a school uniform.”

“That does nothing for me.”

“I’ll have you know that I was quite handsome in my uniform.”

“I’m sure you were, but I prefer you now.”  He looked at you sideways, mollified. “Well, I should go.”

“Why?”

“I have some, slightly less glamourous chores to do, and I really don’t want you watching while I wash dishes, or do laundry.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“We are nowhere near the dirty laundry stage of a relationship.”

He fidgeted uncomfortably. “Well, can we just talk on the phone?”

“My speakers aren’t loud enough to hear you over the sound of the washer, and dryer.”

“Well then, can we still text?”

“Of course.  But I might not answer right away, because of what I’m doing.”

“I understand. So, I’ll see you later.”

“Mmm…”  

You texted through the rest of the evening, until bedtime.  He wanted to call, and leave the phone on all night, but you protested, saying that, considering the fact that you hadn’t even had your first date, you certainly weren’t going to lie there and let him watch you sleep.  He pouted, but got over it when you told him that you would make it up to him some other way, later.  As you lay in bed, your eyes open and unseeing in the dark, you felt nervous about how attached you were starting to feel.  To be honest, you would have loved to leave the phones on all night, but you recognized that you were becoming infatuated too quickly, you realized that if you didn’t set some boundaries, he was going to eat you all up, and if he ever ended it, there would be nothing left.

***

You walked into your office the next day to be greeted by a bag from the restaurant across the street sitting on your desk.  You looked around, but everyone was at their own desk working.  You walked over, peeked inside, and pulled out an omelette with a note attached, listing the ingredients, a bowl of chopped watermelon, and an apple.  You sighed. “This boy,”

“What boy?” You looked up to see your tall boss heading toward you.

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head. He drew closer, and as he did, Baekhyun slowly appeared behind him. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Baekhyun came by to discuss some ways in which our departments can better integrate.”

“Ah.”

Ken turned to Baekhyun, and clapped him on the shoulder.  “You brought up a lot of good ideas that I’ll be taking to the next meeting with the department heads.  Thanks for thinking of us.”  

“Well, I know how integral your division is to the City, even though you work in the background. Anything we can do to help you help us would be to everyone’s benefit, employees, and citizens, alike.”

Ken nodded, and then looked between the two of you, pursed his lips as if he was trying to hold back a smile, and then said, “Well, I’ve got to go to an IT meeting, but I’ll see you later.”

Baekhyun nodded decisively, “Have a good meeting.”

“When are they ever?” Ken tossed over his shoulder as he walked out the door.  

Baekhyun turned back to you.

You sighed.  “Did you do this?”

“Yes, I did.  Is there anything in it that you don’t like? “

“No…”

“Well then, thank you,” he said, taking your smoothie, “for making me breakfast.”

“Making you breakfast?”

“Yes!  It was so thoughtful!  How did you know I love cauliflower, chee-chee…cheetty—“

“Cauliflower, chia seed, strawberry, pea protein—“

“Cauliflower-strawberry-chia-protein smoothies?”  He flipped the lid and took a big sip.  “Ahhh. How refreshing.  Just what I needed.”  Your stomach did a little flip, watching him drink what you made.  He started backing away.  “Well, I hate to eat and run, but I do have to get back to work.”

“Hey—“ you started.

He held up his hands. “Fair exchange is no robbery.”

You subsided.  You felt your face flame as you said, “Thank you.”

He regarded you for a moment.  “You don’t have to thank me.  In fact, I like it better when you don’t.  You should just accept things as they come.”  His expression suddenly turned dark.  “I will give you everything, because you deserve it.”  You faltered, not knowing how to react to his abrupt intensity.  As quickly as it came, it was gone, and his sweet cheeks were rounding in another sunny smile.  He shook your kidnapped smoothie container at you.  “I’ll send it back interoffice mail before the end of the day.  Bye!” Then he was gone.  You sat down, and stared at the meal in front of you, steam clouding the plastic cover on the omelette.  Kim walked by.  “Oh, that looks delicious!”

“Mm,” you murmured neutrally, as you put it aside, logged into your computer, and started your work day.

***

The rest of the week carried on much of the same, with Baekhyun finding little ways to treat you, despite your vociferous protestations.  You felt simultaneously burdened, and pleased.  None of your arguments seemed to sway him, so you decided to leave it alone, for now, and reengage when you actually went out on your date.  

Your date.  Just the thought of it sent a kaleidoscope of iron butterflies shredding their way through your stomach.  You hadn’t been on a date since you had broken up with your ex, six years prior.  Before him had been your first boyfriend, while you were still high school.  While you had your fair number of admirers, it was rare to nothing that anyone caught your interest, and when you hit 30, what with all of your other issues, you just figured that part of your life was over.

Saturday evening found you staring into your closet, wishing that you had planned the date far enough in advance for you to go shopping.  Since you could barely afford to live, most of your nicest clothes belonged to your professional wardrobe.  You hadn’t had to worry about going out clothes in years.  You let you head fall back as you sighed.  It was the primordial cry of your gender.  You had…nothing to wear.  Nothing appropriate, anyway.  Everything looked so…frumpy.  When had you stopped caring about how you represented yourself?  Ah, yes.  Right about the time you first gained weight, and middle-aged family members had started giving you clothes, despite your protests, until you were too tired to fight.  Why fight the inevitable encroach of time?  At least, if you accepted their offerings, you didn’t have to worry about spending money on clothes.  Who really cared if you dressed like a 60 year old school teacher?  As your aunt used to say, “Ain’t nobody looking at you.”

You chewed a nail, and then brightened when a thought occurred to you.  You pulled out your phone, and called your best friend.  

“Hey, whore.”

“What’s up, you ignorant slut?”

Suzy laughed uproariously. “Why are we like this?”

Through your giggles, “I don’t know, maybe because we’re awesome?”

“That must be it.”  

After the laughter had died down a bit, you asked her what she was doing.  

“Nothing, just chilling with the toyboy, you?”

“I’m, ah…”  You hadn’t told her anything, yet, and you knew that you were going to get an earful when she found out the whole story. “I’m..uh…trying to pick out an outfit for a date.”

Dead silence.  Then, “WHAT?!”

“I…have a date tomorrow.” Sudden loud rustling, and then a bang. “What are you doing?”

“I had to leave the room, for this.  I don’t want to burst my boyfriend’s eardrums with my screaming.”

“Oh.  Well, then.  Carry on.” You waited for at least a solid thirty seconds while she shrieked incoherently.  “You done?”

“No.”  More noisesome chaos while you idly checked your nails—you would have to paint them–and then, finally, silence. “Do you feel better?”

“Screw me, how the heck are you?!”

“Mmm…terrified beyond all reason?”

“Well, don’t be.”

“Oh, well then, I won’t. Thanks for the pep talk.  I’m all better, now.”

“Alright, alright,” she grumbled, “no need to be a bitch about it.  So, tell me everything.”

“Okay, but first…”

“Yes…?”

“Light of my eyes?”

“Uh-oh.”

“Love of my life?”

“What do you want?”

“I need to borrow some clothes.”

“Is that all?  You should have just said.”

Whining, “I know, but it’s so awkward.”

“You’d do it for me. You have done it for me.”

“I know, but…it’s me.”

“Whatever, loser, do you have anything in particular in mind?”

“Something…me.”

“Well, I’m fresh out of floor-length black lace gowns, at the moment.”

You sighed.  “It’s like you know me.”

“Just a moment.” Rustling, and then your phone buzzed with an incoming picture of her open closet.  “I’ll just take pictures, you tell me what you want, and I’ll bring it over.”

“You’re the best.”

“I’m well aware.”

***

Forty minutes later, you were both staring at the clothes strewn on your bed, with identical expressions of thoughtfulness.  

“You could wear the flouncy cream lace skirt with the green tunic.”

“That would be pretty, but remember we’re going to be walking at Rocky Park.  I don’t want to accidentally get dirt on your skirt.”

She grimaced.  “It’ll probably be too hot for jeans, too.”  

You grunted, then ventured, “What about the black tank top, with black tights, the black lace shorts?”

She shook her head. “How about the grey lace shorts, instead of the black, and the grey crocheted vest?”

“Ohhh!”

“And you know what would look really good with that?”

“What?”

“Your long, purple multi-tiered necklace.”

You snapped your fingers. “You’re right!”

“What are you going to do for shoes?”

“Well, since we’re walking, I’ll just wear my black converse.”

“That’ll work.”  Suzy started packing away her clothes, as you set aside the selected items.  “So…?”

“So…?”

“Yeah, so, are you going to tell me about him?”

You sighed dramatically and flopped down on your bed.  “Okay, but…you have to promise not to get mad at me.”

Suzy narrowed her eyes in suspicion, and sat down next to you, packing forgotten.  “Why would I get mad at you?”  

You pursed your lips, looking guilty, then then told her the story of how you met.

When you were done, she stared at you in silence for a while, and then, “Why didn’t you tell me that you were almost kidnapped?!”

“Because I wasn’t kidnapped, and I didn’t want you to worry.”

Her eyebrows flattened. “You didn’t want me to worry, or you didn’t want me to say, ‘I told you, so.’?”

“A little from column A, a little from column B.”

“I’m not your mom. I’m not going to say it, though I’m thinking it…pretty loudly.”

You snorted, and shook your head.  “Thanks.”

“So…what happened after that?”

“Well…”  You caved, and told her everything.  

She looked worried.  After a long pause– “He sounds kind of…”

“I know.”

“Because you usually—“

“I know.”

“I mean, I don’t want to, like, piss on your parade, but he doesn’t really take no for an answer, does he?”

“Not…really, no.”

“You can’t stand that.”

“Not normally, but…”  

Suzy was silent, watching you, as you gathered your thoughts.  

“I feel like I never really lived my life, you know?  First, it was studying, and then, it was taking care of my father, and I’ve done next to nothing remotely interesting in my entire existence.”

“That’s not true!”

“You’re just saying that because I pay you.”  

She grinned, and bumped your shoulder with hers.  “Well, yes, but also because it’s not true!”

“Okay, maybe not from your perspective, but in this life, in this body?  That’s what it feels like.  I’ve never taken anything remotely resembling a chance, and I just want to be a little bit reckless, for once.  And I don’t think that he’s, like, you know…abusive, or anything.  He doesn’t give off that vibe.  He’s just…kind of intense, sometimes.  But he doesn’t seem controlling, or possessive.”

She exhaled loudly, and then nodded thoughtfully.  “I still don’t trust him.  But I do trust you.  However, the moment, the second, the instant I see him remotely begin to isolate you, I’m shutting him down.”

You threw her a look. “Believe me, if he tries it, you’re going to have to go through me to get to him, because I’ll already be five stages into placing my foot all the way up in his butt.”

“Ew.”  

“Too graphic?”

“You think?”

“I was going for bad-ass.”

“You took a left a bad-ass, and drove straight to off-putting.”

“I’ll do better.”

“Yeah, you work on that.”

***

Baekhyun, surprisingly, didn’t call, or text that night.  You pouted to yourself as you lay in bed, cuddled on top of Bruin.  You had gotten used to his relatively constant presence.  In fact, if you concentrated, you could almost smell the scent of his cologne.  An errant summer breeze blew in through your open window, rustling the leaves in the tree beside it.  You closed your eyes, and drifted away, thoughts filled with a strong, slender man with smiling cheeks, and dark charcoal smudges for eyes.

***

You were putting the finishing touches on your light makeup when you received a text.

“I’m outside.  Should I come in, and greet your father?”

“What am I, 16?  I’ll be right out”

He smiled softly at you, as you got into the car, his eyes affectionate.  “Ahhh.  There you are,” he said meaningfully.

“Here I am.”

“You’re so pretty.”

Blushing, you said, “You look pretty, yourself.”  He was wearing a black tee shirt tucked, in the front, into a pair of ripped black jeans.

He gave you a chastising look.  “I am not pretty.  I am a handsome man!”

“Sure you are,” you teased, pinching his cheek.  

He pretended to bite you, and then grinned as he put his arm behind your seat, and turned around to ensure the way was clear to reverse down the driveway.  Your face stayed neutral, but inside your stomach felt like a roller coaster.  Didn’t guys know what that did to a poor girl?  

“Have you eaten?”

You wanted to lie, but were unfortunately, a relatively honest person.  “Ah, not really?”  You couldn’t eat when you were nervous, but you had forced yourself to eat some soup earlier in the day, so that your stomach wouldn’t make any embarrassing noises on your date.

“Good.”  He gestured to the backseat.  “I brought food.  I figured that we could have a picnic.”

You looked in the backseat to see a real, live, actual picnic basket, and cooed.  “That basket is so cute!”

He grinned, pleased. “Don’t worry, the food is from my mother.  She usually comes over once a week to keep me in side dishes, to ensure that I don’t starve to death.”  You didn’t want to show it, but your face must have belied your thoughts. “Wow!  Do you have to look so relieved?”

“Well, you did say that you burned most of what you made, so…”

He cocked his head. “Fair enough.”

***

You both decided to eat first, and sat at a picnic table by the lake.  

“Ah, before we eat…” You took some mosquito repellent from your purse, and sprayed him down.  “No malaria on my watch.”

“Ah, thanks.  My skin is pretty sensitive, so it gets marked, and bruised fairly easily.”  

You smiled awkwardly, trying keep your thoughts from wandering down the path that statement led.   “My skin isn’t sensitive at all, but unfortunately, it does show bites and marks too well.”  

Baekhyun smiled to himself as he spread all of the food on the picnic table.  “Do you know what all of this is?”

“Um…well, I see kimbap, what looks like the tiniest little baby boiled eggs I’ve ever seen, gaeran mari, kimchi, rice, and a lot of things I can’t name, though I can tell what the ingredients are.”    

He nodded in approval. “You know Korean food?”

You laughed.  “Eh, I know food.  I love to cook.  I love to cook everything.  I even know how to cook some meat, even though I don’t eat it.  I make it for my dad, and for friends, at holidays.”  

He placed his hand over his heart.  “I’m so relieved.  I was terrified that you would be feeding me kale smoothies all the time.”

“Ehhh, no.  I don’t torture others.  Anymore.”  

You laughed, but Baekhyun’s face froze for an instant, before smoothing over, as he reached to pick up his chopsticks.  “Let me tell you what everything is.”  After he was finished, he asked, “So, can you not have any sort of starchy foods?”

“No, I can, I just have to eat them sparingly, and exercise a lot to ensure that I burn off all of the calories, so that nothing sticks around to wreak havoc with my system.”

“Well, we’ll walk a lot today.  The trail is six miles.  Is that okay?”

You nodded.  “It should be fine.”  The food was delicious, and he watched you, smiling, as you tried everything.  “Your mom is such a good cook!  Can I marry her?”

“She taken, but I’m free.”

“If you cooked like this, I’d consider it.”

He laughed softly. “What I lack in cooking skills, I make up for in other ways.”

“Such as?”

He tilted his head, pretending to think.  “Mmm…I put down the toilet seat.”

You gasped, your hand over your heart.  “Take me now, you fool!”

He started to climb over you, “Welp, if you insist.”

You giggled, and pushed him back down.  “What else you got?”  

“Mmm…I put my dirty clothes in the dirty hamper, instead of on the floor?”

“Wow, pretty good; but you’ll have to do better than that.”  

He smiled, and looked at you sideways.  Then he began to sing.  Your smile slowly dropped as you listened.  His voice was…lovely.  Light, and agile, but with a dark, husky undertone that he occasionally brought to the fore, making you shiver, as you closed your eyes, letting his voice wash over you in gentle waves.  You were silent as he trailed off.  You felt emotional, though you didn’t know why—the song hadn’t even been in English. You slowly opened your eyes, and swallowed hard, trying not to tear up like a crazy person.  

“What was that?”

“I Don’t Know Anything but Love.”

You leaned back—you hadn’t even realized that you had leaned forward during his song.  “Wow.  That, uh, music major really paid off.”

“You like my voice?”

“I thought I did. Now, I’m halfway in love.  You’re dead.  Now I’ll be calling you all the time, asking for lullabies.”

His eyes were warm. “I have no problem with that.  As long as you sing to me, sometimes, too.”

You blushed, and looked down at the chopsticks still in your hands, food forgotten.  “Oh…you are a charmer,” you murmured.  

He leaned back, and patted your leg, leaving a scorching handprint on your knee.  “Eat more.”  You took a spoonful of rice, and he took his chopsticks, and placed some of the soybean dish on it.  You looked at him.  “Eat,” he smiled.  You obediently put the spoon in your mouth, smiling back, happier than you had been in a long time.  

You two chatted about the normal first date things—favourite colours, foods, seasons—answering and asking all of the light, getting-to-know-you questions.   When the time seemed right, you decided to broach the topic of his constant gifts.

“What’s your love language?”

“Hm?”

“Your love language.”

“What’s that?”

You shifted to face him, straddling the bench seat.  “Well, there’s this school of thought that there are five ways, or languages, that we use to express love, and certain people prefer certain methods over others. So, these love languages are acts of service, quality time, receiving gifts, words of affirmation, and physical touch. And—despite how they sound—receiving gifts doesn’t mean, like, expensive gifts, or even purchased gifts, but just little thoughtful things to let the person know that you’re thinking of them, and physical touch doesn’t mean, just…” you waved your hand delicately, “you know…but just being cuddly, and touchy-feely in general.  Oh, and you can have more than one.”  

He looked thoughtful, and was silent for a few moments after you spoke.  “I guess, mine are,” here he grinned at you, looking all the world like a naughty little boy trying to charm someone out of a cookie before dinner, “physical touch, words of affirmation, and quality time.  What are yours?”

“Well, I really like acts of service.  I mean, I also like quality time—I really, I mean like, really like attention–but growing up with a single father, I understand when work, and other things, have to come first, so…though I love quality time, I understand when I can’t get it.”

He looked serious. “What happened to your mother?”

“Well, to be honest, my dad was kind of a serial cheater?  I mean, he was a great dad—don’t get me wrong—but an objectively horrible husband.  They divorced when I was four, and she went on to start a new life.  We keep in touch regularly—she’s still my mom—it’s just…sometimes, I think that talking to me is painful, because I remind her so much of my dad.”

He was silent for a long while, and then said, “So…we both like quality time.”

You nodded, grateful for the change of subject, “It seems that we do.”

“And you did not say ‘receiving gifts’.”

“Fancy that.”

“Is that what this whole spiel was about?”

You tried to look as innocent as possible.  “Hm?”

“Hey, give me some credit. Ahh!”  He roughly rubbed the back of his hair in frustration.  “Alright!  Alright! I’ll stop buying you things.”

You sighed in relief. “Thank you!”  

“Is it really so hard to accept them, though?”

“It is, for me…”

“So, you don’t like gifts period?”

“No…  No.  I don’t mind them from my parents, obviously, or other family members.  But that’s…different.  I’m…used to them taking care of me.”  You looked down, shy for some reason.

He tilted his head, so that he could look into your eyes.  “I want to take care of you.”

“That’s not your job.”

“But I enjoy it.”

“I’m uncomfortable with the idea of you spending your hard earned money on me.  You should be spending it on yourself.”

“Isn’t that too selfish?”

“Then be selfish.”

Baekhyun sighed in frustration, and then shook his head.  “I’ll follow you.”  He grinned. “For now.  So, you don’t like words of affirmation, either?”

“It’s not that I don’t…I just don’t like compliments about…me, physically?  Like, I don’t mind compliments on my food, or my work, if I make something—“

“What do you make?”

“Different things.  As I said, I like to cook.  I can draw, and paint. I guess I like compliments on what I produce, rather than me, myself.”

“Praise the art, not the artist?”

“Something like that.”

He sighed deeply. “But what to do?  I like everything about you.  Do I keep it all inside?” He leaned closer, and his voice dropped, “Or do I train you to accept praise?”

You cleared your throat, as discomfited by his proximity, as by his suddenly intimate tone.  You wondered if he had suddenly sidetracked to a different conversation.  You latched onto the only thing that would allow you to break the sudden tension. You scoffed.  “Train me?  I’m all grown up, and done being trained, boy.”

He smiled broadly at your riposte, holding your gaze, while putting his hand on the bench, dangerously close to the apex of your thighs, and leaning even closer.  You could feel the heat radiating off of his arm, and you swallowed involuntarily, but held your ground.  Softly, softly, he whispered, “Are you?  Are you really all done being trained, little doe?  Do you…already know…everything?”

You blinked, unable to come up with a clever answer, due to his closeness, the warmth of his breath fanning against your face, the scent of his light, clean cologne wafting around your head, making it hard to think.  You pressed together your lips, and looked up at him mutinously.  He had you, again.  Why was it so hard to think when he was near?  

His eyes dropped to your mouth, and his breath hitched.  You blinked, wide eyed, as he tilted his head consideringly, then closed his eyes, and leaned back.  He smiled, and then opened his eyes.  “Have you finished eating?”

You nodded, mute, not trusting your voice, watching him as he began to pack.  Your eyes followed him as he returned the basket to the car, and sauntered back to you, his walk slow, and confident.  When he reached you, he held out his hand to help you off of the bench, and walked backwards, guiding you to the beginning of the trail, overhung by a copse of trees.  You were engulfed in shade as you walked past the perimeter of the picnic area, the air several degrees cooler in the woods surrounding the trail.  He let go of your hand, and moved beside you, both of you walking at a leisurely pace.  

Suddenly he stopped, wrapping an arm around your waist, completely arresting your progress, and brought his mouth to your ear. “Don’t move,” he breathed.  You held completely still, unsure of what was happening.  After a few seconds, he whispered.  “Look straight ahead, about 10’, to the right of the path.”

You looked ahead, at first not seeing anything, but then gasped softly when you saw it.  A brown baby bunny, standing on his hind legs, one shiny black eye watching the both of you.  Your breath quickened, as you tried to control your excitement.  “It’s so cute!”

You felt his lips against your ear as he smiled.  “You like bunnies?”

“I like most animals.” The shadow of a bird passed over the bunny, who turned tail, and ran.  You whined in disappointment. “Awww, come back bunny!  I love you!”

Baekhyun moved away from you, grinning, and started to walk again.  “Ah, you’re so cute!”

You kept pace with him. “Not baby bunny cute.”

“Cuter.”

“Lies.”

***

You spent the rest of the trail looking for more animals, having found, by the end of it, five more baby bunnies, three fawns, innumerable squirrels, four raccoons, a group of ducks sunning themselves by the shore of the lake around which the trail wrapped itself, two herons, one fat skunk and, as the light began to fail, two possums, and a partridge in a pear tree.  You both made a game over who could spot the animal before it ran, and you beat him thoroughly, though he later swore that you cheated, as he drove you home.  

You doubled over with laughter as you made your way out of his car, waiting for him to come around to you, to walk you to your door.  He put one hand on your back, and one on your arm, looking to any passersby as if he were helping you, but in reality, he was whispering ridiculous, and hilarious, things into your ear, causing you to laugh until you cried.  

“How can someone cheat at spotting animals?!” You wiped away tears, hoping that you didn’t look like a trash panda.

“I don’t know, maybe you made a deal with them in advance!  I saw the way that second raccoon looked at you.”  He pointed two fingers toward his eyes, and then toward your own.  “He looked sneaky.”

You hooted indelicately. “How does a raccoon look sneaky?!”

“He managed.  You paid him off, didn’t you?”

Your voice trembled as you tried to hold back your laughter.  “Paid him in what?! Sardines?”

He clapped his hands. “See, I knew it!  You just admitted it.”

You put your hand over your eyes, and moaned.  “Please, stop, I can’t take it anymore.  My stomach hurts.”

He muttered.  “It hurts from the gnawing guilt of knowing that you’re a cheating cheater, who cheats.”

You started laughing silently, shoulders shaking as you envisioned meeting a raccoon in a dark alley, looking left and right furtively before opening your trench coat to show him a variety of different fishes.  When you started to wheeze, he looked at you in alarm.  

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m cutting you off.”

You gripped his shoulders, using his body to keep you from collapsing to the ground, your legs weak from lack of oxygen.  

He smiled, watching you affectionately as you gasped for air, and then tried to calm yourself down. You had never been able to control your laughter.  You knew that it wasn’t ladylike, but when something was uncontrollably funny, you couldn’t keep from throwing back your head, and laughing to your heart’s content.

Baekhyun watched your face as you panted, “I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!”

He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry.  I’m hilarious.”

You sighed tremulously, brushing the back of your hand against your forehead, and then turning it to rest your cool palm against your skin.  “I’ll give you that.”

He took your hand away from your face, and held it. “Then will you also give me a second date?”

You smiled, your whole face lighting up in childlike pleasure.  “Of course.”

He looked down at your hand in his, saying softly to himself, “Of course.”  He looked back up at you, smiling widely.  “How about we go to the Mercier Museum tomorrow, after I get off work?”

“Won’t you be tired?”

“It will give me something to look forward to.”

“How much is admission?”

He looked at you mock-reproachfully, nudging you with his elbow.  “Hey, this is Museum Week!  All museums in the state are free.  You thought that I didn’t listen, didn’t you?  Wow, this girl!”  He shook his head in offense.  “Don’t you have any faith in me? I spent hours looking up free things to do!” he teased.

You grinned.  “I’m so sorry!  How shall I ever make it up to you?”

“Give me one of your pretty smiles.”  You rolled your eyes, but smiled.  “Good girl.” You chuckled as he squeezed your hand, and let go.  “I guess I should let you get inside.”

“I guess…”

He looked at you sideways, the fringe of his hair casting a shadow over his eyes.  After a moment, he shook his head almost imperceptibly and made a courtly little bow.  “I’ll see you later.”

Smiling warmly, you let yourself inside.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

You were surprised when you received a text later that night, just as you were snuggling into bed. It was a video from Baekhyun.  You clicked on it to see him driving, his face rhythmically lit by passing streetlights.  

After a pause, “Here’s tonight’s lullaby.  Listen well, and get a good night’s sleep.  Don’t stay up too late.”  He began to sing.

The moment you stood next to me, I liked it so much, how you looked at me, yesterday. Though I cried today because of you, tomorrow I will be happy.

It’s not about the face, not about the chic, no no. What I needed was only a gentle love, forgetting all the time flowing. Now without you, I can’t do anything. I don’t know anything but love.

For me, who was abandoned without even thinking. The one person that cried for me, from the dream where I long to lean behind those shoulders. Please don’t wake up.

I’ve always waited for this day. As much as the sorrowful time, please hold me, ‘cause you might fade away like that wind I had longed for. I love you. And I want to see you again, if we are parted I like you so much.

A/N:  If you want the latest updates, and links for ease of reading, then follow me @vampwrrr

[vampwrrrmistresslist]

Hurt 4

A/N:  This is chapter 4 of a finished fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist.

Monsieur Kim crouched next to you, as you wordlessly looked up at him, eyes filled with distressed censure.  

“I had to,” he said simply.  “Despite the past…I’d not consign you to this shadowed half-existence, if I had the power to avert it.”

Monsieur Boudreaux moved quickly, coming to stand between you, and your attacker.

Closing your eyes, you collapsed flat against the ground, too exhausted and pained to do more than concentrate on breathing.  You brought a trembling hand once more to the stake but, seeing your movement out of the corner of his eye, Monsieur Boudreaux half turned his face to you, saying, “Leave it in, chère fille. If you take it out now, without feeding, you will bleed to death.”

With a conciliatory air, he turned back to the stranger, who had made no attempts to leave, saying, “I apologize for my ward’s impertinence, monsieur; you can assign her lack of manners to my charge.”

“She robbed me of my gustation, sir.”

“What were you eating?”

The stranger shrugged.  “Just some girl.”

Monsieur Boudreaux nodded, and spread his hands apologetically.  “Eh, bien, you see, she’s rather sensitive to that sort of thing.”  He looked around, consideringly.  “However…the night is young.  I’m sure that you’ll quickly be able to find something to eat, if you leave now.”

The man smiled. “Just so.  However, I’m not inclined to let this discourtesy stand.  My grievance is with her, not you.  Give her to me, and I’ll be on my way.”

Monsieur Boudreaux shook his head, a rueful smile ghosting about his mouth.  “I’ve already named her my ward…therefore you are fully aware that I cannot do that.”

Smiling again, the stranger answered, “Perhaps, sir.  But now my blood is up, and your little ward didn’t provide me with enough of a fight to cool my ire.”

Nodding again, Monsieur Boudreaux looked at the ground.  With a powerful spring, he was suddenly upon the man, his large hand wrapped around the shorter man’s throat.  Eyes wide, he asked, in an eerily calm voice, “Is this enough fight for you, monsieur” before digging his claws into the man’s neck, and ripping out part of his spine, through his throat.

The man’s blood pattered in an arc across the square, across your face, and you started in dreadful revulsion, but couldn’t draw in enough breath to scream.  This was so much more brutal, so much more visceral than your way.

Monsieur Kim was still crouched next to you, his expression grim, as you both watched Monsieur Boudreaux calmly drag the stranger’s body, by his ruined neck, over to you.  As he approached, you saw in mounting horror that the man was still alive, his head flopping grotesquely, his jaw working as if he were trying to speak.

You tried to drag yourself away, but your arms merely skittered across the cobblestones.  

Monsieur Kim rose suddenly, putting his body between you, and the approaching Monsieur Boudreaux.  “What is the meaning of this, sir?”

“Step aside, or I will walk right through you, miserable spectre,” Monsieur Boudreaux pronounced, his tone dismissive.  

Monsieur Kim set his jaw.  “Stop!  Can you not see that you’re terrifying her?”

“This, fantôme, is the only way to save her!”

After taking a moment to search Monsieur Boudreaux’s eyes, Monsieur Kim stepped aside.  

Monsieur Boudreaux crouched in front of you, wrapping his other hand around the stake, and abruptly pulling it out and throwing it away.

Your body jerked at its removal, and blood started to spurt from the wound in earnest, pouring down your shoulders to pool beneath you on the ground. Fiery pain roared through your breast, and your vision began to darken.  

Monsieur Boudreaux took the man, and unceremoniously shoved his throat into your mouth.  Convulsively, you swallowed, but then tried to turn your head.  Monsieur Boudreaux stroked your hair, crooning, “Non, non, ma petite, this is what you need to become well.  A human would be better, but this will have to do.”

You closed your mouth, refusing to drink, turning your head from the ruin of the man who had attacked you.  

Tutting, Monsieur Boudreaux remonstrated, “Ma chère, I’ve no desire to force you, but I will.”  

Looking up, you caught Monsieur Kim’s eye.  He nodded once, grimly.  You shook your head.  

“Do it,” he said, his voice low.  

You closed your eyes, and clenched your teeth, fighting against the almost overwhelming desire to grab the man by the hair, bury your face into his neck, and drink until he was no more than dry bones.  Then you heard it.  

“Please.  Please, mademoiselle.  Please drink.  Please.  Don’t leave me.”

Opening your eyes, your gaze met Monsieur Kim’s, and he was on his knees beside you, his expression stricken.  

Closing your eyes from the gruesome sight before you, you turned, opened your mouth, and drank.

***

You opened your eyes to an unfamiliar room.  Sitting up, you looked around to see Monsieur Kim sitting in a chair in the corner.  

His attention snapped to you as soon as you sat up, and he stood and walked over, sitting beside you and reaching for your hands, before realization came over his face, and he subsided.

“Where am I?” you queried.

He grimaced.  “You’re in Monsieur Boudreaux’s home.  He carried you here, after…the incident.”

Eyes widening in shock, you threw back the covers, and stood, only to waver, and fall back to the bed.  A familiar pain that you hadn’t felt in months clawed its way up your stomach, and seized your throat, and you groaned.

“Mademoiselle!” Monsieur Kim exclaimed.  “Are you still unwell?  Please, sit still for a moment, and compose yourself.”

“Monsieur Kim,” you panted, eyes glazed with pain as you looked up at him.  “Do you hate me this much?  Why didn’t you let this wretched existence end when there was a chance?”

His face paled, and his expression was nothing short of horrified. He shook his head, eyes never leaving yours, as his face became stern, almost angry.  “Mademoiselle, you will not say anything like that ever again, do you hear?  I forbid it!”

“Forbid?” You laughed mirthlessly.  “I detest what I am!  You detest what I am. You asked me not to leave you alone, but what else is keeping you here?  It only makes sense that upon my demise, you will be set free!”

“I refuse to hear any more of this nonsense!”

You turned away.  “Then leave.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Whyever not?”

“Because you’re still hurt.”

“I’ll be fine!” you growled bitterly.  “That’s just it.  No matter what happens, I’m always fine!  So, go!”

“I’m not leaving.”

“I wish to be alone.”

“I care not.”

“Why won’t you leave me to be miserable in peace?!”

“Because I still love you!”

You stopped breathing, your eyes wide, as you stared at each other.

The door opened, and in strode Monsieur Boudreaux.  “Finally, you’re awake!”

“Finally?!” you echoed, still dumbfounded over Monsieur Kim’s confession.  Dazedly, you inquired, “How long have I been here?”

“A number of days,” Monsieur Kim answered.  

Face blanching, you struggled once more to rise.  “My parents! How can I ever explain?  I–”

“Calm yourself, chérie,” Monsieur Boudreaux crooned.  “I spoke to that lady’s maid of yours, and she has concocted a story about your being sick in your room, all this time, with the congestive fever.  She has remained in your room, to ostensibly tend to you.”

“You spoke to Cosette?”

“I told him that she knows,” Monsieur Kim said.

“A jewel, that one,” Monsieur Boudreaux mused.  

A sudden cramping in your gut doubled you over, and you cried out, clawing at the coverlet.  It was growing difficult to think, much less speak.

Monsieur Boudreaux tsked.  “This is why finding a human would have been better.  Alas, we did not have the time.  It has been a number of days since you have been able to eat, however, and if you don’t do it soon, your body will do it for you.”

Monsieur Kim looked up in alarm.

Laughing softly at his expression, Monsieur Boudreaux nodded.  “That is the way of it.  If we do not feed while we can, the mind shuts down, we become no better than beasts, and we eat the first thing we come across. However, no one should know that better than you, hein, mon ami?”

Monsieur Kim’s face reddened, and he growled, “You are altogether vile, Boudreaux!”

“Yet, I am here, and you are not,” Monsieur Boudreaux taunted.  “At least…not in any way that truly matters.”

Panting, shaking, a fine sheen of sweat covering your skin, you tried to rise. “Be silent, monsieur!” you grated as you pushed yourself once more off of the bed.

“Do not overtax yourself,” he crooned.  “I have something for you.”

A sigh of relief ghosted past your lips, and you sank back bonelessly to the bed.  

He left the room, but was back in a moment, with something in his arms. When he drew closer, and you saw what it was, both you and Monsieur Kim leapt back, unadulterated horror on your faces.  You pushed yourself into the furthest corner of the room, digging your claws into the plaster, in an effort to lock yourself in place.  “Monsieur,” you started, your voice hollow and breathless.  Unable to finish, for the combined abhorrence and pain that clogged your throat, you just wordlessly shook your head, in desperation.

“You are no gentleman!” Monsieur Kim thundered, placing his body in front of yours, so that you would not have to see what Boudreaux held in his arms. “You, sir, are a villain! Nothing more than a depraved fiend!”

You closed your eyes, trying to shut out the world.  The hunger, the yelling, the horror, the tempting scent.  For what Boudreaux held in his arms.  What he gently placed on the bed–

–was your precious little Angeline.

The noxious odour of the same chemical that had been used on you, all those months ago, rose up, choking you with its panic-inducing scent.  

“What have you done?” you whimpered, heart pounding against your ribs.  

“I?  I’ve merely brought you your much needed dinner.  Now, be a good dear, and have something to eat.” Boudreaux replied.

“Non.  Non.  Non, non, non, non, non!” you shrieked, your voice escalating in panic.  “Take her away!  Take her back!”

“I understand that you have developed a penchant for the child, but the fact remains that if you do not eat soon, you will go, forgive the lack of a better term, quite rabid.”

“That child is her charge!” Monsieur Kim shouted, his strong voice the only thing currently anchoring you to your sanity.  “How dare you suggest she commit such a revolting abomination!”

“This child is what is standing between her, and good health.  She is unconscious; she will feel no pain.” Boudreaux’s voice was dismissive.  

“Take her back!” you rasped, having even lost the energy to scream.

Boudreaux’s eyes narrowed.  “I will not!  You are so stubborn! Just like your arrière grand-mère!”

You shook your head at the non sequitur.

Monsieur Kim took over for you.  “What the devil are you talking about, Boudreaux?”

“You knew…my…” you coughed, the sweet scent of Angeline’s blood flowing in her veins, making you swallow convulsively.

“Knew her?” he asked, his voice quiet.  “I loved her!”

Your eyes shot to his.  

His face was red, and his breathing was elevated. Running a finger under his collar, he turned, and raked his hands through his hair, making it stand on end.  

The distraction of his distress gave you a precious modicum of control, and you rose with effort.  

Monsieur Kim came to stand beside you, and though you couldn’t lean on him, you were grateful for the comfort of his mere presence.  “Explain this!” you demanded.

Boudreaux was quiet for a moment.  When he turned to you, his eyes were sad as he looked between you, and Monsieur Kim. “Oui, I knew her.”

“Did you own her?” Your voice was biting.

A sharp crack reverberated around the room, and your cheek stung.  You hadn’t even seen him approach.  Turning slowly, you met Boudreaux’s eyes, but his intense gaze didn’t falter under your own.  

Monsieur Kim stepped between you, and shoved.  Boudreaux’s body went flying across the room, and you gasped in surprise.  “Jonginah!”  He turned to you, his eyes dark, as he brought his hand to your reddened cheek.  When he went to touch it, however, it passed through, and he looked infinitely sad.  

Boudreaux lay in a crumpled heap in the corner, staring up at the ceiling, a tear slowly trailing down his cheek. Sighing, he shook his head.  “Own her?” He laughed ruefully. “Geneviève was une femme de couleur librée, as you well know.”

You looked past Jongin to where Boudreaux was still lying.  “I know she died early.  Did you…?”

His smile was bitter.  “After her husband, your arrière grand-père, died, I became her protecteur and, whatever you may think, we loved each other.  I wanted to spirit her away from this accursed place–with its unholy, abominable laws–take her North.  I wanted,” his jaw worked as he cried soundlessly.  “I wanted to marry her! I loved her, ma foi, how I did love her!  Mais, alas!”  He shook his head.  “One day, I was out riding, and my horse spooked and threw me.  I fell, and hit my head, and by the time they were able to bring me home, I was already dying.  Unbeknownst to me, my grandfather was…one of us.  We just always thought that he was possessed of a particularly hale constitution.  Of course, he couldn’t bear the thought of the death of his grandson, and so…” Boudreaux languidly waved a hand, then fell silent.

“And so?” Jongin prompted, turning his head slightly to Boudreaux, though his eyes never left your face.

Boudreaux sighed.  “And so.  He had never approved of plaçage, and so he left me to wake up…with Geneviève.”

You gasped, and Jongin turned back to you.  

“You know, ma chère.  You know what it’s like to awaken.  You know nothing except hunger.  You are nothing but hunger.  And so…”

“You killed her,” you whispered.

“‘You said I killed you–haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe–I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always–take any form–drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!’ ” Boudreaux finally turned to you, a mirthless smile grotesquely stretching his face, as tears ran down his cheeks.  “Eh, bien, you know what that’s like, n’est-ce pas?”

Jongin’s eyes were tragic, as they ran over your face.  

Overwhelmed, you shook your head.  Rushing forward, you snatched up Angeline into your arms, and then ran down the stairs, and out of that accursed house.

***

Upon reaching your home, and climbing the stairs, you collapsed against your door.  Cosette opened it,  gasping upon seeing you with Angeline in your arms.  “Mademoiselle!  Mademoiselle! She whispered, shaking you.

You didn’t have the strength to respond.  

Cosette dragged you both into the room, but before she could close the door, Jongin was there.  She covered her mouth just in time to muffle her scream.

“Cosette!  It is imperative that you listen to everything that I have to say!” he said.

She nodded, her eyes wide, as she tried not to panic.  

Jongin explained everything, and by the time he was done, Cosette had fallen to her knees beside you, gently trying to wrest Angeline from your arms.  

You growled, and she shrank back.  

Then, swallowing, and summoning her courage, she crawled forward once more, crooning, “Mademoiselle, it is your own Cosette.  Sweet mademoiselle, give Cosette le bébé, hein?”  She stroked your shoulder, and slowly, slowly pulled Angeline from your arms.  Lifting her, she left the room.

She returned shortly, walking around Jongin to crouch next to you.  

“Why are you back so soon?” Jongin asked her.  “I’ve already told you that she needs something to eat!”

“I understood, m’sieur,” she said distantly.

You could hear them talking, but the sound came from far away.  You stared listlessly.

“Well then, go and fetch your mistress something before falls into an even worse state!”

“M’sieur… Leave, s’il vous plâit.”

“What?!  Why would I–?  Oh, no!  No!  Absolutely not!  Do you even know what you’re suggesting?! She can’t control herself when she’s like this!”

Cosette stood, raising determined eyes up to his.  “She is my mistress, and I am, and will ever be, her loyal Cosette.”  She advanced upon him, and he retreated instinctively.  With one last look up into his eyes, Cosette set her jaw, and closed the door.

***

You were walking through your house, but no one was home.  Every door was open, and late afternoon sunlight shone through all the windows, making the house glow with a golden light.  Wandering from room to room, you looked for someone, but you weren’t sure whom.  Upon reaching your room, you found a young woman sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, slowly rocking, and crocheting.  When you drew closer, you saw that what she was creating what appeared to be the blanket that you normally kept over your bed.

She looked up at you and, despite her countenance, you felt no surprise, only calm.  She had your face.  Her skin was darker, the rich colour of warm honey, and the curls that tumbled over her shoulders, and down her back were tighter, but other than that, she could have been you.

Tilting her head, she smiled. Mon bébé.  Do you like your coverlet?  She didn’t speak, but you knew her words, all the same.

You nodded.  

Come have a seat by me, ma chère.

Sitting beside her on the floor, you rested your head upon her lap, your cheek against the familiar soft cotton of your blanket.  

I’m glad that you can finally hear me, chère.  I’ve been calling you pour un longtemps.  She began to lovingly stroke your hair.  I can’t stay long, mon coeur.  

You nodded again, sadly.  I know.

Understand, you mustn’t be too cross with Bastien.  He wasn’t always as you know him.  When we were young, he was…beautiful.  So gentle…kind…unfailingly courteous, to everyone–slave and free.  He never even raised his voice to his horse, much less a person.  Her face was infinitely sad.  He used to recite poetry.  He would spend entire afternoons reading stories of love to me.  However, years alone have twisted him, made him into something he was never meant to be.  You’ll have to free him, mon ange.  

Raising your head, you looked at her askance.  

She reached out to gently caress your curls. Listen.  Remember.  A sire’s blood can heal the first victim of his ward.  

Then, why didn’t he do that for you?

Her eyes were sad.  He didn’t know.  And even if he had, he wasn’t a murderer, much less of his own dear grand-père.  Even if he had known, I never would have asked it of him.  

Why do you tell me this?

Find your Jongin.

Jonginah is dead.  I killed him.  You were bitter.  

Not dead, chère.  

He sleeps.

If you want the latest updates, and links for easier reading, then follow me @vampwrrr.

[itscolossal]

Aerial Photographer Kevin Krautgartner Uses Squarespace to Showcase the Earth’s Fragile Beauty

[vampwrrrmistresslist]

Riding the Red 4

A/N:  This is chapter 4 of an in progress fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist.

You opened your eyes, and panicked when you didn’t recognize where you were. After a moment however, all that had happened the previous evening flooded your memory. Throwing back the covers, you looked around the room. Padding gently to the door, you tried the knob. It was open. Okay, another tick in the “not a serial killer” box. Moving back into the room, you noticed an armoire. Inside were several pairs of jeans, some skirts, plain white cotton panties, dresses, stockings, socks, and various tops, all in natural fabrics. All of it was in your size, and most of it was to your taste. Hm. Half a check in the “possible serial killer box”. Shrugging, you pulled out a low V-necked, emerald wool sweater, a burgundy button-down with French cuffs, and a pair of low-rise, boot-cut jeans. You searched the rest of the drawers and the room’s three dressers, but couldn’t find any bras. You could wear your corset again, but you had done quite of bit of running in it, and you wanted it washed before you put it back on your skin. Ah well. You would just go braless; Chanyeol probably wouldn’t even notice.

As you were about to leave the room, you noticed another door. Crossing your fingers in the hope that it led to a closet, you found instead, a private bathroom. A porcelain claw foot tub dominated the room, which also boasted a bidet, and a corner dedicated to a shower. Looking longingly at the tub, you walked to the shower and turned on the water. Three shower heads came on, all centred in the middle of the stall. Hm. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. You rummaged in the closet for soap and a washcloth while waiting for the water to warm. Expecting something like Dial, or perhaps Caress if you were lucky, you instead found triple-milled soaps and whipped soaps, thick bath and shower gels, pure essential oils, bath bombs and bubble bars, sugar scrubs, body butters, and clear glass jars of bath salts. You even found various oils, and expensive conditioners for your hair. Tearing up a bit at your bounty, you entertained the thought that maybe this forced exile would be less “not so bad” and more ‘mini-vacation’. After taking your shower (40 minutes without running out of hot water!), you found various dental implements and freshened up, so as not to fry your host with your dragon breath. You checked your face in the mirror, and grimaced to find a veritable rainbow that ran from the middle of your forehead, and around your right temple to rest on your cheekbone. You opened the bathroom cabinet to discover cotton pads, alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, bandages, and more witch hazel and tea tree oil. You gingerly dabbed the livid bruising with witch hazel, cleaned the small wound, and applied some oil.  Fortunately, the wound had already closed enough to no longer require butterfly bandages. Leaving the bathroom, you picked up a comb from the dresser and began the long, arduous process of combing your thick hair. Fifteen minutes (and two very tired arms) later, you braided it into pigtails and tied some red ribbons around the ends that you had found in the dresser. Emerging from your room in a warm cloud of honeysuckle you stood still, closed your eyes, and listened. You heard a rhythmic noise coming from another part of the house, so you followed it. As you grew closer, you realized that it was the sound of someone running on a treadmill. Entering the room, you saw Chanyeol’s back as he ran—flat out ran–with an even, measured tread. He was wearing nothing but gym shorts and footwear–and for that, you were immensely grateful. You looked admiringly at the physique that his clothes had only hinted lay beneath their confines. He had brawny forearms and his hairless back was strong, with well-defined muscles sleekly rippling under his skin. Slowing down, he jogged for a while, then stopped the machine and dismounted. As he turned, he noticed you and grinned, removing ear-buds from his ears. His chest and abs were heaving like a bellows, doing interesting things to his musculature. “How long have you been standing there?” She blushed. “Not long. How far do you run?” “Eleven miles, every day.” You tried not to, but you couldn’t help but notice just how precariously his shorts clung to his hips. You could almost just make out the line where his happy trail ended and the real fun began. “That’s pretty intense,” you murmured. He leaned against the treadmill. “I’m a pretty intense sort.” Looking up at him, you felt your lip and chin wobble, so you bit them. After valiantly fighting for a few moments, you burst out laughing at the same time that he did. “That was rather cheesy, wasn’t it?” he said, ruefully shaking his head. “It’s alright. I’ll allow it,” you responded. “A beneficent beauty. What kind of creature have I allowed into my home?” Chuckling nervously, you said, “Oh, stop, or I’ll have to lock up your tongue with the rest of the silver.” Winking at you, Chanyeol started to saunter by, then turned to examine your face. Taking you gently by the chin, he looked at your face, gave a satisfied nod, and said, “That’s healing well. You did a good job tending to it.” “Well, I may not be a medic, but I do have some paltry skills,” you riposted. Chanyeol laughed, and started walking backwards, saying, “I’m going to go take a shower. You can have whatever you can find for breakfast.” “Oh, you’ve already eaten?” “No, but I figured that you’re hungry, now.” “I’ll wait for you,” you said, shyly. Pausing, he gave you an intensely approving look. “Give me a half hour.” ***

After Chanyeol completed his ablutions, he dressed in black jeans and an oversized black, cable knit cashmere sweater, over a black button-down. Meeting you in the kitchen, he asked. “Have you done any exploring?” “A bit,” you admitted. “Mostly around your amazing kitchen and pantry, though. You have enough food to feed an army!” “I like to eat and I like to eat well.” “Well, I like to cook. Since I’m imposing on your hospitality and, since you don’t cook, why don’t I do it for you while we’re here?” “You want to cook for me?” he asked, slanting a look at you. Shrugging, you said, “We have to eat. I can cook. It’s only logical.” “Seeing as how I was going to make us a couple of nice, big bowls of cereal for breakfast, your way is probably better.” “Speaking of which,” you paused nervously, but then forged ahead, “You’re a bachelor, yet you have a fully appointed kitchen full of herbs and spices, and your guest room is full of women’s clothes. I’m a little confused.” “Well, I have a fully appointed kitchen because that’s how I bought it, appliances and all, and I have herbs and spices, and a room full of women’s clothing because I have sisters who like to visit often.” “Oh,” you whispered quietly, drawing imaginary circles on the green marble counter-top with your finger. He sighed deeply. “I’m not a serial killer, you know. I’m not going to, I don’t know, rape you, salt you, and put you in my freezer for hard times.” You nodded. “Now, if that’s settled, make me something delicious, or I just may be tempted to eat you all up.” She grinned. “How do you feel about an omelet and some baked oatmeal?” “Less chattery, more cookery.” You laughed and began to prepare breakfast. First, you prepared the oatmeal with raisins, honey, bananas, and cinnamon. Then you put in into a loaf pan and popped it into the oven. When that had almost finished baking, you fried some bacon, set it aside then, in the same pan, you cracked eggs, along with fresh chives, mushrooms, and the cooked bacon. While that cooked, you warmed some cream with vanilla bean, and a shot of whiskey. You grated fontina on the omelet, and folded it over. After plating the omelets, you took out the baked oatmeal, scooped some into bowls and poured the warm vanilla cream over the top. After having set the table, Chanyeol watched you in awe, occasionally asking questions about why you were doing something. After you sat down, he inhaled deeply. “Woman, I may just have to kidnap you.” “Save your criminal debut until you taste it. It may not be as good as it looks or smells.” He took a bite, and his face stilled. Looking at you, he said, “You’re right,” Your face fell. “It is so much better.” Giving him a face and a shoulder punch, you thanked him.  It always gave you a thrill when someone enjoyed your cooking, and it didn’t hurt that it was currently being enjoyed by the type of guy who gave you wet dreams. You ate in companionable silence and when you were done, Chanyeol washed the dishes. While he was doing that, you made a mirepoix and put it, as well as a trimmed leg of mutton studded with garlic cloves, a bouquet garni of rosemary, bay and sage, and an entire bottle of merlot, into his crock-pot to braise for your dinner. “Come on, he said. I’ll give you the tour.” Leading you from room to room, he bypassed all of the places that he knew you had seen, to show you the rest of his one story. It didn’t take long, as it wasn’t that big. The rest of the tour just consisted of his bedroom and bathroom, another bathroom off the living room, a breakfast nook, and a room that captured your heart. A library. He watched indulgently as you flitted from shelf to shelf, pressing your clasped hands to your chest and fawning over his collections of first editions, modern nonfiction, and literature in Korean, Japanese, English, French, Gaelic, and Mandarin. “Do you speak all of these languages?” He nodded. “I’m something of a polyglot,” he said, carelessly. You tilted your head. “I, also. I speak French, of course, English, Hebrew, Latin, and I’m learning Arabic.” You grinned, and then said, “Say something in…Gaelic!” Reaching out to tug one of your braids, he said, "Tá tú go h-álainn.” You giggled. “What does that mean?” He shrugged. “It means, 'You’re beautiful’.” You smiled, shyly. Quickly leaning forward, you kissed him on the cheek, and then flitted to the other side of the library. Unbeknownst to you, he had noticed that you weren’t wearing a bra when you first found him on the treadmill, and now that you were no longer paying attention to him, he hungrily watched your breasts bounce as you practically skipped around his library with a look of pure bliss on your face. The motion of your breasts against the fabric of your shirt caused your nipples to harden until they were prominent enough to make him want to pant. He steeled himself, and smiled, when you came over to him, holding out a few books. “May I read them? Please?” “You can read anything here that you want,” he said, magnanimously. “What are you going to do?” He blew a rueful breath. “Well, not work, what with the downed Internet. I guess that I’ll read, as well. You both took your chosen books, and moved to the living room. Sinking into the couch, you read for a few hours. After some time, the two of you returned to the kitchen for a lunch of seared tuna, freshly baked beer bread, and wilted spinach salad. While you ate, you discussed the books that you were reading, which led to a discussion regarding your favourite authors. After lunch, Chanyeol put a hand to his belly, and groaned. "You’ve impregnated me with your food baby.” You laughed, delightedly. “Mmm, yes, bear my seed!” After he finished the washing up, and you put beans to soak so that they would be ready, if needed, for an upcoming meal, you retired back to the living room to read. After a while however, Chanyeol noticed your head drifting toward the back of the couch. He gently maneuvered you both until he was half reclining against the arm of the sofa, and you were lying against his chest. He watched you sleep until his eyelids, too, began to fall. Soon, you were both napping peacefully. ***

You awoke a few hours later, lying on top of Chanyeol, your arms wrapped around his neck, and your face buried in the crook of his shoulder. You felt slightly awkward, but not as bad as you usually would have, given the circumstances. Scrambling off of him, while trying to seem unhurried, you said, “Time to start dinner.” He just gave you a slow, sleepy, seductive smile, and followed you back into the kitchen, where you made baked sweet potatoes with Dubliner cheese, sour cream and garlic chives, and roasted cauliflower to go along with the braised mutton. After plating and sitting down, you asked, “May I use your exercise room? As you can see, my metabolism isn’t that good and if we keep eating like this, I won’t be able to fit into any clothes.” Chanyeol stopped eating, leaned back, and leisurely perused your body. While it was true that you weren’t fashionably thin, he found you to be delectable. He swallowed hard as he imagined your soft thighs wrapped around his hips, or, even better, pressed against the fronts of his thighs. “The issue of you not wearing any clothes doesn’t seem that bad,” he said. “However, perhaps I didn’t make myself clear earlier. My home, as well everything,” here he smiled, “and everyone in it, are available for your use and pleasure.” You, ducked your head to hide the flushing of your face. “Duly noted,” you said, biting your lower lip to keep from smiling outright. “What are you doing?” he queried. “I have a tendency to smile when I’m nervous, so I bite my lip to keep from grinning like an idiot during inappropriate situations,” you said, shyly. A slow, lopsided grin melted across his face. “I like watching you smile.” You looked away, smiling as you toyed with one of your braids. “Like that,” he rumbled, “See, that’s beautiful.” He waited until you met his eyes, then smiled outright and tucked back into his food. After you had been eating for a while, he said, “I’m going to have to shovel a path to the shed, so that I can split more wood for the fireplace. I usually stock it in the lean-to, but I didn’t know that we were going to get this freak snowstorm.” Since the previous evening, it had been snowing on and off and you had gone from being half buried in snow to only being able to see over the top third of the window. “May I help?” you asked. “That’s not necessary,” he said. “I need the exercise.” You stared at him. “You run eleven miles a day.” “I know, but lately I seem to find myself with extraneous energy,” he drawled. You cocked your head, impertinently. “What if I find myself with extraneous energy?” His eyes locked onto yours. “Then, I have some excellent suggestions on how we might burn through it.” You held his eyes for a moment, and then dropped yours to your food. He chuckled and said, “I’ll start shoveling tomorrow morning, after my run.” “All right,” you conceded. “I’ll join you in the morning for exercise, if you don’t mind, and then I’ll make breakfast while you shovel.” He nodded. “That sounds like a plan.” You both finished your food, and you moved to clear the dishes, but Chanyeol stopped you, saying, “No, Lady. You cook, I clean, alright?” You leaned against the table and said, “A girl could become accustomed to that.” “A guy could become accustomed to three star meals every day,” he countered. Watching him wash the dishes, you asked him if he wanted something sweet the next day. Looking you up and down he said, “Why, are you offering?” “You’re incorrigible!” you teased. “I’m a lot of things,” he agreed, evenly. “I could give a demonstration, if you like.” Shaking your head in mock dismay, you enunciated, “What sweet thing would you like to eat tomorrow?” “My question stands.” You threw up your hands in simulated defeat. “I’m just going to make a cake.” “I could go for cheesecake,” he said. She nodded. “I can make that. Would you like it with strawberries?”

“I’m far more interested in one with a cherry.” He said it so meaningfully that you paused before you answered. Then your face flamed. “That,” you said, tartly, “is not on the menu.” He sighed deeply. “Well,” he said with noble long-suffering, “then I suppose that I could go for regular cake.” She crossed your arms. “You had better be glad that I like you—” “Ah, you do like me? I won’t have to write a note that includes 'check yes or no’?” You tried to frown, but gave up, threw back your head, and laughed. After the dishes were finished, you moved back to the living room. Chanyeol put on some soft Liszt, and you sat and chatted for the rest of the evening. After a while, your eyes started to grow heavy, and Chanyeol looked at his watch. “It’s gone midnight. Time for all good little girls to be in bed.” You nodded. “Would you like me to tuck you in?” he queried. You cocked your head and blinked sleepily. Before you could answer, he said, “Too late,” scooped you into his arms, and carried you to the guest room. Standing you in front of the bed, he knelt in front of you, opened your jeans and peeled them down your legs. As you lifted each leg to step out of them, he turned his head and gave the side of your knee a brief kiss. The bristly sensation of his stubble against your delicate skin made you feel languorous and heavy. You sat back down, and he pulled your sweater over your head. He licked his lips and reached for your top button, but you stopped him. She shook your head. “I’m not…I mean, I didn’t have—I couldn’t find—” “It’s alright,” he whispered. He turned around and listened to the rustle of you divesting yourself of your shirt. When he turned back, you were lying down, with the sheet pulled over your chest. He pulled the rest of the blankets up to your chin, then leaned over and kissed you just on the corner of your mouth. His eyes glittered as he stepped back and surveyed you. Swallowing hard, he wished you a good night, then turned and walked decisively from the room. You snuggled further under the covers, enjoying the feel of the warm flannel against your bare skin. You curled up to go to sleep, but something just wasn’t right. After a while, you took a few of the pillows and tucked them behind your body, almost as if someone else were there. Curling up against the pillows, you fell asleep to the rhythmic sound of shoes hitting the treadmill. *** Eiric exited the plane, with Julien close behind. A mere day had passed since Aurelie Blanchard called her son and his wife to let them know that her granddaughter had never made it to her house. Sighting the driver with their names emblazoned on his placard, they whispered intensely as they neared the town car. After entering, Julien turned toward his wife and said, “Maman has been consulting the cards since the night that she disappeared. Something is blocking her though, so she’s hoping that tapping into your power will help her break through the barrier.” Eiric just shook her head, looking miserable. Julien clasped her hand, and brought it to his mouth. “We’ll find her, Cherie.” He pulled her to himself, laid her head against his breast, and wrapped his arms around her. “I know it. We’ll find notre bebe.”

A/N:  If you would like the latest updates, then please follow @vampwrrr, as I post everything there, first, and everything is linked for ease of reading.