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youare-mysonshine · 4 years ago

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heavy || bucky barnes

Summary: reader’s mental health has been taking a decline and bucky is there.

Requested: No

Pairing: TFATWS Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: talks of mental health, depression, anxiety, angst, cussing.

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: Hey guys, I’m back I guess lmao. I’ve really been struggling with my mental health lately and I guess I kinda just wanted to put it into words, something productive? And I’ve been feeling our angsty emo boy bucky barnes. Most of you might’ve followed me for my Oscar fics but I kinda wanna branch out and I thought this would be a good time to do so. Anyways, I know that some of you have inboxed me or messaged me and I haven’t responded and I’m sorry. But I just want you all to know that if you’re struggling, I’m always here to talk. About anything, always. So, I hope you enjoy this. I might’ve cried while writing this lmao and I also might’ve ended it on such an awkward place but, i’m still getting used to writing again. (Flashbacks are in italics)

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Bucky didn’t miss the dark circles under your eyes. He didn’t miss the way you sort of slouched as you approached him. He didn’t miss the way that your smile didn’t really meet your eyes.

“Hey,” You said in a breathless voice. “Sorry, I’m late. I got held up.” You said as you took a seat across from him in the booth. Held up. It was better than telling him that you were thinking of just not showing up at all. In the end, you knew that you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t just blow off your new friend who you had so enjoyed spending time with. So, in a rush, you got dressed and made your way to the small, quiet diner that you two had taken to frequenting together. Bucky Barnes was an enigma if you’d ever met one. The way that you had met was rather.. cliche and something straight from a story.

You had been trying to lay off of the caffeine for a while, realizing that you had nearly gone through an entire packet of 32 k-pods that you had just purchased. You realized that you might’ve had a problem. You had been going pretty strong with staying away from caffeine for the time being, until you passed by a coffee shop and got a whiff of coffee. You just couldn’t help yourself; you bought a cup of coffee. It was when you were walking down the street, holding the cup of coffee in one hand, looking down, that you didn’t see someone walking right in your path. You had collided into what seemed like a solid wall and the impact had caused you to squeeze the cup of coffee in surprise, the warm liquid burning your hand, staining your clothes and the other person. You had realized it was another person you had crashed into when you heard them let out a low cuss.

Bucky’s grumpy self had been fully prepared to tell you off for crashing into him, having just left his therapist’s office, but when you looked up at him with those bright eyes of yours, a million apologies spilling from your lips a mile a minute, he swallowed whatever harsh words had nearly sprung forth. He had apologized as well; both of you had been at fault. Bucky had been going over his session with Dr. Raynor that morning, completely lost in his own mind, and you had your eyes trained on the ground, something that was a bad habit of yours. The shock of realizing you had bumped into a man, a really really handsome man with the brightest blue eyes you had ever seen, had made you temporarily forget that you had practically scorched your hand with the coffee, and that you had gotten it on him as well.

“I’m so, so sorry.” You said once again, quickly averting your eyes from the handsome stranger’s face. Instead you focused on the smushed cup in your hand and the stains on his leather jacket. It just made you feel even terrible. “I, I can pay for you to get your jacket cleaned, if you want. Really. I wasn’t paying attention and I just, for whatever reason, squished my cup and.. I’m sorry.” You said, kind of breathlessly.

“It’s.. it’s alright.” His voice was like the coffee that you had been drinking. Smooth and rich. It was deep, something that reverberated deep in your chest and had your stomach fluttering with butterflies. “I wasn’t paying attention either. Really, it’s fine. And don’t worry about my jacket. No harm, no foul.” He said. “You should, uh, you should take care of that hand. Hope you didn’t burn yourself too bad.” He gestured to your hand, still clutching the cup, with one of his own gloved hands.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. It wasn’t that hot. Thank you, though. And again, I’m really, really sorry.” Sparing one, seemingly, last glance at the handsome stranger, you side stepped him and began to walk away, tossing the empty cup of coffee in a trash can on the sidewalk. But you didn’t get very far because that deep voice called out to you, halting you in your tracks.

“Can I buy you another cup of coffee?” Bucky’s mouth had opened and spoken the words long before his brain could even catch up. He didn’t know why he had asked you that, but something in his gut was just telling him too.

“What?” A look of total bewilderment had crossed your face and he had seen it.

“I just, well I thought that, since I bumped into you, I could make it up to you by buying you a new cup of coffee. If you wanted, I mean. You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything.” Bucky clarified, hand stuffed in his pocket, waiting for your answer. For a few seconds, you simply stood there, unsure of what to say because surely this wasn’t happening? The last time that you had gone out with a guy was.. well, shit, you didn’t even remember the last time. The little voice in the back of your head, that anxious, paranoid little voice, was telling you not to go off with a stranger. You’d watched too many episodes of Criminal Minds and other true crime shows and documentaries to know that situations like this never turned out well. However, you didn’t get a bad feeling from this particular man. He seemed just as awkward and slightly frazzled as you felt. So you agreed.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Y/N.”

That had happened about two months ago. Ever since then, you and Bucky had formed a strong friendship. Your first time getting coffee with him had been awkward, as were the next few times that you had seen one another. But things got easier. Becoming friends was easy. You kind of fell into this routine, almost as if you two had known each other your whole lives. That was why Bucky telling you who he really was had been terrifying for him. He carried around guilt and shame and just contempt for everything he’d done. Everything The Winter Soldier represented, and when he told you, he figured that you would think the same. He had asked you meet him at the diner that had now become your spot and and you remember how he nervously wrung his gloved hands together. You remember when you asked him what was wrong and he didn’t verbally respond but he took off his gloves; the right one first and then the left, revealing a shiny black metal hand, golden lines intricately placed.

He told you then. Maybe he didn’t tell you everything but he told you who he was and he had braced himself for you to get up and storm out. Or, to yell at him and tell him how much of a monster he was. But, it never came. Instead, you reached out and placed your hand on top his. Not his real hand, but the metal one. You didn’t say anything. You just gave him that smile that was quickly becoming his favorite. Sometimes, silence spoke a thousand words. To Bucky, you had become kind of a respite for him. Even in the late nights or mornings when he woke up after a nightmare. Or after a particularly hard session with Dr. Raynor. He had closed himself off from other people except you.

Bucky might not have known it, but he gave you the same level of comfort as you gave him. You found yourself craving his presence. Every time you were around him, you couldn’t help but to smile or laugh. In the time that you spent together, your mind was clear and free from all your worries. It all evaporated into thin air. Your mind, usually so active with all sorts of thoughts and worries, could finally rest when you were with Bucky. You could sleep. You could get up in the morning without that stress and anxiety drowning you. It was okay. It was great.

Until it wasn’t.

“No problem, doll.” He said, gloved hands clasped under the table on his lap. “I already ordered. Got your usual. Hope that was alright.” He added, to which you nodded absentmindedly.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. Thanks Buck.” You said, mustering up a half hearted smile that didn’t reach your eyes. It was like even smiling drained the energy from you. You were exhausted. Not even just physically but mentally and emotionally. You had been having such good days for a while now, since meeting Bucky. You felt like maybe you would finally be alright but.. this feeling of hopelessness, the feeling that nothing was quite right, it was heavy. It weighed you down. It suffocated you. You wanted to be alone, but you also couldn’t stand to be alone because when you were alone, you were just stuck in your head and being in your head was the absolute worst place to be.

The intrusive thoughts had started. They told you that you would do nothing but weigh Bucky down. That he didn’t need someone like you in his life, someone with clear problems of their own, when he was going to therapy trying to better himself. Even if it had been mandatory for him to go. You wanted to push him away, save him from yourself, but you also couldn’t stand the thought of losing him.

Bucky noticed the shift in you. Normally when you two met up, whether it was at the diner or anywhere else, you would usually talk his ear off. Not that he minded, he was content to just sit back and listen to you. Sometimes, you’d tell him about a new book that you had started reading. You had just started reading the fifth Harry Potter book and you were trying to get him to read them. You’d tell him about your day. You’d ask him how his day went, how it went with Dr. Raynor, though you never pushed for more information. You always let him share if he was comfortable with it and he appreciated that. Sometimes you teased him for being such an old man.

The food came soon after you had arrived and sure enough, Bucky had ordered your usual. It sent a pang through your heart when you realized that he had memorized your order, down to the extra syrup and whipped cream on the pancakes. Bucky always liked to make fun of you for ordering the same thing when you came to the diner. No matter what time it was, you always ordered the pancakes with extra syrup and extra whip cream, with the strawberries on the side. Secretly, though he found it adorable.

Today, you had barely even taken more than a few bites and that was what really let Bucky know that something wasn’t right. You kept your head down, eyes on the pancakes and you cut them up, bringing a few up to your mouth and chewing slowly, but you mostly just moved them around your plate with the fork in your hand. Bucky himself had barely taken only a few bites of the food he’d ordered for himself, but it wasn’t for lack of appetite, it was because of the growing concern. His bright blue eyes were now a stormy grey, kind of like the clouds that you see during a heavy storm. His brows were furrowed, giving him an appearance almost as if he were angry.

“You alright, Y/N? You’ve barely eaten your food and normally you finish before I do.” He attempted to joke, to bring about that smile that seemed to always fill him with warmth. He half expected you to look up at him with that cheeky little smile, a mischievous look in your eyes and say “You know, I would be offended by that, but I know why you eat so slow, Buck. I completely understand. You don’t want your dentures to fall out.” But it never came.

You don’t know what it was. Bucky asking you if you were alright or if it was simply all the pressure of just.. everything, finally breaking, but you could feel the hot tears in your eyes. They blurred your vision until you couldn’t really see the plate of the pancakes in focus. The dam had finally come apart and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You set the fork down and buried your face in your hands, your shoulders lightly shaking as you began to cry. All Bucky could do was stare for a few seconds, alarm written all over his face. Alarm and distress because he had no idea what just happened and if he had done something to upset you.

“Woah woah, hey. Sweetheart, hey. What’s wrong?” In seconds, Bucky was out of his side of the booth and scooting in beside you. You felt the comfort of his warmth, you felt his arm tentatively, almost hesitantly, slide around your shoulders and anchor you to him. You shook your head, attempting to calm down, to stop the tears but the more you tried, the more they seemed to come.

“I-I’m sorry, Bucky.. I.. I’m sorry.. I-I’m fine. Really.” You said, sniffling. It was apparent to you both that you were not alright and he really just wanted to get to the bottom of it. Or at least attempt to comfort you. But doing that in the middle of a diner with other people around wasn’t ideal.

“Hey, my apartment is only a short walk away. Come on, let’s get you out of here and somewhere more quiet.” You didn’t protest. You just nodded and slid out of the booth after he did. Bucky took out his wallet and placed a few bills on the table, paying for the uneaten food, and then quickly led you out of the establishment. He kept his hand on you, almost like an anchor. Whether it was to reassure you or himself, he didn’t know and you didn’t mind either. It was probably the only thing that kept you from retreating inside of your mind and giving in to the panic that so desperately wanted out.

You didn’t even realize that you had reached his apartment until he had led you up the stairs and you were standing behind him as he unlocked the door. He allowed you to step in first and then quickly followed behind you, shutting the door as he did so. You didn’t really get the chance to take in his apartment because he had ushered you to sit on his couch while he knelt in front of you.

“Alright, you’re scarin’ me here, doll. What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?” The sheer look of concern and slight panic in his face and those pretty eyes of his made the waterworks come back again. You shook your head, your face scrunched up in anguish. Hot bullet tears fell from your eyes and left a wet path in their wake down your cheeks. Bucky wasn’t one to pry; he hated it when people tried to pry into his life and he didn’t do it to you, but he couldn’t stand the sight of seeing you cry. He couldn’t stand the sight of your once bright eyes and cheery smile just.. gone. You eyes were sad and your lips were pulled into a frown. “Talk to me, baby.” He practically pleaded.

“I just.. I don’t.. I don’t know how to explain it, Buck.” You cried. “I-I.. I just feel like..” You let out a frustrated cry when you couldn’t find the right words but Bucky was patient. He reached a hand up, cupping your cheek and wiping away the tears that kept falling. “I don’t feel.. happy. Everyday I wake up and I just, I feel fine for like a few seconds and then everything just comes crashing down on me. I can’t ever stop thinking. I can’t sleep at night. I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling like this, Bucky. And I feel fucking crazy. Sometimes I feel like you don’t even really like me. I feel.. hopeless, like nothing is ever going to be okay. I might feel okay for a few seconds but then it just goes away.” You explained, though you were sure that you probably sounded like a raving and ranting lunatic. “Before I met you, I liked being alone but I also hated it because when I was alone, I would just overthink and overthink and overthink about every fucking thing. If it wasn’t one thing it was another just giving me such bad anxiety and.. I don’t know what to do anymore, Bucky. I’m just tired of feeling like this. Feeling like nothing is ever going to be okay, like I’m never going to be okay. I just feel.. alone.”

His heart was well and truly broken. In the two months that he’d known you, he hadn’t known how badly you had struggled with your mental health. He hadn’t known the war that you fought within your mind, and how bad it had become. You were such saving grace for Bucky; you saved him from the wars inside of his mind. The constant feeling of guilt that he fought with on a daily basis, and now.. he just wanted to do the same for you. He wanted to shoulder some of the pain that you carried, the pain that seemed to be weighing you down. Both of his hands now cupped your cheeks so delicately, as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. His blue eyes were shining, looking at you with not pity, but something like.. understanding. If anyone knew what you were feeling, it was Bucky.

“You’re not alone.” His smooth and rich voice was so soft, so gentle that it brought on a new set of tears. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. Not anymore. You know why? Cause you got me.” He said. “I know what it’s like to feel hopeless. To feel stuck in your head. To feel like nothing is ever gonna get better. I felt like that in Wakanda. Sometimes.. sometimes, we need help. And I know I’m not one to be talking considering that I don’t really like talking to my therapist or even going,” That roused the smallest of smiles from you. “I’m here. You know that, right? I’m here. You got me and I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I don’t care if you have a million bad days. I don’t care if you feel like you’re bothering me. I’ll be there every time.” You two have gradually gravitated close to one another until your foreheads were pressed together. Bucky was still knelt in front of you on the couch, his hands still holding your cheeks. Your eyes were closed and you could feel his warm breath fanning your face. The tears had stopped falling but you were still sniffling softly. “You’ve helped me. Even if you don’t know it. You’ve helped me.” He was whispering. There was no one but you two in his apartment but he was still whispering the words meant for only you to hear. “Now, let me help you. Please.”

“Okay. I trust you, Bucky.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #tfatws #mcu #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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somewhatgreatexpectations · 4 years ago

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Leave Your Lover (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello! So, this was going to be one really long part, but it kind of got away from me and I had to split it into two. Don’t worry the next part is going to be very long either way because that’s the half that got away from me. This takes place pre-Infinity War. Inspired by Sam Smith’s “Leave Your Lover”, mainly the line featured.

Summary: A brief glimpse into life on the run. Will Wanda be able to find Y/n?

“If I can't have you I'll walk this life alone, spare you the rising storms and let the rivers flow.”

Being on the run was difficult to say the least and being on the run while trying to find someone who was actively trying not to be found was even worse. Despite being told by the rest of the group that it may be in her best interest to just move on and let you go, Wanda knew that wasn’t an option. She had made a promise to herself that she was going to keep fighting for you, no matter the cost. Wanda had let you go once and she wasn’t going to let it happen, not if there was a part of her that knew you still had love in your heart for her.

The only one who knew where you were at all times was Steve and he had spent the last few months absolutely refusing to disclose your exact location. That never stopped her from trying though.

Eventually though, he gave in. Steve wasn’t sure if it was her sheer determination that impressed him or the fact that he had never seen you happier than when you were with her. If she thought she could create happiness in a terrible situation, Steve thought she at least deserved a true chance and he wouldn’t stand in the way.

When she received the location, Wanda quickly packed what little she had and booked the next train ticket to Rennes, France. Feeling hopeful for the first time since long before the events of Lagos. _________________________________

For the majority of the time you’d been on the run, you stuck to the idea that hiding in plain sight was the best course of action. Which is why you were currently at a poorly lit bar, trying to live as normal a life as you possibly could under the circumstances. The only unfortunate thing was that you couldn’t interact with anyone due to the risk of being discovered. So, when you felt someone tap your shoulder, you knew it would be time to go.

Before turning, you downed your drink to prepare yourself to either get hit on by a random drunk person or convince them you weren’t who they thought you were.

Neither options were what you got when you turned around though. You tilted your head in pleasant surprise at the sight before you.

“Long time no see, stranger.”

Without thinking and perhaps partially due to the alcohol coursing through your veins, you wrapped yourself tightly around the woman in front of you. She laughed in surprise and gladly returned the embrace. You couldn’t help but revel in the contact, touch deprived from all the time you had spent in solitude.

For a while, you both just stood there, wrapped in one another’s embrace. Ignoring the occasional odd look from random passer byers. With one final squeeze, you released her but kept your hands on her shoulders. “You have no idea how good it is to see you, Nat.” you admitted to her with a smile on your face.

Natasha easily returned the smile. “It’s good to see you too. I was passing by outside when I thought I saw you sitting here and I had to see if it was really you.”

“What are the chances?” you asked with a laugh as you signaled the bartender over and ordered drinks. “Let’s celebrate.”

After drinking for a bit and catching up slightly, you both agreed that staying longer would be too much a risk and decided to take a walk outside.

“You dyed your hair.” You noted as you reached over and took a strand of her hair gently in between your fingers before letting it go. “It looks good.”

A playful smirk spread across Natasha’s lips. “Yeah, well, I figured the red was a dead giveaway for me, so… blonde it was.” She nudged you playfully. “A better disguise than a beanie and glasses at least. You’re no better than Rogers.”

A boisterous laugh escaped your lips, “What can I say? That man taught me everything I know.” Natasha shook her head but laughed despite herself.

You knew you would have to separate soon, but you tried not to focus on that. The pair of you walked in contented silence, enjoying the comfort of not being alone, even if it was temporarily. Eventually you both come up on the street where your hideout was located and for the first time you didn’t feel the need to rush in. Thankfully there was a small bench located across the street and you both wandered over and took a seat, enjoying the cool air.

“How have you been?” Natasha eventually asked, her eyes on yours as she attempted to analyze you.

You pondered the question for a moment. “I’ve been… lonely.” You finally breathed out, turning your gaze skyward. “I feel alone. I miss real connections. I miss just being able to walk down the street without fear of corporal punishment. I miss human contact.”

Natasha’s hand fell to your knee and squeezed lightly. You turned your head to meet her eyes. “I know what you mean. You’re never really alone though, Y/n. You know we’d all be there in a heartbeat if we could, if we have to.”

The touch and the knowledge that you weren’t alone was something you had missed. Again, whether it was the alcohol in both your systems or the deprivation of another human’s touch, but you both found yourselves leaning forward and connecting lips.

It was gentle and nice, but you couldn’t help but compare it to Wanda. Kissing Wanda always felt powerful and right. The way your whole body felt like electricity was coursing through your veins at the simplest of touches. Kissing Wanda always felt like coming home. You could’t help but think you needed this to realize that the one you still wanted was the one you shouldn’t want.

Despite this, you didn’t pull away, tangling your hand in Natasha’s now blonde locks as her hands fell to your waist. You allowed yourself this small moment of comfort.

Across the street, Wanda had been approaching only to stop in horror at the sight before her. Her mind rushing and heart breaking at the sight. If she felt a fraction of what you did that night on the roof, she couldn’t imagine how you got through it. As much as her heart ached in her chest, she didn’t allow it to stop her. She just hoped it wasn’t too late. That you hadn’t already given your heart to another.

After some time, both you and Natasha pulled away. Laughing when you met one another’s eyes. “That was… nice.” You said lightly.

Natasha rolled her eyes and pushed your shoulder. “Yeah, we’re drunk. We will never speak of this again.” She chuckled and looked at her watch. “My train leaves in a little over an hour, I should probably go.” You nodded in understanding and she hugged you once more before beginning to walk away.

“Hey, Nat?” you called after her. She turned. “Take care of yourself, okay?” She nodded and blew a teasing kiss your way before walking off into the night. With a sigh you leaned into the bench and closed your eyes for a moment, taking in the fact that you were alone again.

It had to have been less than a few minutes when you felt someone sit next to you, your eyes shot open and met with stunning emerald eyes that used to be your world. “Wanda?” you whispered, feeling the air leave your lungs at the sight of her.

Wanda quirked her lips up slightly, but there was melancholy in her eyes. “So, you and Nat, huh?” There was no accusation in her tone, just sadness. Possibly even acceptance. You quickly realized that she must have seen the kiss.

“And if we are? Together, I mean. What will you do?” You probed challengingly.

Pain flooded her eyes as she dropped her gaze to her lap. “Nothing. I’m not going to interfere if you’re happy, but… but just know that I won’t stop fighting for you. I’ll be here waiting because our love is destined and I’m not going away. I’ll still love you even if you chose to love someone else. You have all of me. Always.” She paused slightly. “You are my only direction.” She added quietly, repeating the words you once told her back to you.

Your heart clenched at the referenced moment, of one of your formerly favorite moments.

Staring off into the distance, you could feel the numbness begin to fade as the alcohol started to leave your system. “Why?”

She lifted her gaze up to you curiously, but you didn’t meet her eyes. “Why what?”

“Why do you keep trying?”

Wanda took a deep breath and turned so she was facing you completely even if you wouldn’t look at her. “Love.” She stated simply, “I’m in love with you, beyond all rationality. Even if you don’t believe me. I want you to have everything you want, even if its Nat, even if that destroys me.”

Even in Spain you had never heard her speak so passionately. It terrified you. Terrified you so much that you wanted to get up and run far, far away from her. Far from the feelings that her words stirred within you.

Wanda wasn’t done though, she needed to get everything off her chest. To lay all her cards out. “When you love someone, you don’t stop. Even when everyone on the team calls me crazy and tells me I should just move on and let you go. I won’t stop or give up because if I could give up…” She risked taking your hand in hers, sighing in relief when you don’t pull back. “If I could give up and listen to everyone’s advice and move on and find someone else that wouldn’t be love. That would be some imitation that is not worth fighting for.”

“Wanda…” you whispered finally looking up at her, noticing the way her eyes shined with unshed tears.

She squeezed your hand again. “But you… You are more than worth fighting for. You will always be worth fighting for. And if I can’t have you I’ll be alone because no one else can hold my heart. This is love.”

“I’m not with Natasha.” You admitted softly after Wanda’s declaration, watching the way relief filled her eyes. “I think we were both just lonely and comforting each other.”

The relieved smile that took over Wanda’s features was contagious as you couldn’t help but smile hesitantly back at her.

Wanda’s heart fluttered at the sight. That was the first time you had smiled at her since the night on the roof.

“What does that mean?” she questioned hopefully.

With hesitation, you interlaced your fingers with Wanda’s. “It means that I’m still not sure I trust you and I’m not ready to be with you again.” Her head dropped in dejection. “But. I’m not going to ask you to leave if you want to stay and work on that.”

For the first time in a long time, Wanda felt a semblance of happiness blossom in her chest. Unable to stop herself, she surged forward and took you in her arms, melting when you held her back. “I promise I’ll earn your trust back. I’m not going anywhere. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, Y/n.”

Part 10! double digits! Pre-Infinity War and Infinity war was supposed to be one chapter and in hindsight that was probably overly ambitious of me. That means there will now be 13 parts instead of 12. Anyway, as always let me know what you think, and hope you enjoyed! :)

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximov #wanda marvel #wanda #wandavision x reader #wandavision #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #mcu x y/n #mcu x reader #wanda mcu #avengers x y/n #avengers x you

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chloebeale · 3 years ago

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i’m talking loud, not saying much

rating: G || words: 5.5k

bechloe week day two—bed sharing/one bed

read below or on ao3!

***

There is nothing—literally nothing—positive about this stupid new arrangement.

For the last few years, things have only seemed to go from bad to worse for Beca. First there was her deadbeat mother abandoning her, then her overzealous father ended up moving them from their quiet, comfortable hometown in favor of shacking up with Lady Tremaine—uh, Sheila, halfway across the damn country, and Beca’s life had effectively been thrown into a tailspin.

It is bad enough that she has to share a home with Sheila and her daughter, Juliet—unfortunately Beca’s age, unfortunately much taller, much prettier, much more popular than Beca—but to have to share a bedroom with her, too? God, that is...yeah, that is just the icing on this particularly terrible cake.

Now, she is expected to spend her free time with Juliet? When she really could’ve gotten their room to herself for the night?

Seriously, that is bordering on child abuse.

“I swear to God if you embarrass me…” Juliet mutters under her breath as they make their way up the winding path toward her friend’s obnoxiously large house, effectively breaking into Beca’s pity party of bitter thoughts. A long arm outstretches to drum a balled fist against the pristinely painted wood of the unfamiliar front door, and despite her sour mood over having to bring Beca along with her tonight, Juliet pushes a bright smile to her lips the second the sound of approaching footsteps begins to chime from the other side of the door.

Beca only rolls her eyes, thumbs looping through the straps of her backpack to hike it more comfortably into place.

Why she hadn’t protested more strongly before, she really does not know.

Beca usually loves Friday nights. Considering Juliet’s social status, she generally has Friday night plans, so Beca gets their shared room all to herself. It is just about the only time she ever has to unwind, in fact, but when her dad had made a big deal about how Beca needs to try to put herself out there and make some friends in Atlanta, and Sheila had suggested Juliet bring her along to Olivia’s sleepover tonight, no amount of groaning from either soon-to-be step-sister had been enough to shut their parents up.

“You’ll have so much fun, Bec! Sleepovers are great, you’ll really get to know all of the girls!” Her dad had stated much too enthusiastically while Beca had begrudgingly thrown items into her backpack.

“I hope you know I’m calling CPS later,” Beca had grumbled as she’d climbed without haste into the backseat of his car, earbuds quickly stuffed into her ears to drown out the sound of Juliet’s overly-peppy phone conversation radiating from the passenger seat.

That same pep—totally forced, Beca would argue; she has seen what a grumpy monster Juliet really is at home—returns effortlessly as the door swings open to reveal a beautiful brunette holding a bowl of what looks to be freshly popped popcorn in one hand and a brand new rose gold iPhone in the other.

“Jules!” Olivia greets pleasantly, though her expression falls slightly as her bright gaze shifts from Juliet’s dazzling smile and toward Beca’s tightened jaw. “Oh… You weren’t joking about bringing your sister.”

“Step-sister,” Beca grumbles quietly under her breath, gaze cast down toward her beat-up looking Vans. She can feel Juliet’s heated glare burning into the side of her head without even bothering to look up.

“Nope, not joking,” Juliet responds with a pop of the P, not-so-subtly shoving Beca out of the way to breeze into the house.

With a heavy sigh, Beca pushes away one last fleeting thought of turning and running away to sleep on the streets for the night, and forces herself to shuffle inside behind her.

“Guys, Jules is here!” Olivia announces as she leads the way through the entrance hallway and toward what Beca can only assume by the number of doors they pass is one of multiple living rooms. The other sleepover attendees erupt into a chorus of Juliet’s name, before Olivia continues, “And, uh…”

“Beca,” Juliet says through gritted teeth.

“Right, yeah,” Olivia nods, “her sister.”

Beca bites back the urge to correct her again—they are not sisters, they will never be sisters—and instead offers the room of expectant eyes a forced, tight-lipped smile, before she goes back to staring dutifully down toward her feet.

All anybody has to do is look around the room for half a second to see that Beca is entirely out of place among this particular group of people. They all sport full faces of makeup and wear their hair in neat, pretty styles, while Beca hides behind a layer of questionably thick eyeliner and limp tresses that have had nothing more than a comb pulled through them all day.

Unsurprisingly, none of the activities to commence now that they are all here—Juliet loves to be fashionably late—are of any interest whatsoever to Beca. She doesn’t care to call the boys they all think are sooo cute and promptly hang up when they answer, and when she refuses to pick dare on her second turn in Truth or Dare—she shrugged and said “pass” when asked if she’d ever ‘done anything with a boy’ after picking truth in the first round—they all seem to give up on halfheartedly trying to include her, so Beca shrugs and plugs her ears with her earbuds, and sits off to the side with her back to the couch, contentedly listening to music.

Beca can lose herself for hours in music. Among all of the huge, rapid changes in her life, especially in recent years, music has been her one constant. It is that one form of solace for Beca, so she doesn’t mind being left out, nor her presence being all but forgotten until she eventually has to answer nature’s call.

“Uh, where’s the bathroom,” Beca asks Juliet with a small tap on her shoulder, thumb sweeping over the pause button on her phone’s music player.

Clearly enraged to have been interrupted from her circle of friends, Juliet stares back at her with a face like thunder. “I don’t know. Go find it,” she scoffs, offering Beca nothing more than a shake of her head, before turning back to the talkative group.

Beca simply stares for a moment, before rolling her eyes hard enough that she can practically hear them rattling in her skull, then pushes herself lazily to her feet.

It is a big house—an obnoxiously big house, in fact—so it is probable that there is at least one bathroom on the ground floor, but Beca doesn’t feel like trying every door and potentially running into Olivia’s parents in one of the other living rooms, so she decides it is safer to check upstairs.

The first door she tries leads to an extravagantly decorated but empty bedroom, so Beca promptly steps back out and closes it behind her, before moving quickly onto the next. That one turns out to be another empty bedroom, too, so Beca hopes that it will be third time lucky, and meekly tries the next door.

This one is a bedroom, too, only this time, it is not quite empty, and Beca jumps slightly as she realizes she is intruding on someone’s personal space. “Oh, whoa. Sorry,” she says quickly, widened gaze landing on the sight of red curls and a nose buried deeply in a book.

“Hm?” The redhead questions, evidently too enthralled by her reading material to have even noticed Beca’s presence beforehand. Her eyes lift to land on the stranger in her room, though, and Beca finds herself slightly taken aback by just how intensely blue they are.

“Sorry,” Beca says again, her pale cheeks heating up with a splash of what she is positive is a very obvious shade of crimson. “I didn’t realize this was—I was looking for the bathroom.”

“Oh,” the other girl nods, neatly setting down her open book on the mattress before her. She offers Beca a friendly smile despite the intrusion. “That’s okay. The bathroom is two doors that way,” she says, pointing in the right direction.

Why Beca finds herself staring, she really does not know, but she catches herself after a short moment and quickly clears her throat. “Right, got it. Thanks.”

“Mhm,” the redhead smiles, bright eyes remaining on Beca. Beca is about to leave, though she notes the way the other girl seems to be studying her curiously, before piping up with, “Are you my sister’s friend? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“No,” Beca shakes her head, though realizes how bad that sounds and corrects herself quickly. “Uh, I mean, yeah. Or...I don’t know. My step-sister is friends with Olivia. She’s here for the sleepover, and my dad and her mom made her bring me.” As she speaks, Beca can hear just how ridiculously pathetic she sounds, and proceeds to mentally kick herself. “I guess I’m new to town or whatever.”

“Mm, that would explain why I haven’t seen you before,” the other girl nods, flattening her palms to the mattress to smoothly shift to her knees. “What’s your name? Or are you, like, peeing yourself and you have to leave right this second?”

“No,” Beca chuckles awkwardly, the bathroom almost forgotten about for a minute there. “No, it’s fine. I’m Beca,” she says. “My step-sister is friends with Olivia.”

“You said that already,” the redhead grins, to which Beca only mentally kicks herself again. “I’m Chloe, I’m actually Olivia’s step-sister, too.”

“Oh yeah?” Although she knows it is entirely possible for step-siblings to have healthy, good relationships, Beca can only assume judging from the scene before her that their situations may be somewhat similar. Chloe looks to be around their age, after all; surely she would be invited to the sleepover party going on in her home if she and Olivia were close, right?

“Mhm,” Chloe nods. “Which one is yours?”

Assuming Chloe is referring to which one is her step-sibling, Beca responds with an almost cautious, “Uh, Juliet Lyman.”

At that, Chloe immediately winces, and Beca cannot help the grin that breaks onto her lips in response.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe says with an apologetic look. “That was super mean.”

“No, it’s okay,” Beca promises with another small chuckle, this one much less awkward sounding than the last. “She’s kind of a dick.”

While she still looks a little bashful, almost like she feels that she spoke—or winced—out of line, Chloe’s stiffened shoulders ease then, and she offers Beca a gentle nod of her head. “Mm, I guess that makes sense. None of Olivia’s friends are particularly nice.”

Like something of a vampire, Beca rarely enters a room without invitation, so it is almost surprising to her that she seems to shift slowly inside now, but Chloe doesn’t seem to be put off. If anything, she only sends Beca a friendlier smile, and nods as if to tell her it is okay.

“I guess you’re not having a ton of fun down there, huh?” Chloe says somewhat sympathetically, motioning toward the door for Beca to close it behind her.

“Uh, yeah, no, I guess you could say that,” Beca frowns, following Chloe’s silent instruction to close the door. Much too focused on the pretty redhead whose privacy she accidentally invaded, she hasn’t taken much time to really study the room, but her eyes do a quick visual sweep now, and she finds that, while still beautifully decorated much like the rest of the house, this particular bedroom feels much more comfortable, much more homey than anywhere else. So as not to seem like a total weirdo, however, she brings her gaze back toward Chloe, then drops it to the book flattened on the bed before her. “What are you reading?”

“It’s called Looking For Alaska,” Chloe explains with a brief motion toward the book. “It’s really good so far. I’m halfway through and I’m dying to see how it ends.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Beca nods. “Yeah. You should totally get back to that.”

“No,” Chloe shakes her head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t exactly enjoy being locked away in my room,” her nose wrinkles. “I actually kind of appreciate the company. There’s a bathroom right there, by the way,” she motions toward the adjoining ensuite, “if you still have to go.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

Chloe flashes her another kind smile while Beca shuffles by the bed and toward the bathroom door, then disappears inside.

Unlike Chloe, who apparently appreciates awkward new company, Beca is definitely more of a lone wolf. She prefers her own space, and will generally engage in as little social interaction as possible, but she finds that she does not feel completely uncomfortable with Chloe. In fact, after being ignored for the last hour in a room full of people, she would go so far as to say she is actually kind of glad she walked in here.

Upon returning from the ensuite facilities, Beca wonders where to go from here. She wonders if it is weird to try to stick around, if she should begrudgingly go back downstairs and rejoin the party, but she finds that Chloe has pushed her book aside, and pats the mattress to invite Beca to sit.

“Are you sure?” Beca questions, though she makes her way toward the bed regardless.

“Totes,” Chloe nods. “I told you, I like the company, and you’re not having any fun down there, so.”

“True,” Beca agrees, shuffling over to plop neatly onto the end of the bed.

“Do you go to Barden?” Chloe asks conversationally, head tilted slightly and eyes trained curiously on Beca’s face. Again, she seems to be studying her, and Beca doesn’t quite understand why she is not more weirded out.

Beca frowns in response, though eventually nods her head. “Yeah, I do. I don’t really like it, though. My old school was...well, it was still high school. I guess I was just more comfortable there or whatever, though.”

“I get that,” Chloe says with a somewhat sympathetic smile. “We moved here halfway through freshman year, and I was super sad to leave my old school. It’s hard trying to fit into a new place where everybody already knows each other, huh?”

“Yeah,” Beca nods, a hard sigh escaping through her flared nostrils. “Tell me about it.” She pauses then, this time eyeing Chloe curiously in return. “Wait, but you, like, made friends since then, right? I mean, how long have you been here?”

“Oh, yeah, tons,” Chloe says with a nod of her head. “Just not Olivia’s friends. I’ve been here almost two years now.”

“So you’re a junior?” Beca asks, to which Chloe nods again. “Me too. It’s kinda weird I haven’t seen you around.”

“It is,” Chloe agrees, bright gaze still comfortably studying Beca. Eye contact has always been a difficult thing for Beca, but she finds that it is somehow easy to hold Chloe’s. “I definitely haven’t seen you at school, though. I feel like I would’ve remembered you.”

“Yeah?” Beca questions with an awkward laugh and a lift of her brow. “I’m not the most memorable of people.”

“I would’ve remembered you,” Chloe repeats, her curious expression smoothing into something of a somewhat knowing smile, under which Beca feels her cheeks rapidly beginning to heat up again. Chloe lifts a hand to motion toward Beca’s earbuds, the wire of which hangs limply down her chest. “What are you listening to?”

“Uh, I think it was David Guetta,” Beca responds with a scrunch of her nose. “I don’t remember, I turned it off before I came up here. I have Titanium stuck in my head, though, so it was probably that.”

“Titanium is awesome,” Chloe says with an approving smile as she scoots back to rest against the headboard with the pillows stacked up behind her. “Can we listen together?”

“Oh,” Beca glances toward the space beside Chloe. “Uh, sure. If you want.”

“I do,” Chloe nods, patting the empty spot for Beca to join her.

Shuffling to sit beside her, Beca arranges the spare pillows to make a backrest, then offers one of the wired buds out to Chloe, who takes it with a gracious smile, before slotting it into her ear. Beca does the same with the other, before hitting play on her phone screen. She had the volume up pretty loud before, but makes sure to turn it down a few notches as Titanium begins spilling through the buds in the place she’d left it off before.

“This was my audition song for the Bellas,” Chloe hums fondly, shoulders relaxing as she eases back more comfortably into her stacked pillows.

“The what?” Beca questions with a curious side glance.

“The Barden Bellas. It’s our school’s a cappella group. That’s actually where I met most of my friends.”

“A cappella,” Beca echoes, lips pulling inward in a failed attempt to bite back an amused smile. “Like...synchronized nerd singing?”

“It’s not nerd singing,” Chloe giggles, lightly swatting at Beca’s arm. “It’s fun. And all of the girls are super nice. We’re like a little family.”

“Whatever you say, dude,” Beca chuckles, and finds that she has very comfortably slotted into this little space beside a person who was a total stranger to her only moments earlier. It is an odd feeling for her, but it is certainly not an unwelcome one. “So, you sing?”

“I do,” Chloe says proudly. “I love to sing. Do you?” Before Beca gets the chance to respond, Chloe sits a little further upright, eyes lighting up with excitement. “Oh, you should totes audition for the Bellas!”

“Whoa, slow down,” Beca warns with another amused chuckle. “I’m not nerd singing with anybody. Besides, I don’t even sing.”

“That’s a lie,” Chloe says, “everybody sings. Whether you sing well or not is another story, but everybody sings.”

“Yeah?” Beca lifts a brow. “Not me.”

“I bet you do,” Chloe counters, motioning toward Beca’s phone where the current track is winding down to its end. “I bet when you’re alone, you turn up the volume and you belt out this song to your empty bedroom.”

“Shut up,” Beca grumbles with a fond roll of her eyes and a hint of amusement lacing her grumbly tone.

While Chloe giggles quietly, she relaxes back into the pillows again. “You would love the Bellas. You’d make a ton of friends, and it’s super easy to sing when everybody else around you is doing it,” she says, reaching down to tap on the back-skip button on Beca’s screen, effectively restarting the song. “Sing with me. This can be your audition, and if you’re good, I’ll tell the others.”

“Dude, no,” Beca frowns, shaking her head as the beginning of the song starts to filter through her one earbud again.

“You interrupted my reading time,” Chloe states with a lifted brow and a smug smirk painting itself onto her lips. “The least you could do is sing with me.”

“Sing with you? Right now? That’s so weird. You’re so weird,” Beca says, her brow lifting the same way as Chloe’s. Despite her protests, she can feel her resolve softening already. Like Chloe whose last name Beca doesn’t even know apparently just has some kind of weird, calming spell on her. It helps that, despite saying she doesn’t sing, she actually very much does—and she is pretty freaking good at it, too.

“Just the chorus,” Chloe presses, pushing herself upright again and pointing animatedly toward her phone. “Look, it’s coming up. Just sing it with me.”

Beca scowls in response, so Chloe sends her a bright, encouraging smile, and when Beca does not outright protest again, Chloe excitedly nods her head.

Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, Beca’s jaw sets for a second, but she can feel herself preparing to start singing. She has a feeling Chloe knows she is going to, too.

“I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose…” Beca starts through gritted teeth along with the song, though she softens some at the way Chloe’s eyes instantly light up all over again.

“Fire away, fire away,” Chloe chimes in, and Beca finds that she has to pause for a second, because even with the actual song filtering into one ear, she can hear how good Chloe sounds in the other. In fact, she can hear how good they both sound as they begin to effortlessly harmonize.

As the chorus ends, they both come to a stop, too, and Beca had not realized before, but it turns out that their eyes were trained on one another’s the entire time. She doesn’t quite register it until her gaze falls to Chloe’s excited smile—the same way she doesn’t register her own smile, though once she does, she quickly wipes it away.

“I knew you were lying,” Chloe says triumphantly. “I knew you could sing. And you sounded so good, too. You have to audition for the Bellas.”

In true Beca Mitchell fashion, Beca’s cheeks have heated up, though she hopes her frown will distract from the redness in her face. “What? Dude, I thought you said that was my audition.”

“So you want to join?” Chloe asks hopefully, to which Beca immediately pauses.

“I didn’t say that,” she eventually says, arms folding tightly across her middle.

“Well, I’m gonna tell the girls how good you are, and Aubrey—she’s our captain—will be on your case until you agree to join, so.”

“You’re so annoying,” Beca chuckles, sinking back against the pillows. “You’re really persistent, huh?”

“When I want something,” Chloe shrugs, trailing off to hum along quietly with the song.

“Yeah?” Beca lifts a brow. “And what do you want?”

“You,” Chloe says casually, and Beca’s mouth opens when that seems to be the end of Chloe’s response, though she pipes up again then, “to join the Bellas.”

“I—” Beca falters, and registers the way her heart rate has for some unknown reason increased slightly. She tells herself it is simply due to the impromptu duet—she may sing when she is alone, but she never does it in front of anybody, and certainly never with anybody—though she has an odd inkling that that is not solely the case. “I’ll think about it,” she grumbles, turning her focus to her phone screen.

Chloe grins brightly at that, clearly very pleased with herself. “Awes.”

For the next little while, they remain in their comfortable position side by side with their backs against the pillows, listening to Beca’s playlist and casually conversing. Much like she had found Chloe easy to be around right away, Beca finds that that same feeling only continues. In fact, it almost intensifies—it is not often that Beca Mitchell finds herself this comfortable with a new person, but she really is strangely comfortable with Chloe.

In fact, Beca doesn’t even realize how much time has passed until her phone screen lights up with a new text message notification, and she glances down with a frown when she sees who it is from.

Juliet where are you? i swear if you went home and told your dad we were leaving you out or whatever i’ll deny it and all of the girls will back me up

In response, Beca sucks in a deep sigh through her nostrils. “She’s so annoying,” she mutters, gaze flickering toward the much later time. She knows that she should probably leave, that she should go rejoin the party at which she was having absolutely no fun, but the thought of doing so is draining, and Beca sinks even further back into the pillows behind her. “God, I don’t wanna go back down there.”

“So don’t,” Chloe shrugs, glancing toward the open text message on Beca’s cracked phone screen.

“It’s, like, almost twelve,” Beca frowns, using one finger to lazily type out hanging with olivia’s step-sister in the chat bar. “You’re gonna wanna sleep, and I probably should, too.”

“You can sleep in here,” Chloe hums, stretching out her legs and wiggling her toes beneath her socks. The cartoon corgis adorning the fabric are pretty freaking adorable, though Beca totally won’t say so.

Instead, her brow crawls a little higher in response. “What, like in your bed?”

“You think I’m gonna make you sleep on the floor?” Chloe counters with a look of fond amusement.

“Uh, no,” Beca shakes her head. “Yeah, I guess that’s—dude, isn’t that weird?”

“You’re at a sleepover with a bunch of people you don’t even like, you were gonna be sharing a bed with at least one or two of them,” Chloe shrugs, then gently shakes her head. “It’s not weird, you can sleep in here.”

“Uh,” Beca pauses, thinking it over for a second. “Are you sure?”

“Totes,” Chloe nods, eyeing Beca for a moment. Her lips twist into something of an amused grin when she clearly notes her apprehension. “What, do you think I’m gonna try to make a move on you or something?”

Beca’s instant reaction is not the one she expects. She expects to splutter and for her tired eyes to shoot further open, but instead she only stares at Chloe with an arched brow. “I don’t know, are you?”

“What if I did?”

At that, Beca’s mouth hangs open slightly, the same way it had earlier. In response, Chloe only giggles brightly again, and Beca registers that there is something almost melodic about the sound. “I’m kidding,” she promises, amusement lacing her tone as she removes the earbud and begins to push herself up from the mattress. “I’m gonna get ready for bed. Go grab your stuff and come back up here.”

Although Beca’s shoulders sag with something akin to relief, she doesn’t quite understand why a wave of disappointment washes over her, too. Does she want Chloe to make a move?

Does Chloe want to?

What even is a move, exactly?

Either way, Beca attempts a nonchalant shrug as she rises from the bed, a feeling of slight dread coursing through her at the idea of having to go back downstairs, even if only to grab her things.

It turns out, however, that the worry is needless, because nobody even entertains her with so much as a glance as she enters the large living room in pursuit of her belongings. Well, nobody but Juliet, and even then it is only for her to shoot Beca a quick glare before she goes back to talking to her friends.

Deciding that it might be a little weird to change for bed in Chloe’s room, Beca makes her way back up the stairs and toward the bathroom she hadn’t gotten to before. She momentarily holds her breath as she opens the door, worried about the idea of bumping into another peppy stranger, but it turns out to be the correct room, and Beca changes and washes up quickly, before making her way back to Chloe.

“Oh, whoa—” Beca’s response is much the same as last time, except this time she lifts a hand to quickly cover her eyes, the crimson color in her cheeks rising toward the tips of her ears.

“What?” Chloe questions, evidently entirely unperturbed despite Beca walking in on her in the process of pulling on her pajama top—under which she is not wearing a bra. “Oh… They’re just boobs.”

Beca practically chokes at that, blindly making her way into the room and shoving the door closed behind her. “Dude, I don’t need to see them.”

Chloe’s amused giggle rings through the air. “Sorry. In my defense, this is my room, and I figured you’d knock before you came in,” she says, taking a second or two to adjust her pajamas, before Beca hears her gliding toward the bed. “It’s safe for you to uncover your eyes.”

That considered, perhaps sharing a bed with Chloe for the night is not the most awkward thing anymore, so although cautiously, she lowers her hand from her face, lips pulled inward as she makes her way toward the bed. “I’m guessing that’s your side?” she asks, motioning toward the spot Chloe had taken before.

“Yep,” Chloe nods, peeling back the comforter to slip beneath it. “Sometimes I curl up in a ball in the middle, but I always at least start out on this side.”

Why the mental image is so cute to Beca, she opts not to question, and instead simply slides into the other side. “Cool. My bed’s a single, so I guess I don’t really have a side.”

“Single beds are super cozy,” Chloe hums, reaching behind herself to flatten the previously propped up pillows, before shuffling to make herself comfortable.

“They suck,” Beca frowns. “I’m actually kinda jealous of you with this. Your room is, like, bigger than my dad’s house, in fact.”

“Your dad’s house?” Chloe echoes, twisting onto her side once Beca has laid herself down, too. “It’s not your house?”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Beca shrugs, automatically twisting her body to face Chloe.

In response, Chloe sends her a somewhat sympathetic smile, so Beca only shrugs once more. “How long have you been there?”

“Too long,” Beca grumbles, sticking one arm out of the comforter to rest her palm against the pillow by her head. Her cheek rests against the back of her hand, and Beca notes that she only feels more and more comfortable with Chloe by the second—and not just because of the ridiculously comfortable mattress. “About four months now.”

Chloe seems to consider for a moment, before eventually nodding her head. “You’ll start to feel better about it soon,” she promises in a softer voice, her hand reaching out to settle delicately over Beca’s for a short moment, before sliding it away.

It is interesting, the fact that her father has told her the same thing a million times, but that each time, Beca has only scoffed in response. For some reason, though, when it is Chloe telling her, Beca cannot help but believe her, and responds with a soft sigh, followed by a small smile of her own.

“I’m gonna turn out the light,” Chloe says, before commanding Alexa to do just that. Soon, the light in the previously bright room grows dimmer, until they are engulfed in a blanket of darkness—seriously, what a relief; Juliet makes them sleep with a night lamp on every night.

Considering it is still difficult, after four months of living there, for Beca to fall asleep in her bedroom, she expects it to be the same here. It is still something she considers unfamiliar territory, so Chloe’s room should be even more so, but as the room around her grows still, she finds that her eyes begin to grow quickly heavy. The soft sound of Chloe’s quiet breathing seems to help somehow, too.

“Beca,” she hears after a moment of silence, Chloe’s voice much softer than it was before.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for walking in here tonight,” Chloe continues, and soon Beca feels a hand laying across her own once more. Her natural instinct would normally be to pull away, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t understand why, she just...doesn't. “I really do appreciate the company.”

“Yeah?” Beca chuckles quietly, her own voice growing quieter with those telltale signs of tiredness. “It’s cool. I liked it, too.”

“Mm,” Chloe hums, the tips of her fingers stroking feather lightly over the back of Beca’s hand. Again, Beca does not pull away. In fact, she actually kind of likes it. “I really hope you do join the Bellas. I kind of wanna keep you around.”

Although she is positive Chloe just wants someone to add to their singing group, something about the statement causes Beca’s heart to flutter slightly. Honestly, she is just not used to someone actually wanting her around—it is not like Juliet does, and she is pretty sure Sheila doesn’t, either—but it is particularly nice to her that Chloe wants her around specifically.

“Ditto,” she mumbles, her thumb instinctively rising to brush softly over the side of Chloe’s pinky finger.

There is a stillness to follow, a calmness that Beca is not altogether used to, but again, it is something she welcomes. Something she has been yearning for for months now, in fact. No, years.

Although she feels sleep beginning to instantly overtake her, and she really doesn’t want to break the comfortable silence, a nagging voice in Beca’s head instructs her to do so. The kind that causes her heart to race again, and Beca licks over her now dry lips as she wonders if she will actually do it or not.

“Chloe,” she murmurs quietly, a part of her hoping Chloe is one of those people who can fall asleep pretty much as soon as their head hits the pillow—but a stronger part of her hoping not. Either way, she continues in a quiet voice, “If you did wanna make a move, you can.”

There is another silence to follow, a short stretch in which Beca’s heart thunders and she wonders if perhaps Chloe is already out, before she feels soft fingers slotting through the gaps in her own, then registers her sleepy, whispered response,

“I just did.”

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe fic #bechloe week 2021 #bechloe week #i'm talking loud not saying much #mine #mine:writing

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dumdumsun · 4 years ago

Text

Forever and Never

A/N: Welcome back, luvs ❤️ Glad to have you back

Warnings: mentions of marijuana

Word Count: 2876

—————————————

Two: Gotta Have Soul

“What was school like for you?”

“Like, a regular school day?”

“Yeah, like a regular school day.”

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A normal day of school for me was like walking around in a glass bubble. This isn’t a metaphor for personal space, but rather the concept of fitting in. Clearly, I fit in at school, but not in the way I expected to. I could walk amongst my peers and smile in their faces, talk with them, but it’d be difficult to hear through the glass of my bubble. We could reach out to each other and hope for a connection, but our hands would forever be disconnected by the glass. But they seemed to be fine with it. They didn’t want to come into my bubble, they just wanted to admire me from the outside. And I supposed I was fine with that, as well. It wasn’t like I opened my bubble for anyone, even invited anyone inside. I let Dina in once and got paranoid. Paranoid that she’d take up the air, that she’d hate my bubble and what I’d have to offer within it. So, I did what I thought was best and kindly asked her to leave. Assured her that she could maybe come back another time, when I was ready. As the sweet and considerate person that she was, she had no problem with it.

Stan didn’t need to live in a glass bubble because he didn’t need to fit in. And I’ve never needed to open the bubble myself to allow him access. He was welcome anytime and entered as he pleased. He was the only person who understood me. I realize that we had more in common than I thought. No one understood our fashion senses, our tastes in music, the way we preferred to keep to ourselves. I could breathe around him and smile and laugh, I mean actually laugh. It was just a shame it all had to wait until after school. Stan and I lived in two different worlds at school. Sometimes I’d catch a ride with him if he left his house the same time I did mine. The second we would set foot on the school campus, we were strangers. It wasn’t that we were embarrassed of each other, I just think Stan was intimidated by the crowd I attracted. Hell, I was intimidated by the crowd I attracted. I’d much rather be walking down those halls with Stan, Dina, and Sydney (if she was comfortable with me). Luckily, I had classes with each of them.

I had nearly every class with Dina, save for honor choir and theatre classes. We found a way to sit near each other in every class we had and talked about everything and nothing for the entire hour. Half of my classes were with Stanley, and those hours were full of glancing at each other and playfully winking or blowing kisses. He’d pass me notes old-school style, but always avoided the route that would lead to either Ricky or Brad. We had a couple of run-ins that led to them teasing Stan before the note could even reach me. Study hall was one of the only times Stan and I would actually sit together and talk in school. Sometimes we’d study, sometimes we’d skip and go smoke outside. Nonetheless, we’d make the most out of our time together.

I only had two classes with Sydney and both included Dina, so there still wasn’t much going on between us at school. She wasn’t as active in gym class as we were, so it was a lot of her cheering us on when we played basketball or dodgeball. She was usually the person to hand me Stan’s notes in science, having to dodge Ricky and Brad’s grabbing hands so that I could quickly snatch it. Luckily, I only had two classes with Ricky and Brad, and they both included Dina and Stan. So, I was never trapped in an uncomfortable situation with Ricky before their eyes.

Science was the most chaotic class for me. Not only did I not care for the subject, but my seat was away from both Stan and Dina. I was nearly sandwiched between Ricky and Brad, which set me on edge most days. Despite this, I simply tried my best to focus on my school work. “And yes, during arousal, there is an increase in all sorts of things, including adrenaline and, of course, blood flow,” Mr File droned on as I wrote down notes in my notebook. Dina always said she thought it was cute how I used different colors for each day. Little did she know, once I started this system, I couldn’t stop it. This was to the point that I had to buy a set of pens for each class. I couldn’t use my green math pen for my Tuesday science class. “And the blood flow continues down and then gets trapped within the corpora cavernosa. The penis expands, and this is how the Homo sapien male is able to hold an erection. Yes?”

My attention was diverted to Bradley, who raised his hand. Once he was called on, he set his hand back down and straightened his posture. “From my experience, Mr File, the holding of an erection is far more successful in the hands of a Homo sapien female.” His inappropriate joke sent an eruption of laughter throughout the classroom. I rolled my eyes in irritation.

“Very funny, Mr Lewis.” Mr File deadpanned.

“Just talkin’ science.”

“Moving on.” As my teacher turned back to the chalkboard, Ricky and Brad reached over my head to high five each other. I scoffed and continued on with my notes. From the corner of my eye, I saw Ricky turn around to speak to Sydney.

“Ah. Oh, come on, fire crotch. Laugh. That was funny.”

“Don’t be a prick, Ricky,” I hissed, the boy��s head snapping over to me. “It wasn’t even that funny.”

Ricky tilted his head at me and gave a soft smile, his hand reaching over and clasping around my wrist. “Okay, babe, I’ll leave your friend alone-”

“And don’t call me babe.” I yanked my wrist from his grasp. He froze, shocked, his mouth opening and closing as if at a loss for words.

“Mr Berry, if you could take your eyes off of Ms (Y/L/N) for one second to listen to my lecture, that would be very much appreciated.” At the sound of Mr File’s voice, Ricky quickly turned forward and returned to his notes.

“I’ll definitely try my best, sir.” He smirked, Bradley chuckling and reaching over my head again to give his friend another high five. My eyes fell on Stanley, who was watching the interaction in annoyance. When his gaze met mine, he gave me a sympathetic look. I only held my fingers in the position of a gun up to my temple and pretended to fire it. He shook his head in amusement before turning his attention back to Mr File. Glancing over my shoulder, I watched as Sydney glanced between Dina and our teacher before her gaze settled on me. She gave me a small smile and mouthed a ‘thank you’. I winked at her and gave a thumbs up. That was the start of one of the very few friendly interactions we’d have throughout the week.

On my way home from school that day, I spotted Syd and ran to catch up with her. “Hey, Sydney.” I grinned, the girl jumping a bit when I appeared by her side.

“O-Oh. Um, hey, Zip.”

“You don’t have to call me that,” I chuckled. “You’re normal.”

She smiled and stared down at her feet. “Uh… Why are you walking with me?” I frowned at her question, but she raised her head quickly. “Like, no offense, but… you usually just… keep to yourself. Or you get a ride from Stanley.”

“I stayed after for theatre rehearsal,” I shrugged. “But we never talk. We’re neighbors, Syd. And we’re both friends with Dina. Isn’t it weird we never talk?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I’m not saying we should hang out everyday and tell each other secrets, but… you know.”

“No, yeah, I get it. I mean, Dina likes you… So does everyone else, so you must be really cool to be around.”

“Well, that’s something you can find out for the both of us. Because I still don’t get it…” I turned my head forward, my voice trailing off. We continued our journey home in comfortable silence, every now and then striking up pebble throwing contests. Sydney had a really nice smile. It was a shame she didn’t use it much. When we reached my street, our walk didn’t last much longer. “Here’s my stop.” I announced, stepping away towards the mailbox to retrieve our mail. Sydney nodded with a smile.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll see you tomorrow-”

“Oh, hey, Syd!” Stan’s voice called out. We both turned our heads to see him getting up from his porch, making his way to the middle of the street to meet Syd. “And my lovely Zip.”

“Hey, beautiful.” I winked, pulling out a couple envelopes from the box. Stanley chuckled fondly at me before looking back to Syd, who was waiting expectantly.

“Oh, my leg fell asleep. One sec,” He then began shaking and stretching his leg, Sydney standing by awkwardly. The sight alone was enough to have me quietly laughing to myself. Stan let out a sigh once he was done and planted his foot back on the ground. “Can I walk with you?”

“Sure. Why not?” Syd shrugged. Stan smiled and turned forward with her.

“Cool.”

As they walked away, I noticed one of the envelopes was addressed to me. Maybe a bit too enthusiastically, I ripped it open. Inside was a lonely check. No note. Just like last time. And the time before that. Taking out the check, my eyes bulged at the number written down. Four hundred dollars?! Four hundred fucking dollars from Dad in two weeks! I tried to think of the upcoming dates. Was Aunt Pam’s birthday coming up? Uncle David’s? Jacob’s? No one’s. So… why did Dad send me twice as much this time? My head lifted to find Stanley happily dancing back up to his house, twirling and jumping with his bare feet. I laughed at the sight. As he descended the slope to his house, he motioned for me to follow. Setting the mail on the porch swing, I pocketed my check and hurried down to Stan’s.

-------------------------------------------------

“What about this one?” I held up Elton John’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road on vinyl. “I love me some Elton John.”

“Whatever you want, Nugget.” I heard him from the couch. Satisfied with my decision, I put the music on, nodding to the beat of Crocodile Rock as I joined Stanley on the couch. He had just taken out one of his pre-rolled joints from his case and was lighting it up.

“So…”

“So?”

“What’s up with you and Sydney Novak?” I cheekily grinned, my friend puffing on the smoke as he removed the joint from his mouth. “You wanted to… walk with her?”

“I wanted to hang out with her. We’ve never hung out before. I just thought she’d want more friends.”

“Uh-huh…” I raised a brow, taking the joint when it was offered to me. As I inhaled the smoke, Stan waved me off.

“Whatever. So… what’s been going on with you? It’s been about three weeks since you got back and you haven’t spoken a word about where you disappeared to.”

I quickly handed the joint back as I exhaled, the smoke clouding my vision. “Yeah, I don’t really wanna talk about that…”

“Oh.” Stan cleared his throat.

“Let’s just say it was… very depressing.”

“Well, what about your dad? How’s he been?”

“He’s good, I think. Working in Georgia still. Oh!” I lifted my hip a bit to retrieve the check from my back pocket. “Look at this fucking shit, Stan! My dad sends me a two hundred dollar check every two weeks. But look what I got this time.” Stan leaned over, squinting his eyes as if he weren’t seeing right.

“Four hundred?!”

“Four hundred!”

“Jesus, (Y/N), what does he do?!”

“In all honesty, Stan, I have no fucking idea. He doesn’t like talking about it.”

“Well, that’s not suspicious at all.” Stan mumbled, silencing himself by placing the joint between his lips. It didn’t take too long for our highs to kick in. When they did, we were draped over one another, lazily drawing shapes in the air. I reached over and tickled Stan’s foot, which was just beside my head. He quietly giggled and retracted his foot from me. I laughed loudly and dropped my arm.

“Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“This is where we peak, huh? This is, like, as good as it gets,” I watched as he lifted his head, attempting to make eye contact with me. “Like, we’re not gonna have shit going for us besides a lousy paycheck we slave for. And we’re gonna settle for someone who makes us all feel a little less lonely… or we just end up alone and blame everyone else for it. And then… In, like, ten years we’re gonna go to our high school reunion and then we’re gonna find out that… We all were pieces of shit at the age of seventeen and that’s as good as we got. It’s as good as we’ll ever get,” I pointed to him. “At least, that’s what you told me.”

“Nugget… you talk too much,” He flopped back onto the ground. “But yeah, you’re right. But, like… not you.”

“Not me?”

“No, you’re gonna… move away again. But for good. You’re gonna become the best… damn actress of our time and you’re gonna walk on red carpets and go on talk shows and go ‘Yeah, my best friend Stanley Barber was the best thing that’s ever happened to me’, and then-”

“That’s not how I talk!” I burst out laughing, which triggered his own laughter. We spent the next few moments rolling on the floor, trying to catch our breaths in the midst of our cackling. Even in my haze, I thought to myself, If this is where I peak, I’m the most successful of them all to peak with Stan. How could no one have wanted to hang out with him? He was the only thing that kept me sane most days with his carefree philosophy on life. There was never a dull moment with him. Never a single second of doubt in his ability to make me smile, to make me feel good about myself. And maybe it was selfish to depend on him that much, but I hadn’t even realized I’d been doing it.

When our highs almost completely wore off, I wished Stan a goodbye and headed back home. Entering the house, Jacob was just about to exit. “Oh, hey, Bug-” He stopped and sniffed. “You smell like weed.”

“You’ll live.” I smiled and walked inside. In the kitchen, Aunt Pam was making dinner while dancing to the music on the radio. Upon my arrival, she clapped and went to hug me.

“(Y/N), how was your-” She stepped back and sniffed. “Ugh, you smell like weed…”

“Sorry.”

“I honestly don’t care. But I wanted to tell you that you should call your dad. It’s been a couple of weeks with no call. Remember he said he’d check on you every other day?”

“I remember. I’ll call him right now.” Heading upstairs to my room, I pulled out my cell phone. I accessed my contacts before pressing on my dad’s, holding the phone up to my ear. When the call was answered, there was no greeting. Just faint breathing from the other end. “Uh… Dad-”

“Hey, sweetheart,” He rushed out, sounding out of breath. “What- What did you call for?”

“What did I… Dad, you said you’d call me three times a week. It’s been two weeks with no call.”

“You’re right, you’re right, doll.” He sighed. I frowned in disgust. He never called me ‘doll’. “How’s school going? Straight A’s?”

“Um… not really,” I mumbled as I entered my bedroom, setting my backpack on the ground before flopping on my bed, sighing contently. “A couple of B’s, but I’m trying. Uh, I got the check.”

“Yeah, yeah, your allowance.” He huffed.

“Uh-huh… but you gave me twice as much.”

“Yeah, for homecoming. Pam said it was next week.”

“Oh, yeah…,” I rolled onto my back. “Almost forgot.”

“Yeah, so just… buy yourself something pretty- Listen, sweetheart, I’ve gotta go, but I promise to call you in two days.”

“Okay, Dad. Love you-” I was cut off when he abruptly hung up the phone. Sighing, I let my arm flop down beside my head. If I had to be completely honest, that was normal behavior from my dad lately. Sure, I mentioned he wasn’t present in his mind, but this was different. He was clearly occupied. Very occupied. I brushed it off as him being hard at work, but…

Something told me there was more going on with my Dad. And it scared me.

—————————————

Taglist: @melinda-hargreeves @sapphicsyn @stqnley @lonely-kermit @give-the-boy-a-hug @moatsnow

#i am not okay with this #ianowt #stanley barber #stanley barber x reader #stan barber #wyatt oleff #wyatt oleff x reader #i am not okay with this x reader #ianowt fanfic #ianowt x reader #ianowt stanley barber #forever and never

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heyitssmiller · 4 years ago

Text

Clandestine

It’s here! The Sweater Weather/Coast to Coast Spy AU has officially begun! Thanks to everyone who’s asked questions/thought of ideas/showed excitement for this!! As always, characters belong to the lovely @lumosinlove! And thank you, @donttouchmycarrots for proofreading this!

Here’s the Clandestine Masterlist

Chapter One

Remus Lupin was being followed.

He hadn’t been out in the field for years now, but some habits would always stick with him. Surreptitiously glancing over his shoulder as he walked down the street towards his flat, listening for falling footsteps or sudden noises, and – most importantly – trusting his gut.

He could feel eyes on the back of his head and knew from experience that he wasn’t just being paranoid.

He took a few seconds to think about it, then grabbed his phone, pretending to be oblivious, and called Potter before slipping his phone back into his pocket and keeping his steps even and casual. Sure enough, his follower tried to take advantage of his supposed slip in focus and grabbed his arm. But Remus knew it was coming and caught the assailant by the forearm, using their forward momentum to pin him to a nearby wall.

“Why are you following me?” Remus demanded, breath clouding in the cool night air before he recognized his attacker. Dark curls, dove-gray eyes, high cheekbones.

Sirius Black, a prominent member of the Snakes, the Slytherin mafia. Sirius Black, who was actively being hunted down by the intelligence agency Remus worked for.

Sirius Black, who wasn’t even trying to fight back or break free. For some unknown reason, he was in Gryffindor - where an entire intelligence agency was trying to take him and the organization he was a part of down - and yet he seemed completely calm. Nonchalant, even. As if this were just a walk in the park on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Remus narrowed his eyes at Black. “What’s going on?”

Black reached into Remus’ pocket, pulled out his phone, and ended the call to Potter. “Not here. Do you have somewhere quiet we can talk?”

Remus arched an eyebrow. “Yes, but I’ll need to call that guy back. If I don’t he’ll panic and he won’t hesitate to shoot on sight if he thinks I’m in trouble.”

That wasn’t necessarily true, but Black didn’t need to know that.

After quickly calling Potter back and explaining what was going on, he hung up and led the way back to his flat. He knew that was a better option that going back to Gryffindor Intelligence. If he felt like this put him in danger, he could move pretty easily. It’s not like he had many belongings to begin with. Uprooting the agency would be next to impossible.

“If people end up breaking into my house after this, I will hunt you down.”

“Yeah,” Black scoffed, kicking a rock farther down the sidewalk, then kicking it again when he caught up with it. “You’ve done a great job of that so far.”

“And yet you’re here for some reason. That can only mean two possible things.”

Black had to abandon the rock as they took the stairs up to Remus’ flat. “Oh? Do tell.”

“One, this is a crazy scheme to slowly kill off Gryffindor Intelligence one by one and, for whatever reason, you decided to start with me.” Remus fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked his door. “Or two, which is more likely, you need our help. The only question I have left is why the great Sirius Black is stooping to ask us for help.”

He closed the door behind them and watched as Black took in his surroundings. It wasn’t much: a ratty old couch, a coffee table, warm brown-toned walls, and too many dying potted plants.

He really needed to remember to water those.

“I ran away from the Snakes and I can help you take them down once and for all.”

Remus blinked at the suddenness of that statement. This… this could change everything. They might actually be able to take the Snakes down, after years of trying and failing. He had so many questions. What changed to make him want to leave? Why now? But none of those seemed to matter at that moment. There was only one question Remus needed to know the answer to immediately.

“What’s in it for you?”

Black shifted on his feet. “My brother…” He sighed, refusing to look at Remus. “He’s still there. And he’s innocent in all this – as innocent as he can be, in a situation like that. I need you to ensure that you can get him out safely before we take them down.”

“I’m sure something can be arranged.” Remus agreed. He knew of Regulus, of course. It was his job, after all. And he didn’t seem as innocent as his older brother was trying to paint him out to be. At the end of the day, though, it didn’t really matter. Letting Regulus go free, guilty or not, would be a small price to pay for taking down one of the biggest mafias in the country. “What’s your plan?”

For the first time Remus had ever seen, Black smiled. “It’s all in the flash drives.”

Remus called Pots and Moody over; this was too much for him to deal with on his own. James he trusted with everything - it didn’t even cross his mind not to call his friend. He was probably dying of curiosity after that phone call, anyways. Remus wouldn’t have been surprised if he was already on his way to Remus’ flat before he got the call. And Moody could sniff out a liar like no one Remus had ever seen. If Black was lying - about any of this - Moody would know.

James opened the door then, making a beeline for Remus and dragging him into the kitchen to talk to him in private. “Alright, Loops?”

“I’m fine.”

Pots relaxed, but only slightly. “So he just... showed up?”

“Tried to grab my arm on the way home.”

“So you brought him back to your flat? I mean, I know you voted for him as the most attractive in Criminal Choice Awards, but come on, Loops.” He said, referencing the game they’d played with the rest of Gryffindor Intelligence over New Year’s while outrageously drunk.

“First of all, we don’t talk about that game. That was a fiasco and should be considered top secret intel. Second of all, what else was I supposed to do? He said he could help us take down the Snakes. I couldn’t just let an opportunity like that pass us by.”

“Ok, fine.” James agreed reluctantly. “We’ll hear him out, but I can’t promise we’ll do anything else.” He then turned to walk back into the living room and glared at the stranger in the room. “Black.”

“Potter.” Black said with a taunting smile. “How’s the kid?”

“Don’t you dare – ”

Moody walked into his flat with his gun already drawn and aimed at Black. Remus sighed. “Is that really necessary?”

“You can never be too vigilant.” He mumbled, not taking his eyes off Black, who just grinned and sent Moody a sarcastic wave.

“If we’re going to get this done,” Remus interrupted, still clutching James’ arm in a firm grip to hold him back. “We need to work together. So stop antagonizing each other and let’s get to work. Black, you mentioned flash drives?”

Black nodded. “Riddle keeps all the information about the Snakes on seven separate flash drives. I could tell you some of the information, but there’s too many groups and people that I don’t have memorized. If you want to catch all the members and informants and organizations under the Snakes’ control, you need those flash drives. As soon as you try to take the Snakes down, they’ll all scatter and you’ll never find them again if you don’t already know who you’re looking for. Do you have coffee? It’s quite late and this is bound to be a long conversation.”

“I don’t drink coffee.” Remus lied, although he could tell Black saw right through him. “Keep talking.”

He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, leaning back on the couch to get more comfortable and staring up at the ceiling as he continued in a bored tone, “He keeps the drives in different locations. One he keeps with him at all times. One’s in a safe in his office, and two are with his most-trusted men – Bellatrix and my brother.”

“And yet your brother is innocent?” Remus asked skeptically.

Black glared at him, all sense of nonchalance gone. When he spoke, his voice was deadly. “He’s done more in terms of taking the Snakes down than you have. We’ve been trying to destroy them from the inside for years, but there’s only so much two people can do.”

Remus understood now why people were so afraid of him. That piercing gray gaze was chilling.

“Ok, fine. Where are the rest of the drives?”

Like a flip had been switched, Black reverted back to casual as if nothing had happened. “There’s three in separate safes across the city – one’s in the police station, and two are in safety deposit boxes in different banks. That’s seven.”

James met Remus’ gaze. “Winter? He’s the best at cracking safes.”

Black grimaced. “And there’s our biggest roadblock. The Snakes know who you are.”

“What?”

“All of your active agents, the ones who have tried to take the Snakes down previously, they have files on.”

Moody looked like he was about to have a stroke. Black shrugged. “Their informants are no joke.”

“So what do you expect us to do, if we’ll be recognized as soon as we step foot into the city?” Remus demanded, running a list of their agents through his head and eliminating nearly all of them one by one.

“Surely you have some agents who haven’t gone up against the Snakes yet.”

Remus blinked. “You’re joking. This is your grand plan? That eliminates about ninety-five percent of our candidates. And those five percent left? Maybe two percent are trained and ready to go out into the field. This is a huge op - we can’t just send anyone.”

“You got a better idea?”

“Hang on,” James said, and Remus groaned. He could see that glint in his eyes. The glint that meant he had an idea brewing.

Nothing good ever came from that glint.

“We can send O’Hara.”

“See? We already have a candidate!” Black cheered, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. Remus bristled. “Who’s O’Hara?”

“We recruited him right after he graduated from Harvard last year. He’s got a near perfect memory, and he’s really good with people. He normally does stake outs or reconnaissance and the occasional honeypot.”

“He’d be good for this,” Moody gruffly added. “He can charm the pants off of just about anybody. Makes it easy to get what you want.”

“I think Tremblay would be a good fit, too.” Remus chimed in, thinking it through. They’d work well together. Finn might drive Logan insane, but they’d get the job done. Hopefully. “Bring in some extra muscle just in case things get dicey, which they always do with the Snakes.”

“He hasn’t worked a Snakes mission before?” James asked.

Remus shook his head. “He’s been back and forth between here and Beauxbatons, remember? Since he’s fluent in French.”

“Can he crack open safes?” Black asked impatiently.

“No,” James said, but he was still smiling. “But we know someone who can.”

Remus thought about it for a second, then turned to gape at James when he figured it out. “James, you can’t be serious.”

“Why not? He’s a perfect fit! And the only other person besides Winter who can consistently crack a safe.”

“He’s a kid.”

“He’s not that much younger than O’Hara or Tremblay, and you’re fine with sending them.”

“He’s never even been out in the field before!”

“Winter says he’s almost as good as himself.”

“He’s inexperienced, and he’s going to get himself or one of the others killed.”

“Ok, so then what do you suggest?” James demanded, throwing up his arms in frustration. “Do you know anyone else who could do it?”

Remus stared at him at a loss, much to his chagrin. They’d never had to worry about this before - Winter did all their missions when they needed to break into something. They’d never needed anyone else before.

Now it seemed like their biggest operation to date would be in the hands of a rookie.

After a beat of silence, Moody spoke up. “I agree with Potter. He’s our only option, if the rest of our agents are compromised. We can talk to Winter in the morning, see if he’s ready for this.”

Remus sighed, but didn’t argue.

“I’m sorry,” Black said. “But who are we talking about?”

James grinned. “Nut.”

“That’s his name?”

“Oh my god.” Remus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

***

Leo Knut (it’s pronounced newt, thank you very much) sat at his work station with twelve different locks in front of him, along with his pick, rake, and tension wrench. He took a deep, steadying breath and started his timer before instantly getting his hands on his first lock.

Insert tension wrench. Use the pick to find the binding pin and set it. Set the rest of the pins. Turn the tension wrench and…

The lock clicked open.

Leo quickly set it down and picked the next one up, repeating the same steps and singing along quietly to the song playing on his phone.

“All I want, all I want is you, your violet disposition, my unsound intuit – aaah!” He shouted when someone suddenly sat down on the bench next to him. “Fuck, Winter.”

Kasey raised an eyebrow. “You need to pay more attention to your surroundings when you’re on the job. Also, you’re tone deaf.”

“Thanks.” Leo muttered, reaching over to stop his timer and turn his music off. “Why are you here so early? Aren’t you usually asleep right now?”

“Yeah, but I got a call from Loops.”

Leo, always one to keep his hands busy, began messing with another lock. “You got another job?”

“No,” Kasey said, drawing out the vowel. “But you might.”

Leo laughed. “You’re kidding.” After a few seconds of silence, he looked back up again. Kasey’s face was dead serious. Leo set his lock and tools down. “You’re not kidding. What the hell? What’s the job?”

“You’d be going after the Snakes.”

Normally, Leo appreciated being direct and straightforward.

This was not one of those times.

“As in the mafia? Those Snakes?”

“Yup.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yup.”

Leo knew of the Snakes, of course. And he knew that Gryffindor had been after them for years, which meant it was a big deal. So why were they putting him on the job and not Winter? He had experience in pickpocketing tourists in the streets of New Orleans and opening locks. He’d only started cracking safes under Winter’s instructions eight months ago. Why him?

“Is Loops insane? This would be my first job!”

“It was technically Pots’ idea.”

“Oh. Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“Nut – ”

“That’s not my name – ”

“This is big for a first job.”

Leo fiddled with another lock, listening to the soothingly repetitive sound of pins setting. It was familiar, solid ground.

This, though, would be uncharted territory.

“I know.” He said anyways, trying to settle his nerves.

“You think you’re ready for it?”

Leo looked down, collecting his thoughts before speaking. “I’ve got to prove myself somehow, right? What better way to do that than by taking down one of the biggest gangs in the country?”

Kasey laughed. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m from Louisiana – it’s in our blood.”

“Okay, you crazy Cajun. You’ve got your first debriefing at 10:30. Please don’t be late your first day on the job.”

“Who am I working with?” Leo asked, tilting his head. “I mean, I’ve got to have partners, right?”

Kasey just smiled. “Trust me, Nut. You’re going to love them.”

***

Logan and Loops were the only ones in the briefing room so far.

And it was awkward.

Obviously Logan knew who he was – everyone knew his story – but they weren’t talking. The briefing room with the almost-hilariously large table was completely silent besides the occasional rustling of paper or the sound of the air conditioning turning on again. Logan couldn’t remember ever talking to the handler before. Maybe briefly, at that disastrous New Year’s party.

God, that party.

Logan steadfastly refused to think of the New Year’s party.

That is, until a familiar face walked through the door.

The redhead looked up, doe-eyes widening as he recognized Logan. “It’s you!”

Fuck, he was even more attractive now that Logan was sober.

Logan forcefully pushed aside hazy memories of laughing too loud at a story the redhead was telling, cuddled up on the couch with red solo cups in their hands and an almost-kiss as the clock struck midnight that Logan had wanted more than anything. He smiled faintly instead. “It’s you!”

The agent sat down excitedly next to Logan, eager eyes peering out at him from behind tortoiseshell glasses. “How’ve you been? Guess we’re partners now, huh?”

“Guess so.” He said faintly, the word fuck rattling around in his brain on an endless loop.

“I don’t think I caught your name at the party.”

“Oh. Logan. Logan Tremblay.”

“Finn O’Hara.” He replied, holding a hand out for Logan to shake. He then looked over to Loops. “We’ve still got a few more coming, right?”

He nodded reluctantly. “Unless one of you knows how to crack a safe, by any chance.”

Logan snorted, then shook his head. He wasn’t good at small, delicate things like that. Bashing heads in and upper cuts, though... “Nope.” He said simply, leaving it at that.

“Absolutely not.” Finn agreed.

Loops sighed. “That’s what I – ”

The door slowly opened to reveal a tall, blond boy with messy hair and cornflower blue eyes. He looked at the three of them, seeming a little nervous. “Uh, hey. I’m Leo – is this the right room?” He asked in a softly-accented voice.

“Yeah, come on in.” Loops said, which made Leo smile and –

Dimples.

Logan quickly shifted his focus back to Loops as he began to talk again. “Knut, meet O’Hara and Tremblay. They’re your partners for this mission. We have one more person coming before we can get started,” He glanced down at his watch. “But apparently he’s running late.”

“Oh, Lupin, you almost sound concerned.”

Logan’s head shot up at the voice. Sirius Black strode through the door, giving Loops a flirty wink before looking at the three of them. He grinned. “So which one if you is unfortunate enough to have the last name Nut?”

Leo sighed, while the other two fought to keep their laughter at bay. “It’s pronounced newt.”

“Not anymore. You can’t expect people to pass up a nickname like that, kid.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“What? Nut or kid?”

“Both.”

Black just grinned again. “Not a chance.”

“Are you done harassing our operatives, Black?”

“Why? Are you feeling left out?”

Loops glared at him, but his cheeks turned slightly pink. “Why don’t you start debriefing them instead.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

“Buzzkill.” He muttered, but threw himself into one of the chairs. “You might want to write this down – I’m only saying it once and I don’t have any of it in files or anything.”

Logan couldn’t decide whether he should be impressed or repulsed by the lack of professionalism. He looked over at Nut, who was already waiting with a pen and notepad, clicking his pen repeatedly. Logan gritted his teeth and tried to tune out the noise. O’Hara was just sitting back in his chair, content to listen apparently. Logan settled for somewhere in the middle and grabbed one piece of paper and a pencil.

“Alright, here’s the deal. I’m sure you know who I am: Sirius Black, ex-member of the Snakes, blah blah blah. You get it. Well, I’m here to help you take the Snakes down. All the evidence we need of importing drugs, trafficking, laundering, bribery, blackmail – Christ, this list is long. You get the picture. Everything illegal they’ve done, the evidence is on seven flash drives. We need you to get all seven and get my brother out safely before we can officially take them down. Easy enough, right?”

“This is going to be a long op,” Loops cut in, making meaningful eye contact with the three of them. “I’m talking weeks to months here. We’ve got a lot of intel we still need, a lot of planning to do. And it’s not going to be easy. If you don’t feel like you’re up for the task, speak up now.”

Logan sent a surreptitious glance at his new partners. O’Hara looked excited at the prospect of a mission like this. Nut still looked nervous, but his eyes were determined, focused.

They all stayed silent.

“Perfect. Then let’s get started.”

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #coops #sirius black #remus lupin #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #clandestine

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tearsofsyrup · 4 years ago

Text

half-silvered

— With all the time that has passed since your endless fleeing began, some part of you seems to have forgotten that you are running away from actual people and that there is an actual possibility that they might catch up to you.

pairing. kwon soonyoung / reader

genre. space pirate au, exes au, sci-fi au, romance, angst

word count. 4k

warnings. brief violence

notes. part of @merakiiverse‘s collab! happy holidays, honeys.

Your heartbeat is steady. And unsettlingly silent.

The darkness stretching from wall to wall, blanketing the rooms and corridors in a thick black only interrupted by the round stream of your flashlight which creates distorted shadows before you, does not make your blood pump faster anymore. A thrill you faintly remember from past times in this career is but a stale taste in the back of your throat now, its tang long since eroded.

Skimming over the numbers on each crate with heavy-lidded eyes as you proceed, your free hand digs in the pocket of your coat to retrieve a small list. You cannot bother to count the rooms you pass until you find the box with a code matching the one on your piece of paper, dismissing any distant thud that might reach your ear. Even the thought of one of the thugs you passed on the street before entering the warehouse following you inside, does not alarm you. You trust it would be different if a thirty-seven thousand credit blaster - stolen, naturally - wasn’t fastened to your utility belt, but you cannot be sure anymore.

You shove the end of your flashlight in your mouth as you crouch before the targeted crate and pull out your cloaked mobile to hack the heavy lock sealing the lid shut - a fruitless attempt at keeping your kind out. And with nothing but a few taps and a few beeps more, the lock slides open.

The list feels amateur to you despite its ambition; two whole pairs of di-blasters, no less than three Caratian batteries and one weighty pouch of crystal powder. You're aware that this used to be exhilarating, the thousands of credits worth of cargo you are currently tucking in your backpack - multiplied with a one point two by your buyer. However. You suppress a yawn as you check the list again, before closing the crate with a loud boom.

And wandering back the way you came is just as uneventful as you remember it.

Until you hear a door shut somewhere behind you, not far away.

Instinct is what swings you around, arm steady with experience as you shine your light forth and around, other hand ready on the handle of your blaster. You see nothing but shelves and crates and more crates as your light scans the room, penetrating its dense shadow. Your heartbeat is picking up, but shyly so, your breathing yet even.

Silence. Similar to the one that often creeps inside your skull and lays its eggs of isolation and loneliness in your dreams when you try to sleep during some nights. You gulp, slowly releasing the grip on your blaster.

So you turn back around, quietly and carefully-

A face.

Halted breath.

Soonyoung?

Everything burns, lightning setting fire to the bones beneath your skin and squeezing your lungs of their air and-

...

A piercing headache is what coaxes your consciousness, eyes yet closed. Piercing, as though you are being slammed in the head with the handle of a blaster over and over, the resulting groan that crawls its way out of your chest almost causing you to jump in surprise. Attempting to pry your eyelids open only seems to worsen the incessant pounding, so you let them remain shut, slowly realizing that you are slouched on the ground, back leaned against a wall of some sort. You move to push yourself forward.

But your wrists are tied behind you.

It hurts when your breath hitches.

You force your eyes open then, despite it seemingly grasping your brain and ripping it apart, the instinct to survive activating and tingling within your muscles.

A disorienting blur is all you see through your squinting, a distant canvas of blacks and greys and biting lights. You think a monotone whirr surrounds you but cannot be sure if its a figment of mere imagination through the painful pounding in your ears.

As your vision slowly steadies and your heartbeat’s speed increases, you see that someone sits before you. A face. When your eyes close, Soonyoung’s face flashes across the insides of your lids and you feel fluster burning beneath your cheeks, remembering. Soonyoung?

With a sharp sting, you blink and blink away the dim coating your pupils. It isn’t Soonyoung.

“Ji- ugh... Ji-...” Jihoon, your sore throat won’t let you say.

Jihoon?

His glare is pointed, willing everything in its way to turn to stone. Just like how it used to be. But filled with more hatred, directed at you now. And you can barely comprehend that it is really him.

The inside of a ship surrounds you when you look around, a grey and matte metal, various large crates - one of which Jihoon is seated upon - rucksacks and blasters and canisters and multicolored lights crowding the space. It is bigger than the ship of theirs from your memories.

Jihoon’s all but predatory gaze is still waiting when you return to it.

You try to clear your throat, wincing at the painful pounding that follows and echoes between the walls of your skull. Fingertips tingling, you remember being knocked out, in the warehouse. The fiery burn. Electricity.

“Ji-” you begin, voice raspy but Jihoon stands with a sigh and walks away, out through a doorway and presumably into another room.

You are left stunned, feeling abandoned, body aching. The chill he meets you with after all these years, without even as much as a word, squeezes around your heart in a most discomforting way, despite being expected. Despite him clearly having a hand in your current physical state.

But you ignore that pain and will your eyes to scan your surroundings, your instinct to survive muted but present, searching for any way to escape and run.

With as much power as you can muster in your unwell state and vulnerable position, you jerk your wrists against the cuffs tying your hands together. An electronic lock, you guess, definitely attached to the wall somehow. Inconvenient...

You swallow around slimy saliva, throat so dry it almost feels like sand on its way down. And Soonyoung’s face flashes behind your eyelids when you blink again.

Your eyes are fixed on the doorway now, somehow sensing exactly who will soon enter, rhythmic thuds of footsteps approaching.

But expecting his appearance does naught to calm the heat his presence spreads throughout your body.

Soonyoung.

The same Soonyoung but with grimmer eyes, a stronger build and a missing smile.

Your throat squeezes, feeling as though your heart has jumped up and plugged it shut in an attempt to leave the painful constraints of your chest. Feelings you have tried to keep hidden for so long. Nails bite into your palms where your hands form tight fists behind you.

He walks with steady steps, sharp eyes narrow when they meet yours, Jihoon stopping to lean against the doorway while someone unfamiliar follows behind Soonyoung.

It hurts to breathe as heavily as you are now but you cannot stop.

Soonyoung stills before you to sit where Jihoon had, the stranger standing behind him scrutinizing you. But you don’t pay the latter much mind.

“Soonyoung...” you sigh, but an injured whisper, something salty burning distantly behind your eyes.

He watches you silently, eyebrows twitching slightly at the utterance of his name.

“Why-” you begin but stumble on a cough.

Soonyoung reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a small flask, unscrewing the lid and guiding it to your mouth, helping you drink. If he were anyone else, you would give the offer a second guess. But he’s Soonyoung.

Yet here you are, captive in his ship.

“You never were good at being taken by surprise...” His voice resonates within the deepest parts of your chest and you choke slightly on the water, fists tightening impossibly when his sentence his followed by your name. The familiar vibrations in your ears are too shocking and it somehow scares you, a feeling you do not experience much of.

Soonyoung retracts the flask and flashes you a strained smile, eyes remaining dull. “That’s why we made such a good team.”

A stab in the heart, is what that sentence feels like and you cannot help but shift your eyes to the floor, your dirty boots. Unearned, since you were the one holding the knife back then.

You test your voice with a careful hum, lifting your eyes to meet Soonyoung’s returned frown. “Wh- uhm... I- You electrocuted me... Didn’t you?”

He nods, something pained in his stare. Freezing compared to how Jihoon made you feel. “Yes.”

“Wh-” A cough. “Where’s my ship?”

“We’ve parked it in a private haven. It’s ours now.”

Your gaze shifts from Soonyoung to the stranger behind him, his expression inquisitive, then to Jihoon, glare heavy with unmistakable anger. A swallow tightens your throat.

“You- Why am I here?”

“We want credits,” Soonyoung says and you frown. “A desire you must be pretty familiar with...”

Your heartbeat freezes for a second and something stings somewhere behind your eyes again. There is venom in his voice that never used to be there before. But you are who poisoned him so the hurt you feel is unearned, you remind yourself.

“So, then just take-”

“We want credits,” Soonyoung repeats, interrupting you and resting his elbows on his thighs to lean closer. “... but not yours.”

When your eyes stray due to puzzlement they are only received by Jihoon’s still hateful glare, therefore returning to Soonyoung quickly. Even though his hostility hurts you more.

“Then... What will you do with me...?”

The man before you shrugs, head jerking when black strands of hair catch on his eyelashes. “Nothing much... We’re not gonna kill you or hurt you any more. But I can’t make such promises on the Chancellor’s behalf.”

Your jaw drops along with your heart, and probably your temperature too.

“You’ve pissed a lot of people off, y’know?” Soonyoung continues, leaning away. “The bounty on your head only keeps increasing, especially alive.”

“Y-... You’re fetching me for the Chancellor...” Your voice is significantly weaker now.

And it seems to reach Soonyoung differently, because the chill in his gaze turns glum, a poignance in the way he observes your deflating form on the floor of his ship. Which only seems to worsen the pain viciously clawing at your insides, like your body is only just realizing that it is really him. He found you, after so long. And he is sending you to your probable death.

“Soonyoung...”

He purses his lips, as if biting back an apology of some sorts that he knows you don’t deserve. A nod is all you get before he stands again.

“Jeonghan, upload the route and start the ship,” he commands, seemingly to the stranger behind him. Then he is gone through the doorway again, what remains of your heart merely left to soak in self-inflicted misery.

...

They decide to watch you for one shift each whilst you travel toward your pending doom, a wise decision considering your track record of escaping sticky situations. Coupled with the fact that you do not want to hurt either Soonyoung or Jihoon anyway, despite phantom heat still tingling throughout your limbs from the earlier electric shock and heavy handcuffs digging into your wrists.

Jeonghan, the stranger, is the first to watch you. He is surprisingly nice to you, offers you water and even bread, initiating small talk - something you cannot remember when you last did without an ulterior motive.

“So, you used to know Soonyoung and Jihoon, right?” he asks at one point with an encouraging smile, making you wonder how much he knows. The weight of the question rings quietly in your ears.

“Uhm, yes... Yes, I used to know them...”

When you say no more, despite Jeonghan’s patience, he clears his throat. “Did... you guys have a falling out?”

You scoff upon reflex. “Yeah, you could say that...”

Jeonghan squints. “What happened?”

A heaviness brews within Jeonghan’s eyes and suddenly you feel like he knows everything, like he is just asking to confirm what he has already been told. To decide if you really are the vile monster he thinks of you as.

The darkness of the cargo hold turns colder suddenly and you look away. “I’d rather not talk about it...” you squeak as your heart thuds painfully.

Jeonghan’s all but invasive stare fades and he changes the subject then.

...

The next shift is Jihoon’s and you have never felt as naked, vulnerable and guilty as you do under his burning glare.

He doesn’t utter one single word. Only sits in front of you and stares, seemingly trying to summon your death with nothing but one long look and a chilling quiet. And you are terribly surprised that it doesn’t work.

Not even sleep is worth attempting in Jihoon’s silence as when your lids fall shut Jihoon’s loathing expression is imprinted behind them, slowly morphing into Soonyoung’s instead. It only makes your heart jump and eyes itch, so you endure Jihoon’s invisible knives with an increasingly parched throat for the duration of his shift.

...

Despite how unsettling being watched by Jihoon proved to be, when it is Soonyoung’s turn you almost ask Jihoon to stay.

Your body has grown heavy with fatigue but your mind awakens painfully when Soonyoung approaches, bringing a tension so thick it makes you sweat with him. Therefore his first action of offering you water is appreciated. But the way there’s a permanent frown weighing at the corners of his mouth makes the water taste bitter.

You break the silence after moisturizing your vocal chords, speaking over the consistent beeping sounds in the background.

“I think Jihoon wants me dead,” seems like the only thing you can think of saying. Even though there are so many words boiling within your chest with Soonyoung’s name written all over them, you feel like you do not have the right to their utterances.

Soonyoung’s lips purse, slanted gaze serious. “You’re probably right.”

It hurts, though you have not earned that pain. Only caused it.

A quiet that lasts a forged eternity proceeds, until the tension turns deafening.

Soonyoung sighs, a slow hand combing through his hair. “Jihoon used to like you more than me, y’know? You were always his favorite...”

It really hurts.

“Until you fucked us over,” Soonyoung finishes.

Averting your eyes you swallow around slimy saliva, a cold knot twisting in the pit of your stomach. And there is a burn behind your eyelids you are afraid will boil over if you meet Soonyoung’s stare again. The cognizance of your weakness that washes over you and makes your hairs stand on end is unpleasant, mercilessly corroding the strong image you’ve built of yourself.

“You-you gave up everything we had for... money,” Soonyoung continues when you can’t, the weight of his tone increasing. “You left us, you left... me. You left me for fucking credits...” His voice wavers and it’s a dagger in your heart, a sting behind your eyes.

Your memory is as clear as if it had only just happened. Seeing the offer that had been sent to you. Considering and considering and considering, all those credits that could be yours if you just made the right choice. Lying sleepless next to Soonyoung that night, palm flat on his naked chest. Getting dressed quietly, leaving the ship with the emptiness of an unspoken goodbye in your stomach, one you convinced yourself wasn’t real. Giving away the ship’s location to the bidder, knowing the trouble it would bring your friend and your lover. How salty the countless credits tasted once yours. You still taste it now.

Though you cannot be sure of how long it takes for you to notice that you are crying, you find that your will to save face has run out. You break at last.

Ugly sobbing bounces between the metal walls of the ship, worsening with each breath as you keep remembering that you are not the one who should be crying. Your lungs burn painfully, Jihoon and Jeonghan surely waking upon your horrid weeping. It feels as though your heart is melting, running down your cheeks and dying as the droplets flatten across the floor. In only moments, you are reduced to nothing. Nothing but shame. And the man whose heart you battered witnesses it all.

Eventually, there are no more tears left to cry and silence thrives again, save for the rhythmic beeping.

“I’m sorry,” comes the apology that is long overdue, as raspy as it may be.

Soonyoung’s expression is blue, eyes glazed over with a sadness you only recognize now when yours are too. “It doesn’t matter,” he reminds you, though his tone is not as dismissive as the sentence it offers.

Your head shakes quickly, strands of hair sticking against your tacky cheeks. “I know it doesn’t. You’ve always been a man of your word Soonyoung, and you will turn me in no matter what I say now...” you concede and Soonyoung’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I-I-I was greedy and selfish and only cared about credits, about feeling strong and independent and invincible-... Or so I thought. Or wanted to, I-... I cared about you two...” Your throat tightens, but you force your words out anyway. “I loved you Soonyoung and I- It wasn’t fake, I was never lying, I just-... I wanted to feel like I didn’t need you... And there will never be a time when I won’t regret what I did...”

Tears descend the expanse of your face again, but silently this time. And Soonyoung’s stare is filled with something warmer now, despite his steadfast sorrow. And you can only think about the hugs you left behind, the kisses, the smiles, the laughs.

“You’re an idiot.”

Your chest jumps at the new voice, blurry stare shooting to where Jihoon is leaned against the doorway again. He sounds the same after three years. And some of the hatred in his glare has faded now.

You nod carefully, lip shaking. “I know.”

Soonyoung’s eyes remain steadily on you.

From where your limbs are slumped in a dead pile against the wall, they stiffen abruptly when there’s a sudden hand on your cheek and your attention jumps to Soonyoung again. He wipes your tears with gentle touches, warm thumb soft across your skin. Nails tickle your cheekbone lightly as he moves to tuck some stray strands of hair behind your ear. Your heart must be shuddering.

“I missed you for a long time,” he tells you, pupils tracing the shapes of your features along with his finger. “And then hated you for even longer.”

Your lips purse, sour accord pooling in your eyes, his touch leaving a trail of pleasant tingles. “I hate myself too, and it’s due time I get served my share of consequences.”

Soonyoung’s lids become heavier and his gaze darkens. “You should get some sleep now,” he mutters.

And the temperatures within and around you drop when his hand leaves your face.

...

Despite Soonyoung’s request and your extreme fatigue, sleep did not come easily that night. Likely due to the knowledge of your approaching punishment - though it is hard for you to imagine feeling any worse than you already do.

The guilt that you postponed for the past years weighs uncomfortably on your shoulders as you now stand by the still sealed ramp, and so do the electronic cuffs around your wrists along with the hanging shadows beneath your eyes. A sickness is brewing in your stomach, made up of shame and hunger, but you somehow like it in the same way that you deserve it.

You can sense Soonyoung’s presence behind you as much as you can hear it by his footsteps, and turn around slowly. Jihoon and Jeonghan stand idly in the background, also awaiting your departure. Though there is seemingly something sour in the curl of Jihoon’s brow, and something hesitant in the stiffness of Jeonghan’s lip.

But undoubtedly, the grim matte of Soonyoung’s eye is worst of all.

His face hasn’t been this close in years and the longing ache his proximity offers feels as undeserved as his frown. You threw him away and he is still the victim, despite the handcuffs trapping you. Soonyoung is still the good one.

“It’s time,” he says, voice steady and breath fanning your face. He really is close.

You nod, "it’s time.” And the silence that has plagued your chest for too long only deepens then, cold within the confines of your ribs.

A smile is what the grimace you present is meant to be, eyes piercing his own, desperately trying to remember his exact shade of brown and the charming tilt encasing it. What you fell for, what you betrayed and what put you in your place. This is right, as much as it hurts and as dead as it renders your barely beating heart. The goodbye you have earned.

But a fire is rising in Soonyoung’s gaze, even though it’s not supposed to.

And then he is grabbing your face, gloved palms flat against your cheeks, and kissing you. His lips are soft and plump, his pace is hard and reckless, his taste is warm and familiar and your whole body is frozen. Until your heart bursts with something so loud it feels like it hasn’t made a single sound in forever.

Coming to half your senses, you kiss Soonyoung back with as much fervor as you can manage, tied hands tingling with an insatiable desire to touch him and hold him closer. As if hearing your silent plea, he pulls you in, leaving no air to breathe between you. You distantly imagine Jihoon’s head turning away and Jeonghan’s unreadable expression but cannot find the will to care.

Soonyoung pulls away far too soon and his serious yet heavy-lidded gaze pierces you still.

“Listen to me,” he starts, chest heaving in time with yours, grip meaningful on your shoulders. “Get out of there as quickly as you can, and come find me.”

Your whole body is shaking under the impact of your heartbeat.

“Understand?” Soonyoung’s brows shoot upward.

The demand is unrealistic. You have not heard of anyone escaping the captivity of the Chancellor and know that the odds are positively against you, no matter how skilled you might be. Your death is surely ready to welcome you with open arms, as soon as the ramp is lowered.

Yet, you nod. Knees quivering.

Faintly, you register something beeping.

“Soonyoung,” Jeonghan calls.

You don’t know what to make of the man’s expression when you turn to look, nor Jihoon’s.

Soonyoung’s whisper of your name brings your bug-eyed stare back to him. Those deep brown, fiery eyes.

You nod again.

He sighs, carefully.

Then steps away to push the button that opens the ramp.

Cold winds rush inside the ship and tousle your hair, worsening the shaking in your limbs. But all you feel is rhythmic exhilaration pumping from your heart.

You turn around, met with the sight of the Chancellor’s guards standing in the midst of a snowstorm, waiting for you. Nearly stumbling while descending the ramp’s tilt, the guards grab you and begin searching you immediately, while one of them relays a message to Soonyoung that you can’t seem to hear.

Your neck twists, eyes looking up and meeting Soonyoung’s from where he stands at the top of the ramp. Something in your chest is screaming and it’s deafening.

With guards’ hands patting you down, Soonyoung smiles and his eyes do too. And you are immediately infected, mirroring his expression instinctively, aware of how little you deserve him. In the chilling temperatures of this weather, your blood is warm. Soonyoung presses the button.

When the ramp seals shut, you are left knowing that Soonyoung will be there and he is left wondering if you will ever come.

#caratwritersclub #svtsource #seventeen imagines #hoshi imagines #soonyoung imagines #seventeen scenarios #hoshi scenarios #soonyoung scenarios #seventeen x reader #hoshi x reader #soonyoung x reader #seventeen angst #hoshi angst #soonyoung angst

171 notes · View notes

binniesthighs · 4 years ago

Text

two tails | reader x minho |

Three

Pairing: self insert, female reader x lee minho

Genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff

Tags: neighbors au, comfort fic, catowner!minho, catowner!reader, author!reader, bestfriend!seungmin, floristnpunk!jisung, gradstudent!jeongin, agedup!skz, slow burn, plot driven, gradual romance, lil bit of angst, strained parental relationship, explicit language, mentions of food and alcohol, mentions of previous kinda sad relationships

Word count: 5.4k (y e e h a w)

Tagging: @lauraneuuh

Chapters

P | ONE | TWO | THREE | ?

zeal noun

: eagerness and ardent interest in the pursuit of something: fervor

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Seungmin never liked your cooking, or at least, he’d often mumble this into his spoon while beginning his second serving. He was probably just being nice, or respectful. Your best friend of four years had never been less.

Aside from the fact the he had a 70 pound golden retriever, never had you once seen a strand of that golden hair cling to the cloth of his winter coats. In the autumn, he would drive you in his hand-me-down ‘91 Mitsubishi to the city where you would tutor the English students just so you wouldn’t have to bear the cold of the subway. In the summers he would toss soju down his throat with you, sitting on the carpet of your living room and turning his head to the side with a hand raised to hide his glass. In the spring, he would remember your birthday--several months before his--and take you to coffee shops and bookstores, then the grocery store (which he knew you hated) and would buy for you the most expensive beef he could find.

You would cook the meat for the two of you, and he would say that he liked it...even if you had charred it black on the edges.

Seungmin flicked at the little aluminum tab on his beer can while he watched you murder yet another plate of perfectly fine vegetables on your stovetop.

“At least it smells nice.” You flipped the circle of white onion.

“It does.” He returned, nonchalant, flicking the beer tab a little poink.

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet. Too tired to complain about those dicks from the marketing team? They put you on a shitty pitch again didn’t they?”

“Every pitch is a shitty pitch there. God, you wouldn’t believe the kinds of slogans that they make me say sometimes. It’s humiliating.”

“Hey, you’re the one that took the pay raise over that job at that high school.”

“Well, you didn’t have rent staring you dead in the face and a dog that’s practically active and sentient enough to be a real child.” He slugged down a sip of his drink. “I’m a single father you know.”

“As if!” You choked out your laughter. “Since when did you turn into Hyunjin? You were never one for dramatics anyway.”

“Go get your vegetables, they’ll burn.” He nodded his head to the stove. The thing was, they were already burnt.

You salvaged what you could of the vegetables then placed them over your rice balls (not intended to be balls in the first place) and the chicken strips which had undoubtedly been seasoned just a little too much. You slid the ceramic bowl in front of him. At least it was steaming. That was a good sign.

Seungmin nodded a little in thanks, then let out a less than obvious sigh before taking his first bite.

“Spicy...but good.”

The way that his breath sounded thin made it convincing enough to you that it wasn’t just “spicy.”

He scrunched up his face in that adorably puppy-like way that you had long gotten used to.

“Really. Tell me. It isn’t the pitches. Don’t pretend like I can’t read you.”

Your best friend squeezed his eyes shut with a rather generous slug of his beer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whaaaat?” You whined a little while opening up your own can. “Oh my god. It’s that girl from the art division. She has a boyfriend doesn’t she? Dammit.”

“No.” Your friend drew the disdain in his eyes up to you from the chicken that had made his nose start to run. He wiped at it quickly.

“I hope it’s not my mother that’s getting to you. She’s too damn nosy for her own good and twice as cocky as she should be. Don’t listen to her. What did she tell you anyway?”

Seungmin poked at his food with his fork then twisted a crispy-tipped red pepper. “Have you talked to him again?”

“--Minho?”

You shied at the memory of meeting him on his morning run two days prior. He would go out at nearly 8:00 on the dot every morning, just when the sun started to peek into the dewy pink and blue mornings.

“You should put on a sweater if you’re going to get up this early for those plants of yours. Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Yes.” You answered your friend. A tiny ache pinged at your chest--and it wasn’t the kind that felt all twisted. “He asked me to watch the meteor shower with him this weekend. I hope I can cook something edible for him.”

Seungmin’s knee bounced, “Aren’t you at least at little suspicious of him?”

“Suspicious? Why would I be?”

“You hardly even know anything about him, or where he came from, what he does for a living--”

“--Now you’re starting to sound like my mother Seung. Relax. Besides, sometimes it doesn’t take much to feel...comfortable around a person. I mean, look at us! Soju nights started like, three weeks after we met. And I do know where he works. He works for a company that makes windows; fancy ones.”

“Windows?” He cocked a brow.

“He did say that it was kind of boring...”

“I just--” Your friend sighed out, resting anxious hands on his knees. Here he was again, being nice and respectful, like always. “--You could get hurt if you’re not careful.”

“What?”

“I’m saying, don’t get your hopes up.”

“Geez Seung...” Your voice trailed off with a different pain in your chest. This was the kind that twisted.

His expression softened, and he lent a hand to your shoulder, lingering, squeezing lightly. “Your mom...she told me to look after you...not like I do that already with you falling all over yourself and burning things...I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Hm. Thanks.”

“You’re also miserable to deal with when you’re sad. You make me blow my grocery budget with how much frickin’ ice cream and freezer tater tots you force me to get.”

“You like those tater tots too though.”

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Bomi purred in your lap swaddled into a little ball of white, orange, black and brown. She was napping, or rather, trying to nap with the way that her little cat-shaped eyes blinked slowly. You tried your best to soak every little moment of it up: you knew that with her, it would be fleeting. There was something supremely calming about being close to your little furball like this. After all the love that you poured over her in the form of useless cat toys and new cat food every week, this somehow made it all worth it.

You tapped lightly at your keyboard, not too harshly, just lightly enough so that you wouldn’t startle your sleeping cat. The tips of your toes were cold, but you didn’t dare to move to grab a blanket to ruin the moment. Outside, a light spring rain befell on your small cement patio. Droplets of the warm showers patted at the roof of your home softly.

Your eyes had grown tired and dry at this late hour, but the end of the chapter was near. One more time you hovered your mouse over the little notification bar, clicking at it for that one last push of motivation:

Bomi needs to quit MESSING AROUND. Blaze is right in front of her!!! Ahhhh I want them to get together soooo bad

Is Herbie okay?? Poor bb, its so cute how we would do anything for Bomi.

Bomi:

Blaze:

*now kiss*

Are we really getting to the end of Book 1??? This has been such an amazing story N/n, I always look forward to your updates <3 they make my Thursdays hehe

I can feel like something big and bad is coming...oh no...I hope that Blaze and Bomi make it through

A thankful little chuckle hummed on your lips, then you pressed enter to start a new paragraph.

“Oh Bomi,” You exhaled, “If only Blaze knew how you felt too.”

Chapter 27

...The group journeyed through the cavern with flickering white flames dancing and casting shadows on the stone walls dripping in stalactites. Bomi held on to the hilt of her sword tighter with a sense of dread creeping up her throat. Blaze looked onward, much as he had been doing these days.

His leg was wrapped in a bloodied bandage: a reminder of the battle won against the Boar in Hilgram. He had jumped in front of her as he had countless times before.

“Hello??” Blaze’s voice echoed against the long and winding chambers of the cave. In his tone he was confident, but his shoulders still shook with an uncertainty.

Herbie’s little hedgehog feet patted the damp floor, and he looked up at his Princess with fear in his soft black eyes. The little velvet banner wrapped around his body had been torn and tattered from one too many battles.

Had it been darker, Bomi wondered if she had reached out for Blaze’s hand to find in him. She shook her head with her resolve, eyes painfully shut. It was only in the darkness that she allowed herself to want for him.

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Today must be one of those spring-summer days.

Your warbled reflection chased after you in the blue glass of the university’s library windows. You had hoped that no one was on the other side watching you as you wrinkled up your nose to look like one of those devilish gargoyles that you had been writing of the night before. From the inside, rows and rows of books were lined up perfectly, however there were almost no students inside. It always did make you a little sad how few students would be there when you clocked in for your mandatory office hours.

Spring-summer days meant that the businesswomen on the sidewalks had exchanged with trousers with flowing skirts and little clicky ballet flats and each businessman had his tie and collar tugged down. There was a comforting warmth to the spring air that reminded you of your own college days when you and your friends--long gone now--had stayed up late to study, then would scour the buzzing streets for snacks. Things were much simplier then.

At the library’s entrance, budding tulips and geraniums of light purple hues were greeted by round bumblebees. Had the city not been as loud as it was, you could nearly hear the cicadas in the park on the east edge of the shining silver building.

You bowed slightly to the attendant at the desk who always would smile at you with adorable smiling eyes to match. She would often wear earrings of strange shapes that you had never seen before. She wore a lanyard too that had little cat paw prints decorating it; it was because of this you knew she was someone you could trust.

“Are you having a nice week?” You said to her customarily.

“Oh, I am. It’s always the same around here. My daughter will be having her baby soon! Sometimes I think that I’m more excited than she is.”

“You’ll have to tell me when that happens so I can bring her a gift, okay?”

The attendant smiled warmly, and nodded you off with a little oh, you don’t have to.

“Remember your key card this time?” She watched as you jingled around your own keys with the obsessive amount of plastic and silicon keychains.

You tsked. It seemed like nearly everyone in your life had now known how forgetful you tended to be sometimes.

“Yes. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be over there.”

Once more the two of you exchanged little bows and you made your way over to the back of the four storied library with the atrium of trees in between. There was a marble fountain encircled by the trees that had little oval shaped leaves. Two tiny birds, all black, bounced from branch to branch. It was your secret, but you had written about that fountain many times in your writing, but you were the only one who knew that it was real.

You tapped the reader to hear that familiar do-do doot along with the flash of the green lock. As always, the study room was a bit messy with eraser shavings sprinkled about and the odd dry marker laying next to the trashcan where someone had tried to toss it in, but had missed. The minute hand on the wall clock scooted right on to the 12.

“Are you busy?” That fluff on white hair peeked into your study room just like clockwork.

“For my favorite student? Do you even have to ask?”

Jeongin, the oldest and most attentive student in your class hopped in with his adorably boy-ish charm. Regardless of the fact that he was in the last year of his grad degree, it was impossible for him to look that old. You didn’t have the heart to tell him, but he technically shouldn’t have been in your class for undergrads, but you weren’t going to stop him.

“Why’d you decide to take this class anyway?” You would ask him.

He’d answer, “For fun.” with that cute little smile of his.

“I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“I just got here.” You pulled out a seat for him.

“Oh. Good. I was wondering if you could proof read my short story again. I’m having trouble with the ending. I just don’t think I understand all the way how to make it full circle like you said in lecture.”

He unzipped his leather backpack: obviously a gift from someone in his family that must have thought it would make him look his age. It didn’t. What didn’t help further was how he had adorned it with all kinds of keychains; much like your own keys. It was because of this that you knew he was someone you could trust.

His manuscript already had dozens of scribbles in his own handwriting with tons of question marks riddling the margins.

“Let me take a look.”

You skimmed the pages of the short story--one which you had already read the week prior--for all of his new edits. The notes made it a bit hard to read, but you were used to how he would make a mess of his papers now. He leaned in close to you with glossy eyes that might have even twinkled a little like a cartoon. Both of his knees bounced furiously while he watched you read, and would look from the paper, to your face, then back to the paper, then back to your face...

“Is-is it good? Better?”

Jeongin had written a love story. His first one that you had known of. It was about a boy and a girl who had met on an airplane, and had been seated together. The two of them found out that they had shared so much about their two lives without ever meeting until this very moment. They had realized they went to the same high school, worked in the same building, and were travelling for the same reason: to meet up with someone that they had once loved. It was beautiful, tragic, and in some ways, familiar.

“I think that it’s wonderful Jeongin. The edits that you made to it from last week really help with the narrative flow as well as the vertical plot. You’re really good at asking the deeper questions behind the piece like “why are they really there,” and “why is it important that they are there.” All you need to do is tie it up.”

“But howwww?” Jeongin slumped in his wheely chair. “What should I say?”

“Well...” You tapped your pen to your lip. “The ending scene is when they land at the airport right? Why don’t you have your main character say something that calls back to all of their similarities and makes it seem like they’ve known eachother all along?”

“But I don’t want it to seem like they’re going to forget eachother.”

“They won’t. You established that they’ve both found something different than what they were looking for in the first place.”

Your student’s face tangled up into concentrated knots and he puffed those thin strands of bleached white hair away from his eyes.

“I could say...‘see you at home’? Or...maybe that’s too cheesy--”

“--No it’s not! If you like it, I think that it also fits the story well. Its like, now they understand, and they’ve got something in eachother now that they hadn’t had before; also juxtaposing with your themes of travelling to make a reference to home.”

“Damn, you’re much better at this kind of stuff than I am...” Jeongin wrote down the new ending on his print out.

“Its just...what I like to do.”

“I’m glad I came.” He grinned out with his mischievous and trademark smile. “How’s your story going by the way? Almost finished?”

“Oh...”

A heat rose in your cheeks. You had decided to tell Jeongin about Princess Bomi a few weeks back, but you had neglected to tell him exactly what the story was about. That was a secret better kept to yourself.

“Its...good. I think. My readers seem to really like it.”

“Maybe you’ll let me read it someday. I bet there would be tons of other people who would like to read it too, you know, outside of the internet.”

“That’s what I’ve been told...” Hyunjin’s urgings echoed in your head. “Maybe...” Your eyes wandered to those scribblings of his. “How about we make a deal?”

“What kind of deal?”

“Once we get both of our stories sorted, lets submit them together. I’m sure people would like to read yours too.”

“Mine?!” Your adorable student’s face flushed as deeply pink as the sweater he wore. “Oh no, no no no no no.”

“I’m telling you it’s good! Its relatable, raw, well written. It never hurts to try. How about submitting it for the literary journal they do at the end of the semester?”

“You mean the one that all the arts majors read and fuckin’ eviscerate?? Hell no.”

“Hey, I could get eviscerated too by my chief editor.”

Jeongin gulped with his terrified, brown, cartoon-character glistening eyes boring holes into his manuscript.

You sang, “~Wanna go down together~?”

“A-as long as we’re going down together...I guess it’s worth a shot.”

“Alright then!!”

He made a little sound of disgust, then shoved his papers back into his much-too-old-for-him bag. “That was all I needed to ask you for. Thank you.” He bowed with respect. “I won’t be bothering you for too long today.”

“You wrote a good story Jeongin.”

“Mm. Thank you.” His smile turned into a tiny flustered line.

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

STUPID NEW CAT FOOD. AGAIN.

In one hand, you held the crinkled up grocery list with angry doodles of your cat folded into the corners of the page. You didn’t quite know if cats had eyebrows like the ones you had drawn onto your cat’s smug face, but you were for certain that this cat must’ve had them...and they were angry.

Bomi had selfishly decided at the end of your week that she no longer liked the last brand of cat food that you had found on the shelves of the grocery store. It was the brand stored next to the one that you had nearly concussed Minho with.

You were at your wits end. There must have been something wrong with your cat--to hell with her being a picky eater. Maybe she really was just a little alien inside there. A little alien that hated cat food. The image of you sitting at your dining table across from Bomi eating two plates of people food crossed your mind. She picked up the fork with her white paw and dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin. The idea didn’t seem the most out of reach.

In your other hand was your phone opened to the maps app with the small blue dot leading you to the specialty pet store.

“Damn spoiled, stuck up, good for nothing, pain in my as--”

“Hey! Blossom??”

Your head whipped around so fast you cracked the bones of your neck with a startling pop. You rubbed at your neck to ease the pain.

“You okay?”

At first you figured you must have dreamt him up in your neck-induced-pain. You cursed at your overactive imagination, still just as strong as it was when you had been small.

Blaze in the flesh he was alllll the way from his battered Converse to his stupidly handsome curly hair.

You laughed out incredulously with a hand still glued to the back of your neck.

“Didn’t think that I would be seeing you around here again. Or at least, I was kind of hoping that I would.”

He marched right up to you with that same smile you had pictured on Princess Bomi’s companion countless times before. Today he wore a leather jacket over the arms that you knew were covered in all kinds of flowers and vines. It hadn’t quite hit you yet that he had said he was hoping to see you.

“Sorry if I startled you. I was just...really surprised.”

“You’re fine, it’s fine.”

You neck didn’t tell you it was fine.

“What are you doing around here?”

“Pet store.” Was all you could get out. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you, but for someone who worked at a flower shop, he did end up smelling an awful lot like flowers. It was a sweet aroma, much like your garden.

“Ahh, I just got off.”

You walked on, also not noticing that he had started to follow you a couple steps behind.

“I realized I didn’t get your name last time.”

“Oh. It’s Y/n.”

He hummed with a smirk. “I do kinda like Blossom more.” He crammed his hands into his pants pockets with a wistful little sigh. “Pretty nickname for someone as pretty as yourself.”

“Psh. Stop.” You had said it sarcastically, but you didn’t intend for your heart to skip as harshly as it did when he had said so.

“You’ve got a pet then? Dog? Cat?”

“Cat. Just one.”

“I wish I could take care of a pet like that. Don’t think I would be too good at it though. I see myself as more of a plant person. They’re quiet, don’t do too much, and they sort of love you back in their own way.”

“How's that?”

“By growing. And flowering. Changing colors and looking good in your windowsill. Nothing too crazy.”

“I...guess I can see what you mean.”

He flicked at the black hoop pierced into his lip in the way that you certainly hadn’t forgotten; and you were one for forgetting much.

“Mind if I go in with you? I don’t have a whole lot going on.”

Jisung. You had also remembered his name. He carried Blaze with him in the way that he had that fiery glint in his eye like he knew he was getting away with something. He was brash and forward, and charming as all hell. The sunset of blood orange and cotton candy pink seemed to melt into his shoulders where he stood before you in the golden hour of the evening. A yellow carnation was tucked into the pocket of his jacket.

“You don’t have to...”

He had already made up his mind, and swung open the door to the pet shop neighboring the floral shop. You didn’t know how you had missed it.

The squawking of birds chimed with the bells hung over the shop door.

“You coming?” He held it open for you.

You sheepishly entered before him, nearly tripping on the little incline to the entrance and catching yourself three seconds before disaster.

Jisung prompted, “Lead the way.”

Normally you would have been concerned over the cleanliness of the store, but that seemed insignificant compared to the way that he looked around all in his Blaze-like wonder. He widened his eyes at the rows of fish tanks and twiddled with the little feather cat toys at the ends of the isles.

Granted, he seemed much more immersed in the kinds of aquatic plants and moss balls that they had rather than the cute bunnies and mice, but still, you couldn’t help but shy away when he caught your glances.

“Glad that I joined ya Blossom.”

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

There was something about Minho that felt like a lullaby. He wore a lavender colored sweater when he arrived at your doorstep: of course it was pooling into paws at his hands as always. The collar dipped deep enough for you to see the tops of his collarbones, and they were gorgeous and curved. His eyes wrinkled a little under his wire framed glasses when he would smile: that of which would also look like the little grin of a bunny. Effortlessly his brown hair kissed his forehead.

He would speak softly and carefully, and listen to everything that you had said to him as if it was the most important thing in the world. His feet were too big for your spare pair of house slippers and he had a tiny hole in his khaki pants right by the waistline. Minho greeted Bomi with a tiny “aigoo” and she let him sweep her up into his arms where he bounced her lightly. She would never let you do that. Traitor.

“Your home is very...you.” He had complimented. You had no idea what that meant.

His lips were pink and glossy with drips of that peach soju that you had bought in the hopes that he would like it. It turned out that it was his favorite flavor.

You wanted so badly to kiss the peachy flavor off of those lips.

He had laughed a little at your array of cat-related home decor, laughing the most at your dish towels that had two fat cats on them that looked like chefs. He said that he had seen a movie once and the characters reminded him of that.

The two of you sat outside on your patio on the wire chairs that would imprint designs into the back of your legs. The air mixed with the smell of your citronella candle and the scent of the roasted duck that you had attempted to make for him. You really shouldn’t have tried to make something for the first time when it was also his first time coming over.

Maybe he was just being nice, but he had said it tasted good.

It did not taste good, but rather harshly of salt and too much rosemary.

Bomi rubbed at his legs under the table and even hiked herself up on two feet to peek into his lap. As much as it hurt to see your traitorous cat act this way, it was because of this that you knew he was someone that you could trust. Minho gave her head scratches and insisted to help you with the dishes--a mistake on his part. It took all of two minutes before you had a mishap with the detachable sink head, and soaked through his sweater.

“Maybe I just shouldn’t trust you with water then?” He chuckled while dabbing away at the fabric.

“That probably would be best.”

Minho was a lullaby in the way that he laid down next to you on that quilt you had made in a crafting class some years ago. All of the patches were disjointed the the color scheme made very little sense, but it was stull functional. He kept his hands folded to his chest with reverence. His chest rose and fell calmly, and his body heat floated over to you. His presence was something familiar and still something that you couldn’t place.

“Are you getting tired?” He asked you gently.

You lied, “No, just resting my eyes.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have had that much soju then.” He joked into the open air.

“How much longer?”

“At least thirty more minutes.”

He was so warm. Warmer than any chill of the spring night.

First you would have kissed the peachy flavor on his lips. Then you would have cuddled all up into that lavender sweater which you imagined to be even softer than cat’s fur--or rather--it looked like it could have been.

“Do you know any constellations?” Minho pointed up to the sky.

“Not really.”

“Well, that one is Ursa Major...and over there...that’s Leo. Can you see that it sort of looks like a triangle?”

“Yes.” You had said, but really you didn’t have a clue, you liked it more hearing him talk about them. “Where did you learn about constellations?”

“Long time ago. I think it was in school, but, that was so, so long ago.”

The cool grass under the quilt rustled when he had leaned back up to sit, then dragged quilt attempt #2 over your body and his.

“It was getting a little cold.” He quietly announced.

His simple action of doing just that heated up your whole body now knowing that the two of you were trapped together, inches apart.

Minho tucked his arms to prop up his head. “Thank you for cooking for me. I haven’t had someone other than my mother cook like that for me in a long while.”

“I’m sorry...I know that it was pretty inedible--”

“--And thank you for allowing me to come over too. I...realize...I don’t really know what I’m doing that well. I kind of invited myself...I hope that I’m not putting pressure on you or anything...”

“--Doing what well?” Your heart leapt into your throat.

“I just haven’t done this in a really long time.”

This.

What the hell was “this?”

“I’m not following...”

“Letting myself do something fun. Something nice and relaxing.”

You had formed a painful little “Oh.” on your lips. Your idea of this was different from his after all.

“--Something nice and relaxing with you.”

Another “Oh.” formed, but this one was a thankful one.

“Can I tell you something?” Minho’s voice was barely in a whisper.

“What is it?” You looked over at him and he was wrapped in the navy blue light of the night. You could have sworn that you could see the faintest inkling of stars in his eyes.

He looked back at you in earnest. “I’ve been...scared, too, since moving back out here.”

“W-why?”

“There was something in me that was telling me that moving out here wouldn’t fix everything, and that I would be stuck forever on those things that happened, and the things that made me unhappy.”

��Minho...what are you saying?”

“-Got my heart broken. Back then. As cliché as the sounds.” He laughed, and it even sounded a twinge embarrassed. “I ran away from it to here. I had figured that it would give me time to get it all back together again.”

“I-I’m so sorry.”

“Running is good and all when you can physically remove yourself from what’s chasing you, but some things...”

Your chest felt heavy. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“You do?”

The first summer cicadas had started their nighttime chant, and their hisses ebbed and flowed like sea waves.

“I feel like...these expectations that my family has of me, my mother...I can’t ever escape them. They’re always there and burned into my head. I think of them even when I don’t want to: get a better job that “contributes”, get married, have grandkids...”

You paused with your own eyes cast up to the sky. The massive expanse seemed unfathomable.

“Why is it that we can’t ever be happy doing the things that are supposed to make us happy?”

The first meteor flew past your eyes with the speed of light, barely slow enough for you to catch it.

The second was a bit slower, and traced after it a millisecond of white spectral dust.

“Did you see that??” Without thinking, you poked once at Minho’s arm.

You couldn’t see, but he had grinned with a weak smile. “I did.”

All at once, the sky was illuminated with brilliant streaks of light and their white hot heads that would fade and dissapear just as quickly as they arrived. They tore through the sky with astonishing speed and you traced the outline of each line as fast as you could.

“There’s so many.” You wondered aloud.

Under the warmth of the haphazard blanket, fingers twisted into yours: careful and tentative, soft and curious.

Minho breathed out, “I feel pretty happy right now.”

123 notes · View notes

royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Crown For Two {3}

Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU

Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes, Slow Burn, Tease, PLENTY OF WORDS

Words: 7.2k

Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.

Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”

Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated.

This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.

As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.

Note: All right, all right people, the ride continues. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a reminder, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.

As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Previous Chapters: {1} | {2} |

Chapter Three

-Y/N-

When you opened your eyes again, your head felt a lot different. It wasn’t spinning. It didn’t feel congested, heavy, or muddled. You saw everything with clear eyes, alert eyes. Glancing around the room, you took in your surroundings like it was your first time, though you were sure it wasn’t. Closing your eyes, you tried to remember everything that had happened. You remembered walking through the streets, taking pictures, and even watching the locals go about their business. You also remembered going into a bar and drinking that god awful drink.

When you remembered seeing Henry’s face, you couldn’t help but smile. Your conversation played over and over in your head and how easy it was to talk to one another. Even his smile and goofy laugh had you snuggling deeper into the plush bedding. He was definitely attractive. All of a sudden, the accident flashed into mind. You’d been struggling with the wind and the snow and couldn’t see not even two inches in front of you. The pain of being hit was absent. It was like it happened so fast that you were out cold before your pain receptors could adequately translate it.

You bolted up as the words “prince” and “your highness” echoed in your head.

“Shit, he’s a prince.”

You rubbed your forehead, then pinched the bridge of your nose. Of course he is, you thought. Why would you meet some normal person in this clear fairytale country? Leaning against the headboard, you chewed your bottom lip, beginning to wonder about several other things. One of them was your exchange in the bar. He clearly knew who he was. You were not naïve when it came to the attention of men. There was evident flirting going on.

“Was he trying to charm me into being some royal conquest?”

Before you could think on the topic any further, there was a knock at the door. You sat up straighter while trying to figure out the right way to sit. You lied back casually but decided that was too casual. You then straightened your back and took note of how your breasts were accentuated thanks to the proper posture.

“Too much,” you whispered, slouching again.

The knock came again.

“Ma’am?”

Shaking your head, you sighed and said, forget it. You had no idea how to answer, so you said the first thing to come to mind.

“You may enter.” You didn’t know why you decided to add an uppity British accent. Slapping your hand to your head, you shook it, already tired of your own shenanigans.

When you looked, it was the doctor you’d seen the night before.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

You gave him a polite smile as he approached with his black doctor’s bag.

“How are you feeling today. Better, I hope.”

“Much, thank you.”

He nodded, then placed his bag on the bedside table.

“How did you sleep? Any pain?”

“No—well, not severe pain. I’m just mainly sore.”

Dr. Alfonsi. nodded. “You can take aspirin for those aches. They should subside in another few days, as will the bruises.”

You nodded again.

“May I begin my examination?”

Giving him a demure smile as permission, he approached and began doing all the things a doctor would at the beginning of any appointment. He took your blood pressure, checked your reflexes and your temperature. He examined your eyes, listened to your heart, followed along with your pulse and respiration, all the while taking diligent notes on his phone that he held in the breast pocket of his white coat.

Ten or so minutes later, he closed his bag and then brought over one of the chairs in the room. Once he sat, he softly clapped his hands together.

“And that is that. I am pleased your vitals are appearing better and better. Are you feeling the return of your strength?”

“Not really,” you confessed.

“As I explained yesterday, I had concerns from the results of a few blood tests I did. Did you know that you have several vitamin deficiencies?”

Your eyebrows quirked. “Uh—n—no. I didn’t. What do you mean?”

“Well, in an effort to provide a most comprehensive recovery plan for you, as I do with every patient I see in the royal family and elsewhere. I ran a full panel of tests and came back with several alarming finds. You have a deficiency of vitamin B12, Vitamins D, and E, you’re severely low in Iron and Folate. Have you ever been diagnosed with Anemia?”

Your head swarmed with all the words and letters he’d just flung at you.

“Uh—no. I don’t think so.”

“I am diagnosing it now.”

You watched his mouth move as he explained the dangers of the deficiencies and listed the symptoms one would expect, which all coincided with what you’d felt on and off for some time. The explanation seemed to go on and on. With every word Dr. Alfonsi. spoke, your breathing sped more and more. He must have seen the terror on your face because he reached out and took your hand.

“It’s all right, dear. Though it is not as soon as I would have liked, we caught it. we now know that there is a serious problem.”

“I—I didn’t know. I mean, I guess I’ve been busy these last few months and on the go, but—I never--,” you trailed off.

“Calm down. It’s easy to fall behind on our health, but it is important we catch up. In order to do that, you’re going to have to make some changes.”

“What kind of changes?”

“Lifestyle and occupational. You’re going to need to change your diet, incorporate the therapies and medicines I will be prescribing, as well as taking it significantly easier than I suspect you have in the past,” Dr. Alfonsi explained.

“Taking it easy? What exactly does that mean?”

“Well, I mild cases I’ve seen in my years, I’ve recommended a month of strict relaxation along with what I’ve said before. That meant decreased hours at work, perhaps a sabbatical, bed rest until the patient begins to regain strength to prevent chances of falling and bone breakage.”

“Bed rest?”

“Yes, and that’s just for mild cases. Your case, I’m afraid, is a lot more serious. While I recommended it for others, for you, I would have to insist.”

You sat up, giving him a look that said he was crazy.

“I can’t go on bed rest. That’s not just decreased hours; that is complete incapacitation,” you protested.

“I can understand your alarm, but that is how serious your situation is, ma’am.”

“God, please stop calling me ma’am. My name is Xari.”

“Ms. Xari,” he corrected.

Several moments passed in silence. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Yeah, you hadn’t gone to the doctor in almost two years and didn’t take multivitamins and oftentimes forgot to eat, but you worked out, ate your greens—sometimes, and experienced plenty of holistic activities throughout the world. You had no idea you were in this bad shape.

“Do you understand what I am saying, Ms. Xari? If you do not make drastic changes for the foreseeable future, you may not see the blooming of spring flowers.”

Your jaw dropped. He was laying on pretty thick, but it was working. You were alarmed. Sighing, you rubbed your forehead.

“What exactly do you suggest then?”

“What you’re doing now, bed rest. I will communicate with the staff your dietary needs for the coming weeks as well as instructions for your medication--.”

“Wait, hold up. What? You don’t mean for me to stay here, do you?”

Dr. Alfonsi looked at you as if you were missing a few screws.

“Yes.”

You flung your hands out. “Nope. Absolutely not. I can’t stay here.”

“Why not? I am more than sure the prince would allow you to remain here until you are fully recovered, especially seeing it was his highness’ royal car that hit you for us to discover your ailments.”

“No. I can’t stay here. I don’t—I’m a stranger to these people. I am—there’s no way. I can’t ask him or anyone here to wait on me.”

Dr. Alfonsi smiled. “I understand your apprehension, believe me, I do, but it is unnecessary. I have known the prince since he was a child. He is a kind man and would never dare turn someone who is in need and sick away. You will be safe here.”

Hearing how highly he spoke of his prince piqued your curiosity. It could have been one of those things where one’s subjects loved them so dearly they had not one bad word to say about them, or one’s subjects fears them so much that they didn’t dare utter one negative thing about them. You wondered which was the real story. Perhaps a little in the middle, you thought.

Sighing, you leaned your head on the headboard, still adamant you didn’t want to stay here.

“I have a life to get back to. I’ve already been here for two days too long.”

“Two days?”

The question in his voice had your head snapping to him. You cautiously opened your mouth to speak. “Yes,” you squeaked.

“No. I’m afraid it’s been more than two days. It’s been a week since you’ve been here, Ms. Xari.”

Your eyes bugged, and you instantly began searching for your phone.

“What are you looking for?”

“My things. Where are my things? My phone?”

Dr. Alfonsi looked around the room then walked to a large wardrobe before he came back with your purse. You unintentionally snatched it from him, digging through it for the desired object. Once you had it, you discovered it was dead.

“Fuck.”

You began trying to get off the bed, but as soon as you stood, you dropped back to the bed, your legs unable to hold you.

“I would caution against doing too much too soon. I’m impressed you were able to attempt an escape once. I doubt you’d be successful a second time.”

“I need my charger. Where are my things? I’ve been off the grid for a week. I have family, people who will worry. I need—need--.”

Your chest pounded so fast you could barely catch your breath. As you struggled to get a full breath, you began to panic. Dr. Alfonsi was to you on the other side of the bed in seconds, checking your pulse and instructing you to breathe slowly and deeply. You would if you could and wished you could shout that to him. Before you knew it, darkness was all you saw.

~~~~~~~~

When you opened your eyes, you were again tucked in the bed, but you were now hooked up to an IV. You took a deep breath and noted the heaviness that resided in your chest. Groaning, you slowly sat up. Once rested against the headboard, you remembered your mission. Your phone. Kicking off the covers, you used the rolling IV rod as if it were a cane and stood on wobbly legs. After a full minute, you began moving though every step you took felt like you’d fall to the floor.

What should have taken you seconds took minutes. The steps proved to be more challenging to maneuver with the IV stand. You searched the room, but you didn’t see your luggage. That was when you saw your phone plugged into a charger on the nightstand to the left of the bed. You wobbled toward it then quickly unlocked it. Feeling yourself shake even more, you used the wall as your brace as you scrolled through. You saw the bounty of missed calls, unanswered messages, and emails of alarm. As expected, everyone was worried to death about you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You found your sister’s number and dialed it. It didn’t ring; instead, it went to voicemail. Your frustration was evident as you knocked over the small glass figurine on the bedside table. You ignored the shattered pieces and grabbed the IV pole, ready to walk out of the room in search of your things. Once you opened the door, your jaw dropped, seeing another luxurious room similar to the bedroom but decked in different colors.

You took one then two steps, and your knees gave out. Before you tumbled to the floor, you heard a shriek and your name being shouted; then you were in someone’s arms. You looked up into blue eyes that were framed by long lashes and thick eyebrows.

“Are you all right?”

You snorted. “We have got to stop meeting like this,” you teased with a soft smile. It was a smile Henry returned.

“I cannot make any promises.”

Henry then lifted you into his strong arms and carried you where you’d just come from. As he held you, you couldn’t help but glance over the side of his face that was perfectly in view. If you thought his jaw was chiseled to perfection before, now—you were certain there was not even one flaw about it. When he placed you back in the bed, he hovered over you for a few seconds. They were seconds that felt like minutes, especially with the intensity you saw in his eyes.

“Xari.”

Tearing your eyes from his, you glanced to your left to see Anika, your sister.

“Nika!”

She leaped onto the bed and scurried across to you, then threw her arms around you.

“Oh my god. What’re you doing here!? How’d you get here?”

“I’ve been so worried! I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Relief filled you, and you found yourself relaxing a little more.

“I don’t get it. How are you?”

Anika pulled back with a wide smile on her face. She looked up, bringing your eyes to the man who still stood beside the bed. His arms were crossed across his chest, and a soft smile decorated his lips.

“Him. He’s how I’m here.”

You were still confused, and you knew your expression showed it.

“I couldn’t reach you. I called and called and no answer. A few days ago, I got a call back, and it was the prince,” Anika began giving you a wide-eyed look when she said, “prince.”

“Henry, please, I insist.”

Anika smiled and actually giggled before she continued. “Henry. He explained everything and kept me in the loop with your condition. Because of that damn storm, I couldn’t get here. He ended up sending the royal jet for me once the storm passed enough to bring me here, so you’d have someone with you.”

Wow, you thought, letting all she’d said register. He’d done a lot. You slipped your eyes to him and found them on you.

“He’s been very kind, Ri,” Anika added.

You were speechless. What were you supposed to say? Clearing your throat, you said the first thing you thought of.

“Thank you.”

Henry nodded and held your gaze. “It was done for you alone and with you in mind.”

Well, shit, you thought, unable to take your eyes off of his. After a few moments, you heard Anika clear her throat, and it was Henry who looked away first.

“Right. I was bringing your sister here for you to see. Now that you have her, I will give the staff instructions to see whatever the two of you will need for your stay.”

“Uh—about that. It won’t be necessary,” you piped up.

“Excuse me?”

His intimidating aura increased, making you feel like a disobedient little whose daddy was about to punish her. At that comparison, you had a quick thought about whether or not he was a vanilla prince or one with plenty of shades of grey. Straightening your back, you held your head higher.

“While I appreciate all you’ve done for me thus far, it won’t be necessary for you or your staff to fuss over my sister or me any longer. We’ll be leaving.”

Henry cocked his head to the right, then tightly clenched his jaw.

“Is that right?”

“Why are we leaving?”

Ignoring Anika’s question, you decided not to look away from Henry feeling a challenge in how he looked at you.

“According to Dr. Alfonsi, you’re in no shape to be going anywhere.” He nodded to your IV pole for emphasis.

“I will stay at the inn that is in town or a hotel.”

“Nonsense. It was my fault you were hurt, and my responsibility to rectify the damage and harm I have caused.”

“He’s right, Xari. It’s his fault, and you should let him accrue the expenses,” Anika voiced.

“Nika!”

“What! He’s a prince, Ri. He got it,” she replied a little under her breath but still loud enough for him to hear.

“I must agree with Lady Anika.”

Anika snorted and laughed. “I’m definitely not a lady.”

Henry smirked at her then quickly looked back to you. “I must insist you remain here. At least until Dr. Alfonsi has given you the seal of good health. I am afraid if you were to go anywhere, something would happen to you, and I would not be able to forgive myself.”

You studied him for a few moments, taking in the expression on his face as well as the tight clench of his jaws. Your eyes moved down to his still folded arms and the muscles that bulged because of his stance. He was definitely overwhelming like this, and though you hated to feel like a bother, you suspected that here was the best place for now. Glancing to Anika, she gave you a stern eye that said, “just give in already.”

Rolling your eyes, you nodded. “Fine, but only until I’m well enough.”

“If that is your wish, just know you are welcomed here for however long you wish.”

“My goodness, such a gentleman. They sure breed them differently here, huh sis.”

Henry smiled, then glanced at Anika. “Everything is different here in Brexendor.”

“I bet,” Anika finished.

“Since it is settled, I will proceed to advise the staff. Dr. Alfonsi has already given several strict dietary orders as well as health orders. If there is anything you require do not hesitate to speak it. Lady Anika, I have already instructed a bedroom be prepared for you, but I will instruct it be as close to your sister as possible.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, then looked back at you. “I sincerely hope you feel better soon.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I am afraid I have quite a lot to do today. By all means, though, feel free to go where you please. My home is yours, ladies.”

With that, he curtly bowed his head then walked toward the door. Before he walked out, he stopped.

“Oh, Xari, try not to escape again. I cannot guarantee I will always be there to catch you.”

You saw the hint of a smile on his lips and instantly knew he was teasing you.

“Somehow, your highness, I suspect you will magically appear at the mere hint of a faint.”

He chuckled to himself then walked out, closing the doors behind him. Once alone, Anika wasted no time.

“Holy fucking shit, he is hot as fuck!”

You snorted and laughed as you relaxed into the bed.

“Wonderful censor you have there, Nika.”

“Fuck censor.”

“Well, that last time I said fuck here, I was looked at like I was the most uncouth Neanderthal. I suggest you keep your fucks to a minimum.”

Anika bounced you. “Will you be able to keep your fucks to a minimum?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Anika rolled her eyes. “Whatever! The air hasn’t even gotten a chance to come back down from the sweltering levels your guys’ flirting raised it to.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me! There was no flirting.”

“Yes, there was, and it was not on your side alone. He was flirting with you too. What in the world is going on? I need the whole story without even the smallest detail left out.”

You sighed then proceeded to tell her the whole sordid tale. As instructed, you didn’t leave anything out. You even told her about that exchange between you and Henry before you walked out of the bar. At the end of story time, Anika had a huge grin on her face.

“What are you grinning at?”

“You. Leave it to you to get whisked away by a prince and have him fall; for you in record time.”

“No, no, no. Falling? Nika, you’re imagining things. He hasn’t fallen for anyone. He’s a prince, for crying out loud. They don’t fall for anyone, let alone some commoner. Have you never watched The Crown?”

Anika snorted and dropped to the bed at your feet.

“First of all, The Crown is whack. Second of all, this is not England. This place is fantastic. It’s like some Hallmark country where everything is beautiful, quaint, and perfect. You smiled and bit your bottom lip, agreeing fully.

“Third, I was sitting right here, listening to your banter. I think he could totally fall for you if he hasn’t already.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring everything she was saying. Anika loved to play matchmaker, though you hated every time she did it.

“You’re practically in his bed. We just have to get you there.”

You rolled your eyes again, shocked at how quickly she’d gotten there. “Okay, down, girl. According to this doctor, I’m falling apart, Nika. Any bed I’ll be in for a while is this one.”

“Well, now you have me here to encourage you to lap up the luxury and hospitality of his highness the prince of Brexendor. Get the fuck outta here!”

The two of you laughed loudly. This situation you’d found yourself into was the most ridiculous one either of you could have ever begun to imagine.

A few hours later, you found yourself alone while Anika settled in her room. Another knock sounded at your door. Being unable to open it yourself, you instructed them to come in. Once the doors opened in walked a beautiful girl about your age with long black hair and features similar to Henry’s. In your head, you suspected she was a family member. She smiled sweetly as she approached you. When she was by your bedside, she dropped onto the mattress.

“Hi.”

You returned her warm smile. “Hi.”

“My god, you are beautiful.”

You snorted, then pinched your lips together, trying to suppress your laugh. She was insane. You looked the worst you’d ever looked.

“You’re being kind. I haven’t showered in a week and only today got to comb my hair. You’re being very, very kind.”

She giggled but still looked genuine.

“I’m Jemma,” she said, holding her hand out to you. Once you took it, and instantly noted how soft they were.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“I have been trying to get here to introduce myself, but Henry told me to stay away so you could acclimate. Otherwise, I would have been here much sooner.”

You smiled and assured her it was fine.

“How are you doing?”

You shrugged. “I guess I’m okay.”

She didn’t look convinced and took you in for a few moments. “I’m sure my brother has brought all the best doctors for your care and has thought of everything that would ensure your comfort. With that treatment, I expect you to make a full recovery in no time.”

“Brother.”

“Yes. Please tell me you did not think I was his girlfriend or something of the sort.”

She looked disgusted, which made you laugh.

“No. I suspected a family member. So you’re a princess.”

Jemma rolled her eyes as she sighed out as if she was already tired of the conversation.

“Yes, but I promise it is not nearly as glamourous as you’re thinking. The only nice thing about it is the diamonds, everything else, eh.”

You smiled, already liking her. she gave off an air that said she didn’t take herself seriously and even liked to have a bit of fun more times than not.

“The staff is all abuzz with news that you will be residing with us for the next few weeks. Henry has told them to cater to your every whim, and because it came from him, everyone is in a tizzy over it, prepping to ensure you are at your most comfortable,” Jemma explained.

“What. No, that’s not what I want at all. They don’t have to go all out.”

“It’s okay.”

“No. then everyone will think I’m some prissy thing who likes to be waited on when that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Jemma took you for a little while, then took your hand and squeezed it gently.

“Not to worry, Xari. I assure you no one will think that.”

You sighed then tried to forget it because it was too late to change whether or not they thought it. You were sure everyone was already whispering about you and Anika, the two Americans who’d somehow found their way into the palace.

“Also, we are not as gossip centered as other monarchies. I promise,” Jemma added, raising her hand as if to swear it.

When she sensed you relaxed, she proceeded to ask a plethora of questions about you, ranging from where you were from to what you did and the all-important if you were single. You felt like you were on a modern-day “Who Wants to be Friends With a Princess” tv show. With every fact, you revealed she revealed a similar one and so on. After an hour, you found that you had plenty in common, something that was shocking for you.

When Anika came back, the party really stated. Your laughter picked up, as did the stories that Jemma revealed about royal life. Those stories prompted Anika to tell stories of life as a commoner in America as she called it. The only thing was her stories we mainly all about partying, dating, and men. With each story, Jemma’s eyes widened, and you felt like slowly Anika would end up corrupting her.

“Nika, stop. You’re going to have her on an episode of Princesses Gone Wild,” you joked, which had both of them in stitches on your bed.

“I will have you know that I am not some innocent wallflower. I know things,” Jemma countered.

You couldn’t help but laugh loudly. Just the way she said that told you she didn’t know very many things. That was when Jemma proceeded to list the names of the men she’d dated, a list of three men. Anika was the one to ask the nature of these relationships, to which Jemma said she knew in great detail the kind of underwear each man wore. You lost it right then and there, dropping onto the bed in a fit of laughter.

Exhaustion caught you off guard, dampening the mood of the night. Jemma assured you that she’d keep Anika company and show her around to give you time to take a nap. After thanking her, the two women walked out of your room, leaving you to silence. Once the door closed, it opened again. this time it was the woman named Audrina.

“Good evening, ma’am. Is there anything I can bring you?”

“No. I’m all right.”

She nodded, then closed the door leaving you again. You quickly drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~

-Henry-

He’d never met anyone quite as beautiful as you. he remembered when you’d walked into the bar and sat down beside him like you were right where you were supposed to be. You had no idea that the bar was empty because it was closed for him to be there, had no idea that he was not some ordinary citizen. He liked being a no one, especially if it meant he could sit there with you all night. He remembered wanting just that. If his phone hadn’t run, if he’d had more time, he probably would have tried to hold your hand. If he’d had more time, he would have gotten himself into an even bigger predicament than he was now—attracted to a woman he knew better than to touch.

Slowly he looked over the features of your face and took in each detail. He pressed the elements of your face to his memory so he could call on them when he was alone, buried in work. A sigh escaped him as a lite feeling filled him. It was an unfamiliar one. He wanted to touch you. It was an urge that was so strong he almost couldn’t overpower it—almost. He balled his fist and sat back in the settee beside your bed, trying to ignore the feelings that washed over him.

“Remember yourself,” he whispered before he looked back to the work he’d brought with him when he’d decided to pay you a quick visit.

This quick visit was an hour ago. When he found you asleep, he should have turned around and left, but he couldn’t. He intended to sit here for a few minutes, ten tops, but he still had yet to tear himself away. He mustered what was left of his control and focused on the screen before him and tried to write his speech for the new world bank’s upcoming opening.

This was one of his father’s pet projects, and he was filled with pride to see it to fruition, but also it made him miss the man more. Sighing, he closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. Every time he thought of his father in the last few months, it brought him added stress. It was this stress that prevented him from sleeping longer than four hours a night.

“Christ,” he whispered.

“Are you all right?”

Jerking his head up, he saw you awake with your head still atop the pillow. You looked like a dream, or perhaps his best nightmare.

“I am sorry. Was I too loud?”

“No. I um—just happened to open my eyes.”

You slowly sat up, allowing the blanket to fall from your chest to your lap. As you adjusted yourself, he moved his laptop to the other side of the settee.

“You didn’t answer me, though. Are you all right?”

A smile tugged at his lips, but he fought it. “Me? Should it not be me be asking you that?”

“Can’t we ask each other?”

He studied you for a few moments, then nodded. “I am fine.”

“Liar.”

His jaw dropped, half shocked you would go there. There weren’t many people in his life that would dare.

“I take it no one calls his highness a liar,” you teased.

“You take it right. Maybe Jemma or my mother on occasion and a few of my friends but not many.”

You smiled, then shrugged. “I call em’ like I see em.’”

He crossed his arms and leaned back. “Pray tell, what gave me away to make you insult me so?”

Your smile widened before you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, bringing his eyes right there. He adjusted in the seat he sat and waited for you to continue.

“Your eyes are red, under your eyes puffy, and one doesn’t just say Christ to say Christ.”

You had him there. He pushed his fist under his chin and continued to watch you.

“So you are implying I look bad.”

You smirked then, and he picked up the change in the air.

“I mean, I’m sure I look the same as you. So take comfort in that.”

A chuckle escaped him. “So that is a yes; I do look bad.”

You looked at him but didn’t answer.

“I will take that as a yes on my part. however, regarding you, you look far from bad.”

You snorted then laughed, and it was the most shockingly endearing sound. It wasn’t a laugh he would hear from others in his company. Their laughs would be all dignified, but yours was genuine. It was also downright terrifying, but he preferred it.

“Now I know you’re a liar. I look absolutely disgusting. I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this, but I haven't showered in a week.”

He pinched his lips, hiding his smile. You looked so uncomfortable admitting that.

“Oh my.” He placed his hand over his mouth as if the fact mortified him.

You pinched your lips.

“Please tell me you have at least brushed your teeth.”

“Today was the first day in just as much time.”

Again he put his hand over his mouth and widened his eyes for emphasis. “Appalling.”

You snorted again, and the delightful laugh came back. This time the laugh looked to encompass your entire being, and you glowed. When your laughter subsided, you dabbed at your eyes as you tried to catch your breath. He held out his handkerchief to you. When you took it, you used it to replace your fingers.

“Thank you.”

When you finished, you inspected the fabric, then looked at him.

“You must like your women disgusting to still be here.”

He shrugged.

“How are you feeling?”

“After that nap, I’m feeling well.”

That made him happy.

“Are you feeling well enough for some dinner?”

“Uh—I was told I’m to stay in bed.”

“Yes, Dr. Alfonsi has informed me and the staff as well. That is why--,” he began before walking across the room to the door.

Once he opened it, the staff rolled in three carts filled with platters, trays, and bowls of plenty. Once the carts were parked, he thanked the staff and let them see themselves out.

“Dinner is served.”

The look on your face said you didn’t know what to say, so he uncovered the treys finding the menu items he’d chosen for the meal.

“I was not sure what you liked, so I had them bring all of it.”

He took up a plate and brought it to you. It took a few moments for you to take it, but you did. That was when he went back for his to sit back on the settee.

“Also, do not feel as if you have to eat ladylike for me,” he began.

You took up your fork and shoved an overflowing fork full of mashed potatoes into your mouth, letting a small glob rest at the side of your mouth.

“What was that, your highness?”

That was all it took for his attraction to turn to yearning.

The two of you ate in silence for the most part. He asked you questions to get to know you better, and every new piece of information he found out only made him like you more and more. When you spoke about your career, he heard the passion in your voice, and it spoke to something in him. It had been a long time since he’d been around anyone who was genuinely passionate about the things they enjoyed. It stirred something in him, something he wasn’t quite ready to uncover.

“I am sorry that I did not tell you once we met who I was.”

You paused with your fork in your mouth.

“It’s okay. To be real, why would you reveal to a stranger your secret identity. That’s like Clark Kent walking around in his incognito glasses with an S on his chest. It defeats the purpose.”

“Clark Kent. Superman.”

“Yes, one of my favorite superheroes.”

A soft smile spread across his face before he nodded.

“What’s yours? Wonder Woman?”

He scoffed, then shook his head as he stood and approached the carts, ready for dessert. It wasn’t the Strawberry Cheesecake he truly desired, but it would have to do. When he returned to his seat, he placed your plate in front of you and sat.

“It’s Wonder Woman, huh, or maybe Poison Ivy, ooh, Catwoman.”

He sat there patiently, letting you list them off. He couldn’t help but wonder why those were chosen.

“Before I answer, can I ask why you chose them?”

He saw the mischievous glint twinkle in your eye as your lips quirked up into a smirk.

“Oh, this, I must hear.”

“No reason. They’re just seen as the most desirable by fanboy standards,” you responded while rolling with your eyes.

He suppressed a chuckle to put a piece of the cheesecake into his mouth.

“So?”

“None of those.”

“Oh, please do enlighten me,” you quipped.

Resting the fork on the side of the dish, he responded. “Nubia and Storm.”

He sat there and thoroughly enjoyed watching the emotions wash over your face. Shock was the first, then disbelief, and finally awe. Now you sat there assessing him as if you thought he was pranking you. He was not. You opened your mouth to say something, and he stopped you before you did.

“I suggest you do not repeat it. I assure you I am not.”

Your eyes darkened right at the moment you sucked your bottom lip back into your mouth. Losing his train of thought and head for control, he put another piece of the cake into his mouth, licking the back of the fork. Your eyes lowered to his mouth and your teeth sunk into that delectable bottom lip. If he were a weaker man, he would have tossed the plate he held to the side and been on you in under five seconds, but he was not a weak man. As future King, weakness had no place in the monarchy.

Weakness was not an option until he saw you put the fork in your mouth to mirror his actions, only your tongue swirled around the teeth of the fork in a way that made his pants instantly too tight. Christ, help him.

He cleared his throat and changed his position on the couch to one that would hide your effect.

“Interesting. I didn’t expect those,” you stuttered.

“What did—what did you expect?”

You shrugged and toyed with the fork against your lips. “Something else, but I’m pleasantly surprised.”

Your eyes met again, and the temptation he felt was somehow more than he’d ever felt. He wanted you. He’d wanted you since you cursed about how disgusting the drink was at the bar. The only thing was, this want had shifted.

“I am happy it is pleasantly.”

Again your eyes lingered, and he wanted nothing more than to give in to the heavy cloud of temptation that filled the room.

“What’re you working on?”

He cleared his throat again and straightened himself. “Uh—a speech. One of my father’s projects premiers in a few days, the first since his um—” he cleared his throat again. “Since his passing, and I am going to be the one to cut the ribbon on it.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Keeping his eyes turned downward, he nodded. The sincerity in your voice touched him. “Thank you.”

The silence between you stretched for a few seconds before you spoke again.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The speech, um—I do not know. It just does not feel right.”

“Want me to take a look?”

“Do you have an aptness for speeches?”

You placed your place to the side and adjusted your posture.

“Not speeches in general. I do have a knack for words. I’ve spent the last few years writing about the places I’ve gone in such a way that makes people want to go there themselves. I might know a little something, something.”

He smiled, put the plate beside him, and leaned forward to hand you his laptop. He watched as you read through the few paragraphs he’d already written and wondered what you thought of it. Every lift of your brow or nibble of your lip had him more and more curious as to the thoughts in your head. After a few minutes, you nodded.

“This isn’t bad. You sound like you’re on a good roll.”

“No critique?”

“How about you leave me with it for a day or two, and I’ll have some notes. Or, you could give it to your royal speechwriter.”

He chuckled. “What makes you think I have one of those?”

You rolled your eyes and smiled. “Hello, this is a monarchy. I am sure the monarchy employs people to make sure their dear prince is always PC.”

You were right.

“I think I would rather leave it with you,” he replied, making you smile in the process.

“Okay. I’ll knock your socks off then.”

“You already have,” he said, standing to take your plate.

He tried to arrange the empty plates, dishes, and classes on the carts in a way that wouldn’t have them falling once they were moved.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

He turned in time to see you wobbling toward him, clutching the IV pole with one hand and a plate with the other. He saw your knees buckle and wrapped you in his arms, taking you to the bed in the process. With you underneath him, he couldn't deny how right this felt. Your breathing was heavy, your eyes bright and chest heaving. The way you were looking at him made his next move the only possible one.

He brought his lips toward yours but right before he claimed them, he hesitated. The tiny sliver of space between your lips made it easy to feel the literal electricity that sparked between you. He was so close, but so far, and he wanted to get closer. The fact that you didn’t look as if you objected to this made his blood bubble with desire even more than it had hours ago when he first walked in.

“I apologize,” he whispered before he pulled away from you with whatever ounce of strength he had remaining. He stood before you then held his hands out to you.

“Let me help you.”

You placed your hands in his letting him hoist you up. He wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you back to the side of the bed you’d been this entire time. When he eased you down, he spread the blanket over you and assured you were comfortable. Being sure to keep his eyes away from yours, he turned to his things and gathered them.

“I will let you get some rest. If Dr. Alfonsi found out I were here preventing that, he would give me a stern talk.”

“Thank you for this,” you said.

He took his laptop from your bed and nodded. “I will email it to you.”

“You have my email?”

“I am head of this country; I have multiple resources at my disposal,” he replied, smirking at you. Your smile said you fully understood his meaning and knew he was teasing. You understood him. Yet another thing to like about you, he thought. He quickly averted his eyes then gave you a slight head bow.

“Good night, Xari.”

“Good night, your highness.”

He walked toward the door and poked his head out to instruct the waiting staff to remove the carts. The walk back to his room was filled with several stops as he thought to go back, but when he realized he couldn’t, he carried on his way. He’d never been filled with so many conflicting wants and thoughts before, and he suspected as the coming weeks stretched, this would be just the tip of the iceberg.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#crown for two fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x black ofc #black fanfiction #royalty au #henry cavill au #christmas fic #cheesy christmas fic

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moonbeamsung · 4 years ago

Text

I Fell for You Like the Autumn Leaves

In which your neighbor, who might as well be a complete stranger to you, convinces you to revisit an old childhood tradition of yours. Oh, and you end up falling in love with him.

member: chenle (featuring the dreamies and taeyong)

au: pumpkin patch volunteer!chenle x gn!reader

word count: 11.3k

genre: fluff, angst, humor

warnings: mutual pining, very mild profanity, kissing, teasing

author’s note: I know, I know, the au is oddly specific but just trust me! :) And I’m crossing my fingers that the tags work this time. I have nothing else to say except that I’m very proud of this fic and it was very fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it. Hope everyone who celebrates had a nice Halloween!

The tall, slender lamp post on the sidewalk outside of your house glows a pale amber color under the gray evening sky, illuminating the leaf-littered ground beneath it. You’ve walked past it hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, on a day just like this one. But this time, something’s different.

There’s a small flyer taped somewhat haphazardly to the side of the post, the dark lavender paper catching your eye. It’s positioned perfectly at eye-level, and you begin to read.

Fall is finally here, and you know what that means: The town’s annual pumpkin patch and festival is now open! Pick out your perfect pumpkin, find your way through a corn maze, take a peaceful hayride, and more! Come visit us all throughout the autumn season, 7 days a week from 10am to 8pm, at the corner of Chestnut Way and Fairview Boulevard. There’s fun for the whole family!

Small illustrations of pumpkins and colorful leaves fill the margins of the flyer, and the festive palette seems to brighten up the gloominess of the October day surrounding you.

“Hey!”

Whirling around, you’re met with the sight of your neighbor, Chenle. He’s holding more of the flyers in one hand, a small roll of tape in the other.

Despite him living only a few houses down from you for a number of years, you hardly know anything about him. You suppose he’s always seemed sort of mysterious. Sometimes you would catch glimpses of him outside from your window, and no matter if you saw him snapping photos of the blossoming flower bushes in his yard, riding his bike down the street with some friends, or just sitting on his upstairs balcony with a book in his hand, none of these things gave you any clues as to what he’s really like.

You two have exchanged brief hellos whenever you’ve passed each other on the sidewalk, him on his way somewhere and you heading home, but aside from those fleeting encounters, he’s a puzzle for you to figure out. You can’t help but wonder about him. Is he a quiet or a loud person? Is he on the serious side, or does he laugh at almost anything? What’s his personality like in general? Long story short, Chenle intrigues you, and maybe after today you’ll know at least a little bit more about him.

“Hi,” you return his greeting with a small smile, the kind of smile you give when you’re not exactly sure what else to say.

“Those flyers look pretty good, huh? I helped design them this year!” He explains with a proud grin, placing a hand on his hip as he studies your response. To be fair, he hardly knows anything about you either, and upon seeing you inspecting the flyer, he had decided to approach you and hopefully take a small step towards becoming your friend.

“Really? That’s cool.” The awkwardness in the air between you is far too tangible for your liking, and you silently hope he’ll take the responsibility of carrying on the conversation you’re currently sharing. Luckily, this wish of yours is granted moments later.

“You’ve been to the pumpkin festival before, right?”

You nod. It’s true, the annual tradition is one that everyone in town can enjoy, but in recent years you’ve started to lose interest in the festivities. You’re growing up, and it’s like you’re at this weird in-between stage. Mostly, those that attend are either large families complete with young children eager to explore every corner of the patch, or couples hoping to enjoy the ambience created by the cute decorations and cozy autumn atmosphere. You belong to neither of these groups, and so you’ve felt more than a little out of place the last few times you’ve gone.

You’re not sure if this is something you should share with Chenle, but without waiting for any kind of approval from your brain, the words leave your mouth anyway.

“Yeah, but I don’t really have anyone to go with and I don’t know anyone working there, so I’m not sure if I’ll make it this year.”

He frowns sympathetically for a split second before his face lights up again. “Aw, but I was just about to tell you that I’m volunteering there this year! So... if you’re worried about not having someone to hang out with, you’ll have me.”

“Only if you want!” He quickly adds, and that’s the first time he’s seemed nervous, or at least anything less than completely confident during your conversation. The cutest shade of red appears on his cheeks, and you don’t know how you could possibly refuse his offer now.

“Hmm... I guess I can reconsider, then.” You smile wider, more genuinely this time, after faking your contemplation by tapping your toe and tilting your head, a finger stroking your chin as if in deep thought.

“Really?” He replies happily with a small gasp, and his foot starts to lift off of the pavement to take an excited step towards you before he stops himself. If you notice, you don’t say anything.

You nod once again, and he notes how enthusiastic you seem now. Cute.

“Great! My shifts are on weekdays, from 2 to 7. I’ll see you there?”

“Definitely.”

The next week, you bundle up in your warmest jacket before making your way down the sidewalk, turning when necessary as you navigate the winding streets of your neighborhood. About half a dozen blocks later, you’re out on the main road, and you can just barely spot the entrance to the festival in the distance, orange lights strung along an archway that marks the small trail leading to it.

When you finally reach the inside of the pumpkin patch, the first thing you do is look for Chenle. You regret not asking him exactly where he would be working, but it can’t be that hard to find him, right?

He’s been on edge all afternoon, wondering if you would actually show up. It’s not that he didn’t believe you when you told him you would be there, he most certainly did, but there’s an oddly anxious feeling in his stomach that’s been affecting his behavior and he’s not sure he wants you to see him like this.

Chenle, just like everyone else, can be clumsy sometimes. But today? Today was a whole different story. He nearly dropped one of the biggest pumpkins in the patch while he was trying to lift it from the tall haystack it had been sitting on. His shoelace had somehow become untied while he was walking through the corn maze to check for any candy-apple wrappers or cider cups on the ground. Fortunately enough for him, no one had been around to see him trip over it, saving him at least a little bit of embarrassment. He even accidentally left the door to one of the animal stalls open, earning him a light scolding from his supervisor, Taeyong, and an entire hour on feeding duty for the horse it belonged to, between its scheduled hayride shifts.

It wouldn’t be a good second impression, he decides, if you were here to spend time with him only to see him completely failing at doing his job instead.

So when he spots you not too far away, craning your neck as you search for him among the large crowd, he’s conflicted. Does he face his fear of messing up in front of you and possibly risk your only recently-formed opinion of him, or does he avoid you the whole night? His heart clenches at that last option, and in a spur-of-the-moment decision his legs begin to carry him over to you. Catching your eye, he smiles despite the uncharacteristic lack of confidence in himself that he’s currently feeling.

You’re hurriedly cutting across the sea of people that fills the walkways to meet him, and when you’re within an arm’s reach you start to lift your hand in a small wave. Before you can stop walking completely, however, he takes your raised hand in his own, briskly guiding you off to the side to stand out of the way of the massive group of festival-goers. Just as quickly as he took your hand he releases it again, gently letting it drop to hang by your side.

You only just had your first proper conversation with him a matter of days ago, and he’s your neighbor for goodness’ sake. So why in the world did your heart rate seem to speed up just then?

There’s a small bench nearby, and he motions to it with a nudge of his shoulder. Sitting down next to him, you try your best to ignore the confusing signals that your body’s sending you right now.

“You came!”

“Of course I did,” you reply with a laugh. “It’s nice to have someone to enjoy the festival with for a change. I’ve really missed that.”

“What do you mean?”

You explain to him how it had grown out of being a family tradition, and that your friends always seemed to be busy, leaving you on your own year after year.

“Well... you have me now!” His voice is cheerful, reassuring, and despite all the noise and activity surrounding you at the current moment, it makes you feel at peace.

“Wait.” You glance around, then look back to Chenle. “Shouldn’t you be working, though?”

“...Shoot!” He knew he was forgetting something.

Standing up from the bench you share, he continues. “You can come with me if you want, but I can’t promise that any part of my job will be interesting.”

“It’s okay,” you giggle, standing up as well and following him over to a small covered tent. The inside is packed with people, weaving in and out of aisles created by several wooden tables full of small, colorful gourds. The boy behind the cash register shouts his name, beckoning him over with his hand.

“Hey Chenle, can you come help me weigh these pumpkins? Donghyuck had to go help some kids at the crafts area and business isn’t slowing down anytime soon.” He’s too busy typing numbers into a small computer system to notice that he’s speaking to more than one person. When his eyes finally lift up from the keys, he asks, “Who’s this?”

Chenle introduces you to each other, and you learn that his name is Mark. The gray beanie he’s wearing is somewhat lopsided on his head, dark hair sticking out from beneath it after all the times he’s cutely scratched the back of his neck.

While Mark and Chenle ring up dozens of customers, you entertain yourself by browsing through the wide variety of miniature pumpkins and squashes, some green, some white, some yellow. You occasionally pick up an oddly shaped one, running a finger over the small bumps or darkened bruises on the surface of the fruit.

When you look over at the register again, the line has died down, and after a moment of consideration your eyes land on a vibrant orange pumpkin that looks like it would fit perfectly in the palm of your hand. Picking it up, you smile a little to yourself as you turn, pulling your wallet out from your pocket and patiently waiting behind the 4 groups in line ahead of you.

By the time you finally step up to the checkout counter, Chenle’s been wondering where you went. He hadn’t seen you when he was gifted with the rare chance to look up from the metal scale he’s been constantly working at for almost an hour now. Maybe you got bored, he thinks, and left to go do something else or to just go home altogether. So when he sees the familiar sleeve of your jacket enter his peripheral vision as you place your tiny pumpkin down in front of him, he looks up faster than he thought humanly possible, in both surprise and relief. “You know you don’t have to buy anything,” he attempts to whisper in the hopes of hiding his words from Mark.

“But I want to. This pumpkin’s really cute,” you insist with a pleading look in your eyes.

Like you, he nearly mutters. That would have been a disaster.

“Do you want me to pay for it?” He offers, almost pouting at this point.

“Such a gentleman,” you tease, “But no. I promise, I’ve got it.”

“If you insist,” he responds, matching the sarcastic tone of your words and hoping to distract from his reddening ears. Chenle weighs the pumpkin and then places it into a small bag that you sling over your shoulder, where it will stay for the remainder of the day.

Unbeknownst to both of you, Mark’s eyebrow raises at the playfulness of your conversation. Maybe you don’t notice the furious blush on Chenle’s face, but he certainly does. And he won’t forget it.

“Hey, uh, guys? Donghyuck just texted me that he needs a hand. Do you think you could go meet up with him and help out a little?”

“Are you sure you can handle things here, Mark?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. But Donghyuck won’t be if those kids are deprived of craft supplies for much longer.” He reaches underneath the counter and pulls out a huge stack of plastic sticker sheets, with small images of bats, candy, and everything in between. “Take these.”

“Thanks, Mark! See you later!”

“It was nice to meet you!” You call out over your shoulder, and as you momentarily focus your attention on the boy behind you that’s getting farther away by the second, you’re too caught up in saying your goodbyes to notice that the one beside you grabs your hand again. Chenle gently pulls you away from the counter and out from under the tent, steadily making your way towards the other side of the large pumpkin patch.

You were lucky that Mark had the decency to at least pretend there was nothing going on between you and Chenle. He had refrained from commenting on it in front of you, and simply chuckled to himself when he saw both of you walk off together, hand-in-hand. He finds it amusing that neither one of you seems to notice the mutual fondness the other so obviously has for you. Mark doesn’t know a lot about you, but he knows you must be pretty special to be able to fluster Chenle like that.

Donghyuck, on the other hand, does not possess the same decency.

When you reach the crafts area, which is a small, designated space with several picnic tables and bins full of art supplies like glitter, paint sets, and markers, he gratefully approaches Chenle and accepts the large bundle of stickers from him. Like he’s feeding a hungry mob of seagulls with just a few breadcrumbs, Donghyuck essentially tosses them to the large group of children eagerly jumping at his feet. Scurrying away as they snatch the plastic sheets out of the air and get back to decorating their pumpkins, his eyes land on you for the first time.

With a smug, knowing smirk and an exaggerated nod of his head towards your tightly intertwined fingers, he asks, “Who’s this, Chenle?”

You know those movie scenes where two characters look at each other, at something else, then back at each other again? That’s exactly what happens. Chenle’s and your eyes meet, surprise evident on every feature of your faces, before you both realize the exact same thing at the same time. With shaky pupils, your gazes drift down to each other’s arm, then to your hands, laced together and acting as a source of warmth on this chilly autumn day. Much faster this time, you make eye contact again before rapidly but unwillingly pulling your hands away. The guilty smiles you send Donghyuck’s way say it all.

Chenle introduces you for the second time today as his neighbor, but deep down you both wish it was as something else, something more.

“I see,” Donghyuck says under his breath, in a huff of poorly concealed laughter.

Only Chenle hears him, though, and Donghyuck earns himself a rough shove to the shoulder with the snarky comment. You’re looking in a different direction, vision focused on a small child with a frown on her face as she struggles to embellish the small orange gourd on the table in front of her.

“Chenle?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna go see if I can help that little girl with her pumpkin.” You point a finger in the general direction of the picnic table she’s sitting at, glancing back at him for a second as you make your way over to her.

She’s close to tears now, and crouching down beside her small form, you ask, “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

The girl looks down at you, rushing to wipe her eyes before explaining in a quiet, shaky voice, “None of these stickers are the shape I want for my pumpkin...”

Oh, you realize, she’s trying to make a jack-o-lantern face.

“Um...” Upon looking around, you spot a piece of paper nearby on the table and hand her a purple marker from one of the art supply containers. “Well, can you draw what you want the face to look like and maybe I can help?”

With a small “Mhm,” she takes the marker from you and begins to sketch four odd-looking but not totally unfeasible shapes for the pumpkin’s eyes, nose, and mouth.

A good distance away, Chenle is growing tired of Donghyuck’s endless interrogations about you and if he’s absolutely positively sure that you’re not something more than just neighbors. He wordlessly excuses himself from Donghyuck’s side to join you by the picnic table.

The drawings that the little girl comes up with look like a deformed mix of squares, circles, and triangles. Thankfully, you have access to stickers shaped like all three, and you get an idea.

“What are we working on over here?”

Looking up to see Chenle kneeling down opposite you, resting an arm on the wooden surface of the bench, you notice that his voice is different. Not in terms of its pitch or volume, but just in the way that he’s speaking. It’s even more gentle than usual, filled with concern and care, all because he’s talking to a child. How endearing, you think to yourself, smiling down at the ground for a moment or two before you remember the task at hand.

“They’re helping me with my jack-o-lantern!” The little girl exclaims excitedly, causing Chenle to grin wider than you’d ever seen so far and allowing you to get a glimpse of his adorable eye smile for the very first and certainly not the last time.

Nope. Your heart did not just flutter. At least, that’s what you’ll keep telling yourself.

With a wave of your hand you motion for him to stand up, you doing the same before whispering your plan into his ear. Exchanging nods, you both crouch back down again and set to work, guiding the little girl as she overlaps the stickers on the pumpkin to match the picture she drew.

When you’re finished, she claps her hands together and thanks you multiple times, her genuine gratitude warming both of your hearts more than a blanket or a heater ever could.

“Wait,” you turn back around just as you’re about to walk over to Donghyuck once again. Flipping through the sticker sheets scattered across the table, you find exactly the one you’re looking for and peel it from the plastic.

“Wha—”

Before Chenle can even begin his sentence, you’re already pressing the small acorn sticker onto his cheek, giggling softly at how a blush seems to blossom from underneath it, the adorable pink hue spreading all the way to the tip of his nose. Your thumb applies the slightest amount of pressure to his skin while the remaining fingers hold the side of his face, and your other hand clutches his shoulder over the burgundy sweater he’s wearing. It’s at this moment that it dawns on you: This is definitely not a “neighborly” exchange.

You jump back in shock at your own actions. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I really don’t know why I did that.” Inwardly releasing a string of profuse curses, you awkwardly step closer a second time, lifting your hand again to try to peel it from his face and just wishing this mortifying moment would be over already.

“It’s okay, you can leave it,” he stutters a little, taking a tiny step backwards. “I don’t mind.”

Not really knowing how else to bring the uncomfortable (well, that’s an understatement) conversation to a close, you let his last words hang in the air, casting daunting shadows over your heads as you both repeat the same thought over and over again in your minds like a mantra.

I shouldn’t like them...

Trying and failing to sneak a slight glance at the other, your gazes meet at the same time, both of you looking away just as quickly once you realize you’ve been caught red-handed. Or in this case, red-faced.

...But I do.

A few minutes prior, another festival volunteer had taken over Mark’s job at the cash register, leaving him free to roam around for at least a little while. Not knowing where else to go, he had come to see Donghyuck, and by default, you and Chenle.

As they watch your rather amusing response to the realization of and sudden embarrassment at such a shameless display of your crush on Chenle that you can’t quite bring yourself to accept just yet, Mark and Donghyuck talk lowly amongst themselves.

“He should just ask them out already. I haven’t even known that they exist for 15 minutes and I’m already sick of seeing them both deny their feelings for each other. It’s so painfully obvious!” Donghyuck makes a gagging noise, earning a glare from Mark.

“It’s kind of cute, though. Like puppy love.”

“Whatever you say, Romeo,” he snickers.

“Hey!” Mark shoves his shoulder, annoyed. Donghyuck just laughs.

Pulling out his phone, the younger boy types up a quick text message before hitting the small arrow to send it. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark sees the delivered blue speech bubble appear on the screen and asks him, “Who’s that to?”

“Jeno. He and Jaemin have got to see this.”

Not even a minute later, Chenle’s own phone dings with a message from the former of the aforementioned boys, providing a distraction from and successfully dispelling some of the tension that continues to weigh down on you both.

Once he finishes reading the text, Chenle looks up at you and explains, “Two of my friends are working concessions and they’re almost out of a few things, so I need to go pick up what they need and bring it to them.”

You frown a little and furrow your eyebrows. “Isn’t it weird that everyone’s been asking you to go from place to place bringing them stuff all day?”

Now that he thinks about it, you’re right. But there’s no time to stand around and wonder why there seems to be a pattern with his tasks today.

“Bye Donghyuck! We’re gonna go help Jaemin and Jeno at the concessions stand!”

Was it too much to ask for Chenle to absentmindedly grab your hand again? Apparently yes, because much to your disappointment he refrains from doing so this time.

“Did you seriously ask Jeno to make up a fake excuse for help just so you could get them to leave?” Mark questions him, a clearly unamused expression on his face.

“First of all, no. He actually told me that they’re running low on candy apples. And second, not only that, but also so they can see just how hopelessly they’re crushing on each other.”

“Meaning that they can tease them about it, too, right?”

“Exactly!”

Mark rolls his eyes. He supposes he shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. Donghyuck is always full of mischief.

You remain by Chenle’s side as he leads you towards a storage area for the festival and over to the kitchen section, where he grabs a medium-sized cooler packed with freshly candied apples. The walk is filled with casual conversation, any awkward encounters earlier in the day becoming long forgotten, or at least temporarily put out of your minds.

Not having any of his friends around to tease you helps, too.

The few minutes you have to yourselves come to an end all too soon, and as you approach a large booth that appears to be full of just about every autumn snack imaginable, you catch the eye of one of the two boys standing behind it. Whether it’s Jeno or Jaemin, you’re not sure. But sure enough, like everyone else you’ve met so far today, his gaze becomes one of surprise and interest upon seeing the way you’re walking so close to the tall boy at your side.

You decide to take the liberty of introducing yourself this time instead of leaving Chenle to do it for you. Reaching an arm out in front of you, you shyly step up to the conveniently empty counter of the stand. The first boy shakes your hand while the other turns around, eyes darting from you to Chenle multiple times.

“I’m Jaemin,” he lets go of your hand, but not before shooting you a wink and a ridiculously charming grin. Chenle’s stomach churns with jealousy. The boy is always like this, Chenle knows, but with you it’s different. Normally it’s just the regular flirtatious remark directed at a passing customer, making them nearly spill their popcorn or choke on their cotton candy. Despite his awareness of the fact that he means no harm, Chenle still has to fight the urge to pull you into him protectively. Jaemin picks up on his sudden envy but chooses not to mess with him further.

The second one speaks up, doing the same as Jaemin without the wink, instead displaying an endearing eye-smile of his own. “I’m Jeno.” His eyes light up when they land on the freezing container Chenle’s carrying. “Are those the candy apples?” He exclaims. “Thank you so much!”

“No problem,” Chenle grunts in response as he hands it to Jeno over the counter, still bitter about Jaemin’s coquettish introduction of himself. Picking up on his annoyed tone, you send a confused glance and then a sympathetic smile the boy’s way as you try to subtly calm whatever frustration that remains within him.

He softens immediately, regretting any worry he may have just caused you with his uncharacteristically cold demeanor. It’s immediately forgotten when Jaemin motions for the both of you to round the corner of the booth. Stepping inside from the back, you instantly realize it’s much too cramped to fit four people.

You’re about to excuse yourselves to go stand outside again when Jeno strides past, just a little too close for comfort. Taking a step back to move completely out of his way, you make a fatal miscalculation: Chenle’s right behind you. With a thud your back crashes into his stomach, and the awkwardness is more than just palpable.

Throughout the next few minutes you look for every opportunity to step away from him and escape the mutual discomfort of your current position, but business at the concessions stand picks up and both of the boys are constantly rushing back and forth, leaving you no room to do so. It’s not a physical discomfort, not in the slightest, but more so one where your self-consciousness is heightened, and you’re aware that it looks like something a couple would do, the way a couple would stand. In any other moment, perhaps a more private one, you might not have minded the proximity so much, but the public setting you’re in creates the need that you feel to visibly reject the non-existent distance between you and him.

Chenle could get used to how perfectly you two seem to fit together in what’s almost a back hug, with the way he could oh so easily wrap his arms around you from behind. Just not here, not now. Would it be too much, he thinks, for him to place a gentle hand on your shoulder as you both wait for the chance to separate from each other? He decides the answer is no, and as you both endure constant gusts of air each time Jaemin and Jeno pass you, Chenle holds you, grip light on the space between your arm and neck that’s covered in the cotton material of your jacket. His touch eases your nerves about the situation, for which you’re beyond thankful.

While you wait, your eyes find themselves lingering on the customers that shuffle through the line, some young, some old, tall or short. The scrumptious scents wafting within the booth begin to overwhelm your noses after some time, the pungent aroma of apples and spiced cinnamon becoming almost too much to bear for your sense of smell.

As expected, by the time you actually notice there’s finally enough space for you to step away from each other, you’ve already gotten comfortable where you are. The delayed response to this makes Jeno chuckle under his breath, handing a final box of pumpkin pie to an older couple over the counter of the concessions stand.

Glancing down at his watch, Chenle notes how much time has flown by since you arrived at the festival. He also realizes it’s nearly time for his shift at the horse stables, uttering a quick explanation to you and then the other two boys in the booth.

Exchanging brief farewells, you follow Chenle outside and down a thin path to a more secluded area of the festival grounds, out by the field where hayrides are given. On the way, you pass by the corn maze and the games area. The boys manning the attractions both look as if they’re part of the same group of volunteers that Chenle has introduced you to so far, if you had to guess.

Your assumption is confirmed when he waves at the first one, who’s standing beside a small group of children playing bean bag toss. Scanning the area for any supervisors that could scold him for running off for a minute, he darts over to the two of you.

It’s refreshing that he doesn’t inspect you from head to toe with his gaze, something that had happened to you far too much today. “I’m Chenle’s neighbor,” you start before telling him your name, feeling optimistic that he won’t bug you about your connection to each other very much.

“I’m Jisung,” he responds. Then, “Chenle never brings people to the festival like this. Are you dating or something?”

Never mind.

You inwardly facepalm at his blunt statement. Chenle actually does, the smack against his forehead sounding almost painful.

“We have to get going now, Jisung. I just wanted to introduce you to each other.” Despite being frustrated with the younger’s directness, Chenle still gives him a quick side hug and a “Bye” as you walk away, presumably to stop by the corn maze briefly as you had just done with the games area.

“They never answered my question,” Jisung mumbles to himself.

“Renjun!” Chenle calls, hoping this encounter will go more smoothly than the last. Surprisingly enough, it does. The boy extends a hand out for you to shake with a kind smile, not asking any questions about your relationship with Chenle. You’re extremely grateful that he accepts your status as his neighbor and nothing more.

Only when you’re turned away, gazing into the distance at the hustle and bustle of the event does he pat Chenle firmly on the back, exaggerating a wink and whispering a “Go get ‘em, tiger” into his ear. Chenle scowls at Renjun, groaning about being teased the entire day just for bringing someone to the festival with him.

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave you alone.” Renjun starts to back off, but he simply can’t help himself. The next words that spill from his lips will be the last, he vows in his mind. At least, for now.

“...You like them, though, don’t you?”

“Mmph,” Chenle reluctantly replies after a moment, offering a noncommittal answer.

“Don’t overlook it, okay? You never know. They might feel the same way,” he gives Chenle’s arm a quick squeeze before sending him over to you. The light tap he plants on your shoulder makes you turn around with a smile, expectantly gazing up at him. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” he nods towards the stables, and you both wave back at Renjun as you make your way over to the large structure.

An unfamiliar man leans against one of the walls once you get there. When he sees Chenle, he straightens up and runs a hand through his brown hair, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

The man steps aside from his spot on the wall to reveal a shelf full of animal care items, from cleaning supplies to heavy bags of feed and dry bundles of straw for the ground inside the stalls. “You know what to do,” he nods at the boy while eyeing you carefully at the same time.

Chenle manages to read his mind surprisingly fast, and he jumps to defend your presence. “They’re with me,” he clarifies.

“But you know the rules, Chenle.”

“Just this once, Taeyong! Pleeease?”

Unable to resist the puppy-like expression on his face, Chenle’s supervisor finally caves. That, combined with the way your face fell when he threatened to send you away in a nonverbal manner is enough to make Taeyong change his mind. A minuscule inkling inside of his brain tells him that you’re okay to be by Chenle’s side as he does his job, even if it might mean that he’ll get distracted at times.

“I suppose they can stay.”

“Yes! Thanks, Taeyong!”

“Wait a minute, what’s that on your face?”

Chenle brings a hand up because he’s genuinely forgotten, but when his fingertips brush the cheap plastic sticker on his cheek he remembers how it got there. “Oh, it’s... uh.” He looks to you for help.

“I did that,” you explain with an embarrassed laugh. “We were joking around and I stuck it on his face.”

“Oh, okay, just making sure you know it’s there.”

Some friends he has, Chenle gripes internally. They didn’t even bother to point it out. What if it had been something else?

Luckily, he doesn’t mind the cute sticker, even if it does make him blush like a fool when he thinks about your cute hands pressing it onto his skin.

As Taeyong passes him on his way out of the stable doors, he pinches one of his rounded cheeks, leaving the younger boy cringing in the process.

Time passes somewhat slowly as you watch Chenle go about doing his tasks, first taking one small handful of the horse’s food at a time and feeding it to her, steadily depleting her evening meal little by little. Then he grabs a broom and steps into the stall to sweep some of her bedding.

“What’s her name?” You ask him after a while, the simplicity of his actions creating a calming effect on you as you observe them. You only know it’s a female because you had heard him mutter “Good girl” to the horse rather affectionately a few minutes earlier.

“Nutmeg.”

“That’s cute,” you reply.

The silence feels heavy, begging you to face what you’ve both left unsaid throughout the day. It’s the first time you’ve really been alone together since you got here. But you’re both too scared to bring up the countless assumptions made by his friends over and over again during the time you’ve spent together that you’re dating, fearing that the conversation, supposed to be a joking one, would inevitably progress into something much deeper.

“I’ve had fun today.”

He says it out of nowhere, making both your body and your heart jump a little.

“Me too.” He peeks his head out from the stall to smile at you, your response tinging the tips of his ears red.

A few minutes go by as you fall into a light dialogue, talking about anything and everything you can think of, getting to know each other more. As he’s finishing up, you finally stand from where you’ve been seated for the past 45 minutes, walking leisurely over to the shelf of supplies, which just so happens to be next to the stall door.

All of a sudden Nutmeg hears something that spooks her, and you don’t realize that she starts to charge towards the closed pair of wooden panels you’re currently right beside.

It’s an instant in which Chenle’s clumsiness from earlier in the day threatens to come back in a much more severe form if he doesn’t do something. Senses more alert than yours for whatever reason, he takes action without hesitation, and time seems to slow before his eyes as he does so.

Swiftly moving you out of the way of the split stall door less than a second before it swings open from the force of the horse’s strong neck, Chenle pulls you to him. His arms dart out to catch you tightly by the waist while he turns both of your bodies around, ensuring that he’s the one closest to the enclosure. His reasoning? If he doesn’t take you out of harm’s way fast enough, at least he’ll be the one that feels the impact, not you.

As you’re being held flush against his chest, your mind races to process just how you got into this position. But your heart presses pause on the gears of your brain, and allows you to just enjoy the close intimacy of the moment.

Chenle knows he should do something, say something, but all he can think of is to stay just like this. Your head is turned to the side, an ear pressed to his sternum and in the perfect spot to hear his heartbeat. Its not-so-steady thump matches your own, sounding much like the uneven rhythm that a young child might play on a drum set, striking the instrument with force and conviction and unwavering confidence.

If only you could confront your feelings for him in the same way.

Both thanking him and apologizing profusely for your lack of awareness, you move to take a tiny step back and away from the snug hold of his arms. Only, you find that you can’t. Chenle’s still holding your waist, oblivious to the fact that he’s been clutching you closely for the past thirty seconds in preparation for a moment that lasted less than one.

“You... you can let go of me now, Chenle,” you say apprehensively, a half smile on your lips as you attempt to look him in the eye without being overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him right then and there.

“Ah, right. My bad.”

Chenle’s not usually this bold when it comes to the physicality of a relationship, romantic or not. But he can’t help it that there seems to be an invisible gravitational force surrounding you, just begging for him to reach out and lay a tender hand on the small of your back. Compelling him to tangle your fingers together like a mess of yarn, with the ends fraying and coming undone but at the same time holding each other up, keeping each other from falling apart. Giving one another something to hold on to in the most unlikely of situations.

With only a few minutes left to spare in his shift, he tells you to wait outside while he packs all of the supplies up for the night. Once everything is back in its proper place, Chenle is just about to step outside through the swinging wooden doors of the stables when a small noise from the caramel-colored horse stops him in his tracks. Turning around, he carefully approaches the animal with an outstretched arm, stroking her shiny mane once he’s close enough.

“What am I going to do, Nutmeg?” The conversation is a futile one, he knows, but it proves to be therapeutic for his conscience. She nuzzles his hand with her snout as he leans onto the wall, lost in thought.

“Should I tell them how I feel?” Her large dark eyes peer back at him, and as silly as it sounds, Chenle gets the sense that she actually understands, despite her inability to respond with comprehensible words.

“I’ll do it, then. Not tonight, but soon. Before autumn ends,” he vows, making a promise to himself and his heart all at once.

Nutmeg lets out a small whinny as if to express her approval. Smiling at the animal’s nonverbal reassurance, he opens the door to step out into the chilly fall night, strides a little lighter and head held higher than usual.

As the small clock tower set up in the middle of the festival grounds tolls seven times, loud clangs disrupting the low and indistinct chatter of the evening, you and Chenle return to the same bench you sat on that afternoon, eyes heavy and feet tired by now.

“Your shift is over now, right?”

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Ready to go home?”

“Definitely.”

The festival has mostly cleared out, which is surprising for the time of night that it currently is. The lack of all the hustle and bustle around you makes it significantly easier to navigate the paths extending in nearly every direction across the grounds.

On your way to the exit of the festival, the same autumn-themed archway you ducked under several hours ago, you pass a few of the boys you met during the day, offering a small wave goodbye to them.

The roads are quiet as you and Chenle walk next to each other on the paved sidewalk, the streetlights placed at every small intersection between the tightly-knit suburban roads providing the only source of illumination. With no one around to hear his shaky voice, he turns to you and stutters out, “I know I didn’t ask for your permission to do this earlier, but may I hold your hand?”

You let him, but not without a bashful scratch to the back of your neck and a mumbled answer of “Sure” directed his way.

Like two schoolchildren with the biggest and most obvious crushes on each other, there’s a skip in both of your steps as you walk the rest of the way home. Insisting on staying outside of your house until he sees the light in your bedroom window turn on, Chenle bids you a sweet goodnight with a lingering hug and a small kiss to the top of your head that he mistakenly thinks you don’t notice.

That night you fall asleep with a smile on your face, visions of pumpkins dancing through your mind and the small one that you bought resting on your nightstand beside you.

It’s the first thing you see when you wake up the next morning, and you reach out to take the small item in your palm. You’re convinced that you can still feel the warmth of Chenle’s hands cradling it as he placed it on the scale, recording the measurement before he gave the miniature pumpkin to Mark, who told you how much it cost. You were so eager to accept the small tote bag Chenle was extending out to you that you didn’t even bother asking for your change back, shoving the money into Mark’s hand and insisting that he keep it.

Your eyes land on the same bag, sitting in the corner of your room, and it makes your face break out into a bright grin. Not even bothered by how early you’ve woken up, you bound down the stairs for breakfast, the most excited for the day ahead you can ever remember being.

You spend the next couple of weeks visiting Chenle during his shifts at the festival, sometimes staying late enough for him to walk you home like he did that first day. With each time he sees you, he warms up to your presence, becoming more like his usual witty and hardly-ever-flustered self. Oddly enough you start to act less and less like a couple, which doesn’t go unnoticed by his friends. The incessant blushing is gradually replaced by sarcastic banter with one another. You don’t know anyone who makes you laugh like Chenle does.

“Hey,” he pipes up one afternoon as you’re watching him organize some pumpkins. “What if I dyed my hair this color?” Chenle points to one that’s a particularly vivid shade of orange, raising his eyebrows as you think of a reply.

“Then you’d look like a pumpkin,” you hum in response.

He chuckles. “Is that supposed to be a bad thing?“

You shake your head. “Not necessarily. Are you really going to dye it, though?”

“Probably not.”

“As you wish, pumpkin.”

He whirls around, nearly dropping the stack of gourds in his hands. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me... pumpkin,” you smirk after repeating the new nickname, and it puts an impossibly cute pout on his face.

“Don’t call me that!”

You jokingly ruffle his hair, and Chenle’s small smile betrays his annoyed facade as he realizes he could get used to hearing the word roll off your tongue, not to mention you addressing him with it.

It’s the week of Halloween when the six boys that volunteer with Chenle at the festival meet up to create a plan that will, ideally, end with both of you confessing your feelings. All but one of them, which happens to be Mark, excitedly discuss possible ways to set you two up. Should they send you on a private hayride somehow? Or maybe they could get you to try out the corn maze together, and hopefully you would struggle with finding your way out long enough to express your mutual crushes on each other.

“I don’t know about this, guys. I still think we should just let them figure it out on their own.”

“You’re no fun, Mark,” Donghyuck chastises. The eldest shrugs, an expression of resignation on his face. At least he tried.

Finally, they decide on having both of you move between each of their respective areas or booths around the festival, dropping as many hints to you about the other’s infatuation as possible. First you’ll start the evening off by navigating through the corn maze, which they realize is impossible for you to get lost in since Chenle had to memorize the map of it. So much for their earlier plan.

After that, Renjun will usher you off towards Jisung’s station, the game area. Conveniently, he’ll suggest you play the balloon dart toss together, but there’s going to be a catch: one of you has to carry the other in their arms while they throw them. They laugh a little at how flustered they imagine you’ll get.

Next, Mark and Donghyuck will help you pick out the best pumpkin to carve for the upcoming holiday. You’ll start to pick it up, but Chenle will insist on holding it instead. If you had heard this, you would be fuming. Who says you’re not strong enough to carry a pumpkin on your own? You’ll show them.

To end the night, Jaemin and Jeno will “accidentally” only give you one stick of cotton candy, forcing you to share. By that time, they hope you’ll be perceptive enough to finally see that the attraction is mutual, diminishing the fear of rejection in both of your minds.

Not so surprisingly, nothing would go as planned.

The boys put their little scheme into action on the night of October 30th. Chenle is actually finished with his days of volunteering at this point, and even though he could stay home after working many long hours over the past few weeks, he opts to visit the festival as a guest this evening, with you by his side.

He picks you up outside of your house, waiting on the sidewalk right next to the same lamp post that the flyer for the festival was taped to, also known as the entire reason why you’re in this situation in the first place. If you hadn’t taken the time to read those words on the purple-colored page, you honestly don’t know where you’d be right now.

Dressed in your favorite and coziest autumn outfit, you practically fly down the stairs of your front porch to greet him. Like you’ve gotten used to doing by now, he holds your hand in his as you walk, taking the same route you always do.

Chenle’s heart beats a little faster when he sees your eyes light up at the sight of the festival in the distance. For the first time, you’ll both be able to enjoy the event together without being bombarded by constant requests to help with various tasks throughout the night. Or so you thought.

From the moment you step foot inside the grounds, Jisung is already standing at the entrance and hurriedly directing you to the corn maze. Confused but obedient nonetheless, you both head towards where his finger is pointing.

Chenle knows something is up as soon as he sees a familiar mischievous twinkle in Renjun’s dark eyes. “You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” he tells you.

“Chenle, it’s a maze. I don’t think they work like that.” He ignores your playful sarcasm.

Speaking in the quietest voice he can muster, which is quite a feat for him, Chenle leans in close to whisper harshly in the older boy’s ear. “What are you trying to pull?”

At a volume level that’s loud enough for you to hear, Renjun replies, “The others and I thought it would be fun to plan out your evening a little! So first we want you to start here, at the corn maze.”

“Aw, really? That sounds like fun!” Oblivious to the group’s true motives, you endorse their plan with your words. “Better get started,” Renjun winks. As you turn to make your way in between the tall rows of vegetables, he roughly yanks Chenle backward to quietly say, “There isn’t a more perfect time to confess to them, I mean, a romantic autumn night at the festival? Make a move already,” he encourages.

Glowering back at him, Chenle reluctantly follows you into the maze.

Only 15 minutes later you emerge from the corn stalks, the boys’ scheme momentarily forgotten. It quickly comes to mind again when you find Jisung waiting outside for you for the second time that night. One time too many, in Chenle’s opinion.

Not missing a beat, the younger of the two boys leads you both over to the area he’s assigned to. The wall of colorful balloons catches your attention immediately. “Let’s play this one!” You exclaim as you tug on his sleeve like a little kid. Delighted with your choice, Jisung quickly explains the rules, but the twist he adds to them goes right over your head. In fact, you’re the one that offers to carry Chenle first. Neither of your faces turn pink with embarrassed blushes.

You don’t even bat an eyelash as you carry the pumpkin that you picked out together in your arms, much to Donghyuck’s dismay. Mark just stands to the side, amused at their attempts to artificially force confessions out of you. The singular stick of cotton candy that Jaemin hands to you over the counter of the concessions stand fails to phase either of you whatsoever, and you end up just pinching off small pieces from the sticky sweet dessert with your hands. Jeno points out your simple solution to the boy standing next to him, observing their failure. “Why didn’t we think of that?” He mumbles.

The six boys finally gather together when they collectively realize they didn’t succeed, but actually did just the opposite. Making a small circle, they start to argue and pointlessly blame one another for causing everything to go wrong. You only manage to catch a few words of their heated conversation, but something in your gut tells you that they were up to more than just creating a schedule of activities for you to follow.

Exchanging glances, you and Chenle nod at each other, about to try and quietly slip away from them. Hand in hand, you take careful steps backwards, but before you can dash away Mark catches sight of you. Thankfully, he smiles a little and puts a finger to his lips, making a “shh” sign as he waves his hand in a signal for you to hurry up.

Abandoning all of your cares, you give up on going unnoticed by the group and shamelessly scamper off in the opposite direction.

“Wait, I know that place!” You shout excitedly as you pass a small playground meant for the younger visitors to the festival. “Can we go over there?” You plead with him, but you suppose you shouldn’t call it that since he gives in to your request so easily.

The child-sized vehicle standing in the center of the play area is a familiar sight to you, and Chenle knows what you’re about to ask him before you even open your mouth. “Go ahead,” he says with a loving smile on his face as he motions to the carriage, designed to look like the very object that the entire festival itself centers around. Catching up to you, Chenle steps forward a little so that he reaches the small stairs leading up to it first.

“Your highness,” Chenle bows, crossing one foot behind the other and bending a knee. Opening the creaky door to the pumpkin carriage for you, he gestures to the inside of the oversized fruit, the graceful movement ushering you to climb inside. You bashfully tug on your striped scarf, holding the woolen material up against your cheeks as you laugh at his chivalrous display. It tickles a little, and he thinks you look even more adorable bundled up like that.

The interior is much smaller than you remember. But then again, you had been much smaller the last time you sat in this very seat.

Calling the inside of the carriage cramped is an understatement. There are two narrow benches on either side of it, the space on the floor between them barely enough to fit the legs of one occupant, much less two. Chenle struggles but eventually sits down across from you, unintentionally forcing your knees to rest in between his. The small windows on the squeaky, rusty doors do little to let in any light whatsoever. In the darkness, you can’t see the boy’s face flush at your closeness.

‘What now?’ You think to yourself, wondering if you’re brave enough in this moment to finally tell him how you feel, how much you enjoy his company, how special he’s become to you. And though you don’t know it, across from you Chenle is contemplating doing the same. He beats you to it with his next actions.

Your racing train of thought skids to an abrupt halt when you feel his hand on the lower part of your thigh, touch innocent and timid as it lingers on the soft fabric of your corduroy pants.

Eyes hurriedly adjusting to the dim space surrounding you, you feel his fingers grasp your own before you see them. At last you make eye contact with each other, gazes boring into one another and recognizing the same things, the same feelings in them. Chenle’s clutching your hand in his now, the first still resting comfortably on your thigh, and you feel the dull sensation of his legs bending inward, squeezing your knees together. His mouth opens, rounded lips parting as though to ask the question that you both already know the answer to. You bring an arm up to hold him by the shoulder, the movement in itself confirming that this is what you want as well. That he’s what you want.

Careful not to bump your heads against the low ceiling of the carriage, he leans towards you, closing the already minimal distance between your faces as he meets your lips in a kiss.

Heads tilting and eyelashes fluttering shut at the same instant, you both pour every unspoken thought, every secret glance, every loving word that never made it past your lips into the contact they currently share. The moment itself feels long overdue, like something you could have done on that first day you spent at the festival together.

It means more this way, though. The amount of time it took for this to happen gave you more time to discover and get comfortable with the way you feel about Chenle. To get comfortable with him. His presence, his humor, his personality, his touch, everything about him is something you’ve grown to depend on over these past few weeks.

Even your lips begin to depend on Chenle as they fall into place against his own, moving with a fervor you weren’t even aware you possessed.

There’s a quiet rhythm to the osculation of your lips, an airy sigh or breath from one of you breaking the silence every few seconds. In the midst of the indescribably wonderful sensation that is the kiss you’re sharing, you faintly feel his hand start to move up and down your leg, not in a provocative way but a reassuring one. His loving caresses have you leaning further into him even though there’s barely enough room to do so, making you wish for one reason and one reason alone that you were having this kiss somewhere else. Otherwise, the location is perfect.

More than a decade has passed since you were just a young child, begrudgingly posing for a photo for your parents by poking your head out through the same small window of the carriage. Since then, the orange of the paint has dulled, the once-soft carpet on the floor has become coarse from the countless shoes that have trodden over it. The wooden doors are splintered and, though never functional, the carriage’s large wheels have undoubtedly begun to show their age with the amount of dirt and dust caught in the grooves.

You’ve made many memories in this place, but the one you’re making today is sure to be unforgettable.

Chenle would give anything to be able to hold you right now, to maybe bring you onto his lap in a tender embrace as he shows you just how fast and how hard he’s fallen for you. Not that volunteering at the festival was a bad thing at all, but you made it so much more bearable, so much more fun. The thought of spending another perfect day with you was more than enough to get him out of bed every morning.

He compromises for the restrictions that the enclosed space places on your movements by untangling his fingers from yours, choosing to cup your cheek with them instead. You’re a little disappointed when his hand lifts from its place on your thigh, anxiousness bubbling up in your gut as you anticipate where he’s going to place it next.

It’s safe to say you just about melt when you feel his palm come up to delicately cradle one side of your chin, thumb darting out to glide along the skin that’s just below your bottom lip. Arching into him, you make the most of the little room you have left to pull him closer.

It’s then that your lungs finally catch up to both of you, sending simultaneous signals telling you to breathe. Granted, Chenle’s kisses feel like all the oxygen you’ll ever need anyway.

Reluctantly leaning away, your chests heave with muted but sharp gasps. A pang of worry hits you when he doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t say anything. His mouth has fallen open, eyes wide with just as much anticipation as you feel. Taking what feels like the biggest breath in your life, you pray your voice doesn’t tremble as you speak for the first time since you clambered into the dark, cozy carriage.

“I really like you, Chenle.”

The relief that washes over you when he responds is unlike any you’ve ever felt before.

“I like you, too.”

But he’s not done.

“...A lot, in case you hadn’t noticed.” The extra detail makes you giggle, smiling shyly at anything that isn’t him.

He goes to lean in again when you stop him. “Wait, wait, can we at least get out of here first? I want to do this properly.”

You scoot sideways after he nods in agreement, far enough for him to open the door and step down from the elevated imitation of a pumpkin. He extends a hand up to you once he’s on solid ground again, and you take it. His face breaks into that signature bubbly grin of his that’s more contagious than you’d like to admit.

Joining him on the grassy surface, you dramatically stretch your arms out in front of you, waiting for him to reciprocate the hug you’re implicitly requesting.

The impish twinkle in his eye you know so well appears with his next words. “Can I pick you up?”

“You’ll drop me!” You retort, scoffing.

“Aw, c’mon! No I won’t,” he pouts. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

Strong arms envelop your form as he lifts you into the air, only to pull you tightly against his torso. Not even the world’s fluffiest blanket can compare to the fleecy warm softness of the plaid shirt and sweater vest he’s wearing.

The enamored smile on Chenle’s face is the kind that would have made you weak in the knees if you were standing. Forgetting that you’re no longer shielded from the world by the carriage’s privacy, he presses your foreheads together and cutely nuzzles your nose with his own.

Framing his sharp jawline with both of your hands, you lean in to share a second kiss with the boy you wish you had gotten to know sooner. It’s no use wondering about what could have been, however, so for now you decide to focus on only this moment, only these lips, only Chenle. The way he smiles into the kiss has you reeling with affection.

Not even the distant cheers that just barely reach your eardrums can tear you away from each other.

When you feel as though the kiss has conveyed all you want and need to say to one another, Chenle begins to mumble against your lips. In a voice low enough for only you to hear, he says, “We’re going to have to face them sooner or later, you know.”

“How about never?” You reply, grumbling.

“Just follow my lead, okay? I’m used to their teasing,” he comforts.

“If you say so...”

Breaking out of the kiss-induced daze, you both look over to where the six boys stand, clapping and pumping their fists in the air in celebration with one another.

One of them, probably Renjun, you can’t quite tell, cups his hands around his mouth in preparation for the shout that leaves it not even a second later.

“It’s about damn time!”

“I told you guys if we just left them alone they’d figure it out themselves!” Mark adds triumphantly.

Apparently more than one kiss is one too many for his friends to see, and enough to make the small group turn away, yelling for you to “get a room” at the top of their lungs. You feel Chenle smirk against your lips at their repulsed reactions.

“Serves them right.”

You agree.

You’ve never had someone to spend Halloween night with before, and boy does this stress Chenle out to no end. He wants everything to be perfect, wants to do everything that a couple should do on such a holiday. “It’s really not a big deal, Chenle,” you insist sympathetically as he paces your living room floor, currently obsessing over what costumes you should wear.

“But... it’s you, and you’re a big deal. A big deal to me. I just want to make you happy.”

“Nothing could make me happier than being able to call you mine,” you proclaim proudly, enjoying the way his face practically turns into a tomato when what you’ve just said registers in his brain. “Stop it,” he stutters, lowering his head to stare at the carpet under his feet. You just giggle.

The excitement of the night is unlike any other. Your neighborhood’s streets are full of mostly children, but some adults and grandparents too, all taking part in the festivities. Going from doorstep to doorstep, you chant the famous three-word phrase at each house, assuring anyone who answers the door that you’re never too old to trick or treat if they ask. You get lots of compliments on your matching costumes: Chenle’s dressed as Sully and you’re Mike Wazowski from Monsters Inc. The soft fur on his outfit makes it extremely difficult for you to hold yourself back from hugging him any chance you get.

With your bags full of enough candy to last you two months at least, you return home for the night, this time crashing at his place. Despite the fact that it’s already getting late, both of you quickly change into some more comfortable clothes before settling in on his couch for a Halloween movie marathon.

“How about...” Chenle scrolls through the large selection of films on the screen. “The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“No!” You cry out abruptly, lightly pounding against his chest with one of your fists before returning it to its original position around his waist.

Looking down at you, currently curled up in his lap with your other arm thrown rather lazily over his sturdy shoulders and your side pressing into his torso, he asks, “Why not?”

In a small voice, you respond. “It... gave me nightmares when I was little.”

“Really? A Disney movie?”

“Yes, now can we please stop talking about it and pick something else?”

“Aw, are you scared?”

“Shut up!” You whine shyly, burying your face as far as it would go into the thin fabric of his loose white t-shirt.

“Hey,” he hushes you, “I’m not making fun of you, baby. It’s okay... I’ve got you.”

Chenle swears he feels the warmth of your blush against his shoulder, generated by his unusual use of that particular term of endearment.

He runs a reassuring palm along one of your arms down to your hand. Effortlessly he winds each of his fingers around yours, like piecing together the most delicate of puzzles, and you remember how this action would have flustered both of you beyond belief mere weeks before. It’s become so simple, so instinctive a movement, saying everything you need to know without even the slightest whisper of a word in the air.

Rubbing small circles into the skin on the back of your neck with his other hand, he holds you close, the harsh light from the television illuminating your form as it clings to his.

You eventually decide on an actual horror movie that leaves you muffling your shrieks with a pillow, but Chenle just laughs with a pitch so high that it reminds you of a certain marine mammal. You scold him by giving his shoulder a whack. “Shh, Chenle! You’re going to wake the whole neighborhood up!”

“Hey, you were screaming too!”

“That’s not screaming, that’s called laughing, you dummy.”

Hours later, Chenle’s arm hangs limply down into the large bowl of treats you’ve been sharing. The soft snores next to your ear tell you that he’s fallen asleep. His family finds you two knocked out cold the next morning, covered in fuzzy blankets and colorful candy wrappers strewn about the sofa.

Indeed, this would be a Halloween to remember, and you hope to spend many more together in the future. With Chenle in your arms right now, there’s no place in this world that you would rather be. And it’s all thanks to a flimsy piece of paper on a lamp post.

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duskholland · 4 years ago

Text

As You Are | Mob!Tom Holland

summary ↠ who could’ve known showing up to work late one night would put you in touch with a mysterious stranger, capable of turning your life upside down?

word count ↠ 6.8k

warnings ↠ mature themes, drinking, cursing, gambling + mentions of violence

a/n ↠ I don’t know how this ended up being so long honestly. I had a blast writing it and I really hope that people read it lol. anyway! this is part of my mob!Tom series -- a collection of oneshots set within the same universe. you don’t need to read the other parts for this to make sense.

mob!Tom masterlist | general masterlist

You’re late. Fuck, you’re running so late.

Your tight, shiny stilettos rub the corners of your toes uncomfortably as you hurry off the bus, ignoring the stares of the passengers. You push your handbag further up your arm and start to run precariously down the cobbled London streets, your heart pounding harshly in your chest. As you pass the entrances to some of the most exclusive clubs in Soho, you find yourself blending into the crowd. All around you are London’s elite, dressed in expensive coats, rich cologne, and enough glinting diamonds to burn your eyes, and they don’t spare you a second look as you reach the end of the street, taking your tall heels and short skirt as standard.

Relief replaces your anxiety as you pull off at the corner and slip around the back of the largest club of them all: The Lotus Club. You whip out your ID and flash it at the looming security guard on the door, and a moment later you’re in.

Immediately you’re met with backstage: an eclectic mix of cheap hairspray, curling irons, and half-naked girls. You move past a group of feathered dancers and find your locker quickly, ditching your bag and clocking in as you curse yourself for falling asleep earlier in the night. You’ve been working here for three years and you never used to be late, but these days, it’s as if you’ve been pushing it closer and closer to the wire each time you stumble in for your shift.

“You’re late,” comes a loud, stern voice. You freeze, your fingers half-way through pulling off the lid of a deep velvety red lipstick, and you glance at the mirror on your locker door to see your boss standing behind you, arms crossed. Loretta’s a ripped, forty-year-old woman with so many tattoos you think she must be immune to pain. Her eyes are stormy and grey as you hesitantly turn to face her, wincing a smile. “I’ve checked the data for the last month. You’ve been late 12 times, Y/N.” Her face pulls into a disappointed frown. “I’ve always liked you and you’ve never let me down before, but I need staff that I can rely on.”

Instantly you feel cold dread pool in your stomach. “Loretta, look, I’m really sorry, but it’s been a hectic month. I- I’ll try harder, okay? I’m sorry.” And you don’t want to grovel, but this job is all you have. Waiting the tables in this exclusive Soho Club is the only way you can afford to keep your flat, and without that, you have nothing. “Please don’t fire me.”

She holds your gaze for a long, hard minute. Your body feels tight with angst, your fingers shaking around the lipstick. “I’ll give you one more chance,” she says finally. “You’ll need to wait the private booths tonight, though.” When you open your mouth to complain, she laughs lowly. “Oi, none of that. I know you hate it, but if you’re late in, you don’t get a say in where I assign you. Got it?”

With a bite of your lower lip, you nod your head dejectedly. “Alright. Thanks Loretta. I won’t let you down.”

“You better not.” And then she turns and walks away, no doubt on her way to harass some of the other workers, and you turn around to finish your makeup.

The Lotus Club is a boujee blend of bar, nightclub and casino, equipped with a whole secluded wing through the back for private dances. Like the rest of the street, it attracts the highest of the high - rich, snobby businesspeople and socialites who enjoy getting off by flaunting their power and riches. You’re yet to meet anyone who isn’t a complete and utter snob.

The private booths perfectly encapsulate the worst parts of the club: they’re secluded and shady, which means they’re a hub for illegal and underhand exchanges, and they cost a leg and a half to rent out. If you think the customers you’d find in the main foyer of the club were spoilt, the inhabitants in the booths can only be described as the richest assholes London can muster.

You stare at yourself in your locker’s mirror, red lips sagging into an irritated pout. Your frown remains as you fluff up your hair for a final time and shut your locker abruptly. Your black skirt clings to your legs as you walk out into the front of house, the air clearing the moment you’re in the public sphere of the club.

It’s a very exclusive and elitist place, and the decor of the club indicates that exactly: large, glistening chandeliers dangle in every room, a rich red carpet curves across the halls, and there’s the controlled sound of restrained music drifting through large speakers. Each section of the club has a different vibe to it, and as you walk through the casino and into the section with the private booths, the tone shifts. The booths themselves are tucked behind a large curtain, and as you walk through, the lights grow dimmer and the sweet, husky scent of marijuana fills the air.

You find the supervising manager first - a small, unassuming man called Rob. He discreetly points at a circular table in the corner of the section. “That table over there,” he says. You squint your eyes and stare, making out the outline of a few young men. Curiosity replaces your irritation as you realise they look about as old as you. “You take them, yeah?”

You give him a nod. “Who are they?”

Rob shrugs. “No idea. Think it’s their first time.” He raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Make a good impression.”

You roll your eyes as you move away from him, flexing out your fingers as you walk towards the table. This is the VIP section, which means each booth gets a dedicated waitress - aka, you. You just hope the guys you’ll be serving are decent, because if they aren’t, it’ll be a long, long night.

You draw their attention easily, one of the side effects of being one of the few women in the room. Their gazes fall on you before you’re even at the table, and you suck in a quick, steadying breath as you manage a smile. “Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Y/N and I’ll be your server tonight. You ever been here before?”

Your eyes drift around the circular table as you wait on a response, taking in the men now you’re near enough to make them out. There are four of them: all looking young, but the number of tailored suits and watches attached to them screams wealth in a way you can’t ignore. To the left, two guys, both brunette and very similar - twins? To the right, a blond with dizzying blue eyes. And in the centre, a man, clearly the leader, with his arms thrown over the back of the booth. He’s in a crisp white shirt, a suit jacket lying crumpled on the seat beside him, and his golden brown eyes seem to linger on you for a moment too long as you wait on a response. The way he looks at you brings a warmth to your cheeks, the smile fixed on your face threatening to falter as you decide that he’s utterly delicious.

“Never been before, love.” Finally someone speaks, and it’s the blond. His lips twist into a slow smile. “Nice place you’ve got.”

You hum, returning his stare confidently. “It’s nice back here,” you agree. Then you reach down and pull a small, flat device from your pocket. You lean down and slide it into the centre of the table, making brief eye contact with the man in the centre as you pull yourself back up, a thrill of excitement cracking down your spine as you catch him staring at you. “That’s my pager. If you need me, just press the button and I’ll be here. Can I get you any drinks?”

They rattle off a list of drinks and you nod along, quickly memorising the drinks and faces, matching them with personalities. The guy in the centre goes for a Corona, speaking in a voice that’s just a little too perfect, and as you walk away towards the bar, you find yourself wondering why they’re all here. The private booths are the ideal location for illegal activities to occur, yet you couldn’t see any drugs on them, and none of them seem to have turned up with any documents or briefcases. They aren’t the usual age, either, and they all seem far too friendly to fit the normal typecast of the customers you’d find in the club. They’d smiled at you as you’d taken their orders, none of them looking at you through heady, lusting eyes - not even the man in the centre with the firm, brown gaze had let his stare slip away from your face. They feel like a breath of fresh air hidden away in an extremely stuffy room, and you can’t help but regard them fondly.

When you return to the table with a tray laden with drinks, you’re quick to distribute the bottles and glasses. The men are having a very loud and animated conversation, apparently at the expense of one of the twins, whose freckly face is burning a deep, embarrassed red. You’re in and out in a second, but in the moment you’re leaning across the table to put down a glass, the brunette in the centre meets your gaze again, his thin lips pulling up into a semblance of a smirk. “Thanks, love,” he whispers, tilting the glass towards you as you tuck the tray beneath your arm and step back.

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else,” you say, nodding at the pager on the table. He glances to the device quickly, before looking back at you, eyes lingering on the curve of your painted lower lip.

“Will do.”

You breeze away from them, your heart rattling against your ribcage as you walk to the back corner and slip into easy conversation with some of the other girls.

Your table get a few more rounds of drinks over the course of the night. Each time you’re there within seconds of the buzzer going off, always with an eager smile on your face. One bonus to the private booths is that the people who rent them out tend to have such a surplus of wealth that the tips are huge, and you’d really like to have the extra cash. So maybe you smile a little wider than usual, and do your best to crack jokes and play along as you talk with the group, but it’s all part of the job, and all part of what’s expected from you. You’re sure the fact that the man in the centre gets your heart racing a little faster than normal has nothing to do with it.

It’s a little after 1am when you’re paged back to the circular table in the corner, the buzzing in your pocket causing you to stifle a yawn. With a start, you walk back to them, your tired feet clacking across the smooth marbled floor. As you draw closer, you realise that there’s only one man there, and with a start, you realise it’s the leader.

“Hi,” you say, smiling nervously. “Friends abandoned you?”

The man shakes his head, the tips of his wavy brown hair shifting delicately. “Gone to the casino,” he explains. He pats the open booth beside him questioningly. “Do you want to sit?” You ponder it for half a second. His voice is open and warm, and it lacks the air of expectation that you’d usually find when patrons ask you a similar question. With a small smile on your face, you sit down beside him. “It’s Y/N, yeah?”

You nod slowly, your bare legs feeling warm against the leather booth. The man is still settled in the centre of the semi-circle, but he slides a little closer to you as you begin to talk, one of his arms hanging over the side of the booth, inviting you closer.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you reply softly. “Are you going to tell me your name, or is that a mystery too?”

The man quirks an eyebrow, and for the first time you notice how endearing his face is. It’s hard, with deep lines crossing his forehead and his cheeks, but when he smiles, the angst fades away, leaving him with a gentle softness about him. His nose is slightly crooked and his lips are thin and lopsided, but he’s undeniably handsome.

“I’m a mystery?” He asks, amused.

“No one’s seen any of you around before,” you say, picking your words carefully. “Normally we get regulars in the VIP section.” You shrug lightly. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, it’s our first time coming here,” he tells you. Then he picks up his hand and offers it to you. “I’m Tom, darling.”

You take his outstretched hand and your smile widens as he takes your fingers into a strong grip. “Nice to meet you, Tom.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

[-----]

You talk with Tom easily, gradually unearthing a few details about the man. He doesn’t give much away, but you gather that he and his brothers own a few businesses around London and they’d come to your club tonight to scout out the competition.

“Can I get you a drink, love?” He asks, about ten minutes into conversation.

You’ve got a relaxed smile on your face as you nod in agreement. “That would be nice,” you tell him. “I can go and get it, though.” You begin to stand, only to feel him reach out and take your hand, his digits loosely brushing up against yours as you meet his sparkly golden eyes.

“No, stay here,” he says, his voice soft. His eyes shift towards the bar and you watch as he catches the gaze of one of the other servers. She walks over to you and takes your order with a jealous grimace on her face, and you find yourself shifting a little closer to Tom as you sit back down.

“So...” You let your lips quirk into a coy smile. “What kinds of things does a man like you enjoy doing?”

Tom hums softly, his hand going to rest on your knee. The tips of his calloused fingertips draw small shapes and circles over your skin, his touch setting off warm fireworks. “I like golf,” he says, laughing quietly as you grimace. “It’s more interesting to play than it is to watch.”

“I’d sure hope so,” you joke. “I don’t think it’s really my thing.”

“Well, what is your thing?” You watch intently as Tom flicks his pink tongue out across his lower lip. Your breath hitches as you realise he’s flirting with you, and you’ve overcome with a strong urge to reciprocate.

“I like painting,” you admit. “Someday I’m going to quit my job here and open up an art gallery.” You reach up slowly, resting the flat hand on his shoulder as the tips of your fingers play around with his soft hair. “Would you be my model, one day?”

Tom brings his other hand to your waist, testing the waters. When you only drift closer to him, he holds your side more firmly, his long, nimble fingers slowly wrapping around you. His touch is intoxicating.

“I’d be flattered to be your model, darling,” he tells you, eyes sparkling with something between lust and admiration.

As the night draws on, you find yourself inching closer and closer to him, his body heat attracting you like a moth to a flame. His eyes sparkle brightly, shades of golden browns appealing to you easily, and you can’t stop yourself from shamelessly flirting with him, your heart pounding each time he returns it just as thickly.

But you’re not completely blinded by lust. Over the course of your conversation, you pick up on a few unsaid details. First and foremost: Tom has a holster strapped to his belt, and whilst it’s empty, its presence is enough to have your guard up. You know there’s probably a hundred armed men out in the casino, but the sight of it makes you uneasy. Tom’s nice, and maybe a part of you had considered clocking out and leaving with him, but that - and the fact that you can see a pair of brass knuckledusters hanging out of his suit pocket - is enough to sour that idea.

It really is a shame. He’s nothing but charming, in a very sweet, romantic way, and if the circumstances were different, you’d want him in a heartbeat.

By the time Tom’s friends return from the Casino, stacks of cash in hand, you’re practically on top of him. Somewhere between the second and the third beer, he’d pulled you nearer, and now you have your head pressed against his outstretched arm as you sit lazily in his lap, your voice dying halfway through your anecdote as the presence of Tom’s associates disturb your conversation.

“How much?” Tom calls out, his eyes moving away from your face for the first time in an hour. You watch as his pupils dilate, swallowing the golden flecks of his irises as he stares at the rolls of cash greedily.

“50k.” The blond...Harrison, you think, says. “We should come back more often.” His blue eyes twinkle knowingly as he takes in the way you’re spread over Tom. “You ready to go, mate?”

You feel Tom shift beneath you, a hand going to sit on your waist as he hums. “Go settle the tab, yeah? I’ll be over in a minute.”

Harrison nods, and you watch as the group approach the bar and begin to sift through the rolls of cash. Clearing your throat, you stretch out your arm and move out of Tom’s lap, distancing yourself from him as you give him a coy smile.

“Well… I guess it’s goodnight, Tom,” you say, watching him carefully. His eyebrows furrow together slightly as an expression of intrigue passes over his face.

“Don’t suppose you’d want to come home with me, love?” He asks, voice honest and open. He reaches down and takes one of your hands in his, his calloused thumb passing over the back of your knuckles. The touch makes you bite your lower lip, and for a brief moment, you find yourself wishing you could.

“Sorry,” you say instead, ignoring the way a part of you wants to explore the man further. You’ve seen the holster and the knuckledusters. “I don’t know you.”

Surprise replaces his intrigue, but Tom remains looking at you fondly. He nods his head, holding your gaze as he brings your hand to his mouth, pressing his intoxicating lips to the back of your hand and kissing your skin softly. “I’ll see you around then, darling,” he mumbles, finally releasing your hand as he presses it back to your lap. He stands up and shimmies out of the booth, tossing his suit jacket over his shoulder as he goes. “It was lovely spending the evening with you, Y/N.”

Your smile is soft, genuine. “You too, Tom. Have a nice night.”

He raises his hand in a brief wave, and then turns, meeting with his friends by the door. They leave together, and you take a moment to sit against the back of the booth, breathing heavily through your mouth as your thoughts run rampant through your mind.

Everything about Tom feels to be a juxtaposition. His suit was expensive and he left the casino £50,000 richer, yet his shoes were scruffy and his watch looked old and worn. He’s clearly used to control, but he was perfectly content with you setting the lines and the limits. He has an obvious affinity for the darker arts, but his touch was always kind and gentle. Tom is a perfect paradox, and you can’t help but keep him in your thoughts as you begin to clear away the dirty glasses, your smile remaining on your lips for the rest of the night.

[-----]

When you come in for your shift a few days later, you’re called into Loretta’s office immediately. Dread and anticipation hang heavy in your stomach as you nervously push open her door, hoping with every part of you that she hasn’t called you in to fire you. You’re left utterly perplexed as the tall woman greets you with a long, tight hug.

“Y/N, my darling!” She exclaims, releasing you and gesturing down at a chair. You slip into it apprehensively as she walks around to sit behind her desk, her eyes bright and excited. “You’ve got a tip.”

Your eyes widen. “A tip?” You echo, voice uncertain. Normally the tips would be added to your pay-check at the end of the month, no further comment needed. The way she’s staring at you like you’re a celebrity makes you nervous.

“Someone left an anonymous tip for you,” she says, voice high. “I’ve already deducted the club’s percentage.” Loretta passes you a bulging envelope. “It leaves you with just under £5,000.”

Your jaw drops.

“What… The fuck,” you manage, eyes bulging as you tear open the envelope and run your thumb through the thick stack of cash. “Who?”

Your boss shrugs. “Anonymous,” she repeats. “Just thought you’d appreciate the heads up. I’ll keep it out of the books, as long as you don’t mention this to anyone.” Her voice is low, and you nod quickly, knowing that she’s doing you both a favour: the club takes a cut of all tips received, and you know that you’ll both come out better if the tax office doesn’t learn of your bonus.

“Thank you,” you say, flabbergasted. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” she advises. “Just take it.” As you rise to your feet and slip the envelope into your bag, she adds, “You can go back to serving the bar, as usual. I’ll get Monica to cover the private booths.”

“Thanks,” you say again, your voice soft and shaken. She bids you goodbye as you walk back to the lockers, your eyes wide and your mind scrambled.

You want to assume it’s Tom who’s left the tip. You don’t think you’ve made a big enough impression on anyone else recently to be rewarded this generously. It baffles you, because you hadn’t ever expected this, but then you find yourself warming to the idea. You’d gotten on well with Tom, and maybe a small part of you has been regretting denying him, and this… Well, this act of generosity would suggest that he’s still thinking about you, and that’s a very nice thought.

You begin your shift with a wide smile on your face, knowing your rent is taken care of for the next few months. It puts a lightness in your step, and you find yourself winning over all the patrons you come into contact with, your wallet growing heavier and heavier as the night draws by. A few times, you find yourself gazing around the bar, looking for Tom, expecting to see him, but not feeling surprised when you don’t. He’d told you himself that he was only in the club to scout out a rival business - why would he return after gathering his reconnaissance?

He doesn’t turn up that night. Or the next. Or even the next. You have to wait another week before you see another sign of him, and even then, it’s not actually him.

You’re clearing away a table when you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around to see Harrison standing there, a black suit pulled around him so perfectly that he looks like a model and it takes your breath away for a second.

“Y/N?” He asks, voice clear and bright. You give him a nod, your eyebrows pulling up into confusion as he procures a red rose and passes it to you. “I’m Harrison, Tom’s mate. We met the other night.”

You twirl the stem between your fingers, glancing between the delicate petals and Harrison’s watchful face. “Yeah, I remember.”

He nods his head at the rose. “Tom wanted you to have that. He also wanted to know if you’d gotten his gift?”

The thorns on the rose nick your finger and you curse softly, bringing your thumb to your mouth and sucking away the small drop of blood. Harrison watches you intently, his eyes twinkling as he holds back a laugh.

“You mean the tip?” You ask after a moment, pulling your hand away from your face. You cross your arms over your chest as you stare the man down. “You do know that was an obscene amount of money, right?”

Harrison chuckles, running a hand through his blond curls. “I know,” he agrees. “Tom wouldn’t hear anything else. Apparently you made quite the impression.” His eyes sweep across you briefly. “He wanted to know if you’d join him for a date tomorrow night.”

You hum, your eyebrow raising slightly. “And why are you here asking me out, instead of him?”

Harrison’s eyes widen at your controlled tone, his cheeks tinting with a rosy blush. “He’s busy.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “Well, you can tell Tom that I appreciate the gesture, but if he wants to take me on a date, he needs to come down here and ask me himself.” Acting on impulse, you pass Harrison back the rose, your eyes dancing mischievously.

Harrison looks a little taken aback, but he nods slowly and looks at you with a shade of respect in his gaze. “I will pass on the message.”

“Thanks, Harrison.” You turn back to the table you’re clearing and you watch from the corner of your eye as he turns and walks away, leaving the club with the rose in his hands.

Your heart hammers in your chest, as part of you can’t believe you’ve just turned him down so boldly. But you know it’s for the best, because men like Tom can be dangerous, and if he thinks he can get away with anything, then that’s not the kind of person you want to see. You decide that if he can swallow his pride and show up to see you himself, then you’ll be happy to lean into him, but you won’t fall at his feet just because he’s flashed some cash. If he doesn’t respond to your demands, at least you’ll come out richer for it. But a part of you thinks you’ve got him nailed down, and you have the feeling he thrives on games like these, and so you return to the club the next night expecting to see him, and you’re not surprised when you do.

Tom’s leaning up against the bar, talking with one of the strippers amicably. The feathers coming out of her plumed headband fall onto his forehead as they laugh closely together, and an irrational stab of jealousy twists up through your insides as you watch them. It’s ridiculous, and you quickly swallow it back, but as Tom meets your eyes from across the room, you know he’s seen the envy in your eyes. His thin lips pull into a smirk and he beckons you over, your legs moving of their own accord.

As you get to Tom, he leans down and whispers something in the woman’s ear. You watch as her expression falls, and then she pulls away from Tom to circle the room in search of another visitor. He greets you by opening his arms, and you pause for a moment before sinking into them, his fingers finding your waist as your head goes to the crook of his neck, finding home briefly in his warmth and the rich scent of his powerful cologne. As you pull back, one of his hands goes back to his side, but the other finds your face for a moment, holding you softly as his lips brush over your cheek. You have to bite back a smile as he mumbles a quiet, “Evening, love,” not wanting him to see how utterly giddy it makes you feel to have him so close again.

“Hi, Tom,” you reply, your head clearing up as he finally drops contact with your skin. Your eyes drift over his familiar face, taking in the details of his handsome features. “Looking for a stripper, eh?”

“Not unless she’s called Y/N,” he replies, voice controlled but suggestive. You chuckle quietly, your face heating a little as you grow slightly bashful.

“Smooth,” you comment. “You gonna buy me a drink?”

“Whatever you want,” he promises. His eyes sweep over the room. “You’re not working?”

You shrug as you slip up at the bar, Tom settling on the stool beside you. One of his hands goes to rest on your knee, the contact firm and grounding, and it makes your body fill with a subtle, thrumming heat. “I am, technically,” you say. “But it’s my job to entertain the guests,” you shift your gaze to his suggestively, “and I’d say you’re in need of a little fun.”

“You’re definitely right there, darling.”

You drink a few rounds with Tom, treating yourself to some of the bar’s most expensive wine because he’s already given them his card and you free rein over the drinks menu. Any reluctance you feel to exploit his kindness disappears as you remember how easily he’d left the casino up £50k the other night, and as you slowly grow lighter and your bloodstream more diluted, you find yourself loosening up. Tom does too, and as you talk about any and everything, his hair becomes messier as his cheeks flush. Your knees touch and sometimes your shoulders brush, and it’s like the rest of the world burns away until it’s just you, and him, laughing, talking, feeling, and it’s so natural that you almost forget that you come from two different worlds.

But then Tom shifts on the stool, and your eyes catch his empty holster, and you’re slammed back to earth, your mood shifting. He picks up on it immediately, his eyebrows furrowing as he reaches out and picks up your hand, playing with your fingers softly. “You alright there, love?”

You hum. “What do you want from me, Tom?” You ask after a moment, voice unassuming.

“What do you mean?”

You give him a coy smile. “You know what I mean,” you tease. “Chatting with me, leaving me thousands of pounds, getting your friend to ask me out… Even being here tonight. What do you want?” And your voice is open and honest, and Tom ponders it for a few moments before squeezing your hand.

“You intrigue me, Y/N,” he admits. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the night we met… I don’t know why, or what I want from you, but I guess, I’d quite like to know, what do you want from me?”

“Oh, no, you don’t get to turn this on me.”

“Why not? I’m definitely allowed to do that.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re sneaky, Tom,” you mumble. “If I’m being honest, part of me thought you’d show up tonight and expect me to leave with you. Because, y’know, the money.” He opens his mouth to argue, but you raise an eyebrow and he pauses. “I don’t think you’re that kind of guy, though. Are you?”

He shakes his head quickly. “I’m not a dick.”

“Arrogant, sometimes?”

“Yeah.”

“A bit egotistical?”

“Well, uh, I guess you could say that.”

“Dominating?”

Tom’s eyes shift a shade darker as he nods. “You like to talk,” he comments, bringing a smile to your face.

“I can leave you to your thoughts, if you’d prefer that,” you tease. He tightens his grip on your hand, and for the first time you look down at his fingers and notice that his knuckles are bruised and bloodied. “Shit, what happened here?” You bring his hands nearer your face, gently grazing your touch over the curves of his cut knuckles. He winces but he lets you inspect the injuries.

“Nothing,” he mutters. When you tighten your gaze, he shrugs haplessly. “Got in a fight. No big deal.”

“Yeah, right.” You rise from the stool, dragging him with you. You’re about to turn and pull him across the room when you hesitate. “Are you packing?” He looks surprised by the question, so you add, “I won’t take you backstage if you’re dangerous.”

“I’ve not got a gun on me,” he says, dodging half the question but it’s good enough for you. You lead him out, through the bar, past the casino, and you pull him through a large door that says Staff Only and take him back to one of the locker rooms. It’s peak time so the room is quiet, and you sit him down on a bench as you grab a clean cloth from beside the sink and run it under some warm water.

“If you don’t take care of your injuries, they’ll scar,” you tell him as you dab at his knuckles. Tom’s gaze burns into your cheek as you wash away the dried blood, exposing the deep colours of fresh bruises just below. You glance up at him, your breath hitching in your throat as you meet his stare, his eyes dancing with a thousand different words. “Who’d look after you if I wasn’t here, huh?” You walk across the room before returning with a cotton pad soaked in disinfectant. “This might hurt,” you warn, but Tom doesn’t even flinch as you drag the pad over his cracked skin. You throw the pad into the bin and then settle in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare at him questioningly.

“Come sit,” he says finally, his voice more laboured than before. He spreads his legs a little and pats at his lap, and without hesitation you step forward and straddle him. You have to shift around until you’re comfortable, but you manage to stretch your legs out behind him on the bench and his hands go to anchor your hips in place. Your faces are really close now, and he easily brings a hand up to settle on your cheek, the tips of his fingers resting on your cheekbones. “You’re unbelievable, you know that, love?”

You smile slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re just…” He breaks off, sighing comically. “So fucking perfect.” The compliment draws your smile into a large grin as you chuckle softly.

“Perfect, eh?” You tease, running a hand over his shoulder. You rest it at the nape of his neck, your fingers playing with the tips of his hair. “I don’t think perfect exists.”

“It does,” he says immediately.

“Maybe.” Acting boldly, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his jaw, admiring the sharp line with your mouth as he sighs beneath you. “You’re a dangerous man, aren’t you?” You say, finishing your trail of kisses at his ear. You let your breath fan out across his skin for a moment before pressing a final kiss to his earlobe, feeling his body tense beneath you.

“Yeah,” he admits.

You pull yourself back to face him, your eyebrow arched. “Will you keep me safe?” You ask. It hangs heavy in the air, a multitude of layers hidden away behind the few words.

Tom nods, a hand drawing up to find home in your hair. His fingers bury in the strands and he uses his leverage to draw you nearer until your noses are touching, his cold skin pressing to yours in the most delicate way.

“I will always protect you,” he promises, voice serious.

Your lips quirk into a slight smile. “Kiss me,” you ask.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, lips chapped but warm as they slide over yours. It’s soft, for a moment, but then you grip his hair and pull him nearer and it grows stronger. Passion flows between you as you cling to him, his mouth hot and luxurious and it draws a heat between your legs as you feel his teeth catch at your lower lip. When you part your lips and grant him access, his tongue dances with yours and you moan into his mouth, every inch of you aching for him, burning with desire to keep him here. His hand in your hair holds you close as the other wanders over your side, caressing your figure softly but warmly, and you turn to butter in his hold, kissing, and kissing, and kissing, until your lips are numb and your lungs burn. When you pull away, he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes pulling open just enough to make brief contact with yours. He looks softer now, less anxious, more in control.

“I wish I could do that forever,” he admits. Both hands find your waist, holding you comfortably as he smirks at you. “You’re something else.”

You shrug slightly, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you, Tom,” you tease, eyeing him carefully. “You gonna come back again tomorrow?”

He raises a scruffy eyebrow. “You want me to come back tomorrow?”

Your lips split into a wide smile. “Yeah,” you admit. “Maybe the day after that, too. If you want.”

“I’ll be here,” he promises. “I’ll be here for as long as you want me to be.”

You kiss him again, softer. His lips are warm and they already feel a little bit like home. You realise that he’s got you, both physically, because his fingers grip your waist so strongly, but also emotionally, because you look into the depths of his warm, mysterious eyes, and you realise you don’t want to forget what they look like.

“I might want you around for a long time. Is that a problem?”

Tom shakes his head, body relaxing. He kisses you. “Not a problem at all,” he confirms. “I feel like… I feel like you might change my life, love.”

You laugh quietly, rolling your eyes. “Who knew you’d be such a sap,” you tease. Tom frowns, his grip on your waist tightening, and you swallow deeply as he steadies you. “I’m kidding. Relax.” You kiss him again, quickly.

“You think you can just distract me with kisses?” He says, voice confident. You nod your head arrogantly.

“Oh, yeah,” you confirm. “I think you’re the kind of person who will be very easy to distract.” To prove your point, you take a long moment to grind your hips down, feeling the hard presence of his erection pressing up against your covered core. You giggle and your head falls to the crook of his neck, and Tom’s hands rub over your back as he holds you close.

“You’re a minx,” he says. “Such a tease.”

“I’m a lot of things,” you whisper against his neck. You feel his lips brush over the top of your head and let him hold you, close, gripping you tightly, and it feels like you’ve known him for infinity already.

“I’m excited to figure you out, Y/N.”

You tilt your head and run a line of brief kisses up his neck until eventually finding his lips, seizing them in a short peck. “Me too, Tom,” you admit. “I feel like you’re gonna be really special to me,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

“Oh, so who’s the sap now, huh?” He teases, drawing your smile wider.

“Shut up,” you say.

“Make me.”

And then, quite simply, you’re back to kissing, and you know he’s dangerous, and you know he’s powerful, but his touch on your waist is gentle and he’s kissing you so slowly and softly that none of that really matters. It doesn’t matter that you don’t entirely know who he is, because there’s a connection tethering your soul to his, and you can feel it - even if it’s only been a few days. It’s a type of connection that you’ve never felt before, and it thrills you, but it also terrifies you. Because you know that the man beneath you holds the keys to the world, but it comes at a cost, and you’re not sure you can afford the price if it all falls apart.

But fuck it. He’s kissing you, and it’s perfect, and you crave to stay like this forever, curled up in his lap like this. So what if the world burns? You’re perfectly happy exactly where you are, Tom’s hands on your hips, your mouths moving in sync. And as he holds you close, you know there’s nowhere else your heart would be safer than tucked up here with him.

#tom holland #Tom Holland oneshot #Tom Holland x reader #mob!tom holland #mob!tom #Tom Holland x y/n #self insert #self-insert #y/n #y/n use #my writing #mm #:D #mob!tomfic

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

Text

Somebody I Used To Know

Summary: Months into the end of the world, the reader helps out a mysterious man she’s never seen before. He asks her to meet up with him where she learns she used to know him better than anyone...

Pairing: Endverse!Dean x reader

Square: Endverse!Dean

Word Count: 2,800ish

Warnings: language, slight danger, angst, eventual fluff

A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo

_______

The Croat hit the pavement hard, the guy on the ground looking back at you as he got to his feet. You turned your gun on him, the man staring as you both heard the echoes of running in the distance.

“Either shoot me and get it over with or let’s go,” he said. You lowered your gun and took off running, the man catching up quickly. He went with you down the street before he started to veer off to the left.

“You won’t make it,” you said, going to the other side of the street and opening your jeep door. You spotted the truck in the distance that was probably his. He looked at it and then you and you sighed. You drove over and he hopped on the step up, grabbing onto the top rack. You drove over to the truck and he climbed off, quickly getting in as you both saw a swarm of Croats fill the street.

“Highway 12. Mile marker 108. One hour,” he called out through his window before he took off the other direction. You headed West and drove out of town, finding a quiet parking lot to sit and think in.

Going to meet a stranger by yourself was fifteen kinds of stupid. Even if you were packing. It could have been a trap for your gear or your jeep. Or you. You reached into your glovebox and took out a map, finding the spot the guy had wanted to meet. It wasn’t a very good ambush point, not much cover around on an open stretch of highway.

He was the first person you’d seen in months that didn’t want to actively kill you though which was something. At the very least, if it went bad, you could take his belongings. There was bound to be something useful in there.

One Hour Later

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” said the man as you stepped out of your jeep. You were the only two vehicles around and the swampy fields on either side didn’t make for a good hiding spot.

“Wasn’t so sure myself,” you said, your hand resting on your thigh holster, his matching you as he straightened up from where he leaned on his truck.

“You had my back,” he said.

“You looked like you were in trouble,” you said.

“I was. Still am,” he said with a shrug. He moved his hand away from his gun and crossed his arms. “Judging by your ride and the gear I saw in there, you’re on your own too.”

“Who says I’m on my own?”

He looked around and smirked, kicking at the ground.

“I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you said, giving him a nod. “What do you want Dean Winchester?”

“A blueberry pie with a dollop of whip cream on top,” he said, chuckling to himself. “Shit, I miss pie.”

“I’m going now,” you said, a hand on your door already before he started to walk over. He was slow when he approached your jeep, holding up his hands. “I saved you. It’s no big deal.”

“Do you...do you want to come with me?” he asked.

“Where?”

“It’s kinda far,” he said. You undid the clip on the top of your holster, Dean taking a step back. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’d be a bit hypocritical of me considering you saved my life an hour ago.”

“You don’t trust strangers. Didn’t you learn that in apocalypse 101?” you said.

“You are as sarcastic as ever,” he said, a dry laugh escaping him. Your gun was out and by your side now. “There was a time when you would have died for me.”

“You going Croat on me?” you asked, cocking your gun and raising it up. He shook his head but dropped his hands down. “Up if you don’t want a hole in your shoulder.”

“Y/N…” he sighed but he did hold his hands up again.

“Turn around.”

“January 30th you woke up in Phoenix, Arizona in hospital room 45A at Mercy General with a burn on your lower right back, selective memory loss of the previous ten years and a tattoo on your hip of a star in a ring of fire.”

You swallowed and reached around your back, feeling the scar there. He slowly moved his right hand down and grabbed the back of his jacket and shirt, yanking them up to show his back.

“I got one too, sweetheart,” he said, dropping the clothes over his scar.

“Who the fuck are you?” you said as turned back to face you.

“I was your husband. Soulmate too. It’s not a burn scar. Our bond was literally physically there once after something happened and it left a lasting impression. It’s a long story,” he said as you raised your eyebrows. “Yeah. I know I sound nuts. But how else would I know that crap?”

“Prove that-” you said before he tugged his shirt collar aside and revealed a tattoo just like your own. “Who are you?”

“Dean Winchester. You’re Y/N Winchester. It’s been a while since you’ve been called that is all,” he said.

“I’m not married. I work at Starbucks and I tend bar. I-”

“Your father died when you were thirteen. Everyone told you it was a burglary gone wrong but that never sat right with you. When you were eighteen, you confronted your mom about it. She walked out and called you to meet later on that night. She never showed. Three days later, you got a story she was attacked by a rogue grizzly while hiking. Any of this ringing a bell?”

“I never told anyone I thought my dad didn’t die in that house,” you said.

“You told me about five years ago.”

“What’s something else I’ve never told anyone?”

“You know your mom killed your dad but you don’t remember why.”

“It’s creepy that you know that,” you said, looking him up and down.

“Your amnesia was related to something...specific. It’s more like memories were wiped clean of certain things. You can remember the past few years. They feel bland is all, right?”

“Are you like this too?” you asked.

“No. I’m the one that had your memory wiped,” he said. Your eyes narrowed and he tilted his head back. “I’m not going to answer why and I’m not telling you what’s gone. If shit weren’t bad, I’d never have come back.”

“What do you mean come back?” you asked.

“Well, when the shit hit the fan and the literal end of the world started, I went looking for you.”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m your husband, dumbass,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Well if I’m not insane and what you said is true, I think the relationship ended when you wiped my memory, don’t you think?” you said. “I was out screwing a guy two months after I got out of the hospital.”

He dropped his gaze down, taking a deep breath before he forced his head up.

“Shit. You really do love me,” you said.

“Yeah. I do,” he said.

“I was kinda lying about the screwing thing. I wanted to see your reaction,” you said.

“Don’t do that again,” he said but you saw the flash of relief on his face. “I know it sounds crazier than Croat crazy.”

“Yeah. All evidence points to you telling the truth though,” you said.

“Will you come with me? We can go someplace safe. Take your own ride if it makes you feel more comfortable,” he said.

“Fine. But I don’t care if you do love me. You do something shady, I’m gonna shoot you,” you said.

“Funny. You shot me the night we met. Just like old times,” he said. You blinked a few times and he shrugged. “Good on gas?”

“Half a tank,” you said.

“Top off,” he said, walking over to the back of his truck. He opened the trunk and grabbed a gas can. He set it down on the road and walked back to his driver’s side door. “If we head out now we can get there by night.”

“Alright. Lead the way.”

Eight Hours Later

“Where the fuck am I…” you said to yourself as you drove up a dirt road. You saw Dean stop ahead of you and get out of his truck. He opened up a garage door and hopped back in before he pulled inside. He stepped out and waved you to park behind him. You were hesitant to but part of you trusted him somewhere deep down. You took a breath and pulled in. He locked up the garage as you got out and looked around. “What is this place?”

“It’s where I live. You used to live here too,” he said. You turned your head around and spotted a nice muscle car parked in the corner. “Baby’s not much for an all terrain vehicle unfortunately.”

“I like it,” you said.

“You always did,” he said. “I haven’t been here in a while so hopeful it’s not too much of a mess.”

“Lead the way,” you said.

“You want me to get your bag for you?” he asked. You shook your head and crossed your arms.

“Let’s see how this goes first,” you said. He nodded and went down a short flight of stairs, opening a door. You followed after, finding yourself in a set of hallways.

“Y/N?” said a voice behind you. You spun around with your gun out, aiming straight at a giant of a man, his hands up. “Shit, it’s Sam. Don’t shoot me.”

“She doesn’t know who you are,” said Dean. “Y/N, this is Sam. He’s my little brother.”

“Anybody else live here I should know about?” you said, lowering your gun, not yet returning it to it’s holster.

“Our friends, Cas and Jack, do sometimes but they’re not in. They’re out working on something,” said Dean. “Just us here.”

“Fine,” you said. You put your gun away, Sam dropping his hands to his sides.

“I’ll uh, show you around,” said Dean. “Sammy, maybe you can get my stuff from my truck for me?”

“Sure. Y/N, good to see you,” said Sam as he headed up into the garage.

“Y/N,” said Dean when you stared after him. “Let’s check out where you can keep your stuff, okay?”

“After you.”

“How you doing?” you heard Sam ask Dean later on in the night as you roamed the halls. You paused around a corner and heard a sigh from the other side.

“Surprised you’re not telling me I told you so,” said Dean. “You told me how wiping her memories was one of the lowest things I’ve ever done.”

“It wasn’t your choice to make. But I understand why you did it. I should never have said that,” said Sam.

“You were right. I’m lucky she’s even alive. If I hadn’t done that, she would have been so much safer when the world went to shit.”

“You can’t predict the future, Dean,” said Sam. “You were trying to protect her.”

“It all still went bad,” said Dean. “All I did was make her more vulnerable. I don’t know what to do.”

“You could tell her the truth.”

“She’ll think I’m nuts.”

“She seems to believe the you wiping her memories part. If she can believe that, she can probably handle the rest. Think about it. Croats are real. A year ago people would have thought this was insane. The way I see it, you’ve been out there a long, long time looking for her. If you want her to stay, you have got to tell her everything,” said Sam.

“What if she wants to leave then? It’s safe here,” said Dean.

“You have to respect her right to choose. You took that from her last time. Let her have it now,” said Sam.

“I know,” said Dean quietly. “It’s just...I know I hurt her when I did that. I could live with it though because she didn’t know. She was starting to have a good normal life. Then this happened and I hurt her for nothing. I made it worse. When I tell her, all I’m going to end up doing is hurt her again. She doesn’t deserve that. She never did.”

“Dean. The only problem you ever had when it came to Y/N was you loved her. It’s fine to want to protect her. But sometimes, you have to let people you love get hurt. You can’t protect them from everything. When that happens, they want you there to help them heal. You owe her the truth, De...and to cut yourself a break. You wanted better for her. There’s nothing wrong with that. Let her pick what better is though. It’s her life, not yours.”

“I’ll talk to her in the morning. We had a long day,” said Dean. “Thanks.”

“Night,” said Sam. You quickly headed back towards the room you were staying in. You heard Dean go past in the hall outside and round the corner, a door shutting in the distance. A few minutes later you wandered over to his room and knocked on the wood.

“Yeah?” he said. You pushed it open and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed in a shirt and pair of boxers. “Do you need something, Y/N?”

“I sort of heard you and Sam just now,” you said. He nodded and looked down to his lap. “I don’t know you anymore. I don’t know what we used to talk about or how we used to. I don’t know why you did what you did. But I do know I felt something the second I saw you. I know that you made a mistake and I know you did it to protect me. I know I’ll forgive you for it too.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you tried to help me. I won’t be mad at you for that,” you said.

“I took away your memories and I don’t think I can get them back,” he said.

“I guess you’re just gonna have to get me to fall in love with you a second time then,” you said. He stared at you and you stepped inside, sitting beside him. “You did it once. It shouldn’t be too hard the second.”

“You don’t even know me and you’re still...you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I think it’s my choice, Dean.”

“But why? I thought you didn’t trust me.”

“You love me. You went looking all that way for me to make sure I was safe, in the middle of the end of the world. You don’t do that for people you don’t care about,” you said.

“If you change your mind, it’s okay. I understand,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. You took one of the hands in his lap and held it, Dean turning his head. “Don’t count on it though.”

“Alright,” he said as he ran his thumb over your skin. “It’s late. You should head to bed. I’m sure you haven’t slept on a mattress in a long time.”

“I haven’t,” you said. You leaned back and shut your eyes. “Feels good.”

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he said. “I know I’m a stranger.”

“I know. I want to if that’s alright,” you said. He hummed and lay back himself. “I like that picture over there. On your dresser.”

He was quiet and you opened your eyelids, glancing over at him as he looked at you.

“We look happy,” you said.

“We were,” he said.

“Maybe someday we can get back to that,” you said. You smiled and he returned it. “Thanks for coming to make sure I was okay.”

“Always, sweetheart. Always.”

_______

#spndeanbingo #spn #supernatural #dean x reader #endverse dean #au #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

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