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mochibrokenheart · 3 years ago

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SVSSS: Guardian of the Museum

Mobei Jun x Shang Qinghua

Word Count: 2,756

Summary: Of course there's ominous growling and destruction to the building on Shang Qinghua's first night as a museum curator. Of course there is! Besides being desperate to keep the job, he's not sure what possesses him to actually walk toward the dangerous situation. His survival instincts were better trained that! Except...wait a minute...the terrifying creature causing all the ruckus is actually the hottest thing he's ever seen???

My first contribution for Moshang Monsterfucking Month (and my first fic for the fandom in general!) Heavy on the monster part as the nsfw is not explicit. Who knew that it would be hard to write something short. Inspired by the Day 2 prompt: horny.

Also posted on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34305571

A nearby bell tolled at midnight just as Shang Qinghua locked up the museum for the night, which meant that he was officially off for the weekend. Being a party of one, he celebrated with a groovy victory dance while turning the key over in the lock.

There was a little click and he rattled the knob, checking that the door was properly locked—if anything was stolen or vandalized during the night, he would most definitely be blamed as the recent hire!

The job was an important stepping stone in his career path plan to being a rare artifacts curator. He really needed the experience. It was hard enough to land the job, so he wasn’t above looking neurotic by double, and triple, and quadruple checking everything before he left.

A chilly breeze tussled his hair and raised goosebumps down his neck. It was October, he supposed while drawing up his hood to block the chill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain.

He was much to delicate for cold temperatures and would exercise his right to curse out the changing seasons. Of course, he could move somewhere further south, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with it anymore, but still!

The only good thing about the loss of summer was the bugs, he decided.

Clearly, Shang Qinghua was irresistible because bugs treated his blood like an all-you-can buffet. If only hot men thought the same. But alas.

Sighing, he turned up to admire the full moon, who seemed to sympathize with the sad state of his romantic affairs, being the moon and all. Something about it’s pale gray-white color naturally emoted a sad, longing reflection.

It was as he was looking up that he heard a growl, loud not because of its pitch—it was actually quite low and gravelly—but because it vibrated the very air around him.

Shit. Shit. He wasn’t equipped to deal with some beast! He had no weapons and there was no way his body was going to get the job done either. He was a delicate flower, just ask the bugs who always feasted on him!

He rummaged through his bag frantically for his phone. That was what the authorities were for.

Opening his phone, his mind was racing. Who did you call when there was a potentially wild animal on the loose? The police? Animal control?

Gasp! What if it turned out to be a demon?

…!!!

He didn’t have any shamans or priests on speed dial. There had never been a reason to until then but if it would save him, he’d buy up every type of religious necklace he could and wear them around his neck daily. It was like insurance—it never hurt to cover all of his bases.

While he was wasting time on the sidewalk, what appeared to be small bits of gravel drifted down from what seemed like the roof. Scurrying to get closer to the streetlight, which casted a circular light on the steps of the museum, Shang Qinghua bent down to get a closer look.

It felt dusty when he rubbed his pointer finger against his thumb and did match the shade of stone the building was…The new evidence presented a bit of dilemma. Yes, he was still itching to call somebody have them do the dangerous work, but at the same time, his boss might fire him if something happened to the museum under his watch.

“Well, if there’s more damage, I guess I’ll take a look,” he muttered. He clasped his hands together. “But please, take mercy on me, moon! I promise that if you get me out of this that my next erotica will be dedicated solely to you, and in very large print, so that my readers know the reach of your mystical power!”

His hands remained clasped high above his head as he waited. So far so good.

There was still the scary growls, of course, but those didn’t count because he wasn’t going to investigate that. It was absolutely common knowledge that people who investigated weird sounds always ended up dead, at least in horror movies, and that was all the proof he needed to wash his hands of it.

No, the only thing that could sway him from his crouch on the front steps was…was…

Tears shimmered in his eyes as more rubble was knocked off from the roof, the fine particles irritating his nose and causing him to sneeze.

Thoroughly betrayed, he used his sleeve to wipe at his nose. Forget the moon. Clearly the bond he felt had only been one-sided, and now he was obligated to actually suck it up and put himself in harms way.

The Shang Qinghua of five minutes ago would’ve screamed and called himself a fool. Why ignore those highly honed flight instincts?! Even the Shang Qinghua of the present was screaming and calling himself a fool when he took the first hesitant step inside.

It was deceptively quiet in the stairwell but that wasn’t enough to calm him. As the saying went, it was the calm before the shit storm and he was about to be right in the middle of it. How careless of him.

Just in case this was the end, he started to draft an epitaph—it’s not like anyone else would put in the same amount of effort.

His minor following would be too busy wailing about the permanent book hiatus; his boss would have their hands full dealing with insurance over the architectural damage; and that hot-and-cold cucumber bro of his would still be nagging him in the afterlife, criticizing him for his stupid plan when it ‘clearly would’ve been better to do such and such’. But back to him.

We are gathered here to mourn the passing of one Shang Qinghua, a bright hamster that was taken from Earth far too soon. His exhibit work was flawless, his knack for collections cataloging unrivaled. There was never a day without bountiful office supplies with him around. We thank him for his singular brave—foolish?—sacrifice in the name of historical value. Shang Qinghua is survived by several dying houseplants and the stray dog he usually fed on his way home from work.

There. That sounded as good as he was likely to get. Wait. No. He almost left out the most important part: the secret letter of last words meant only for cucumber bro’s eyes. Bro, if you’re reading this it’s because I died a terrible and scary death. Please take pity and wipe all of my search history. It was all for research, honest! It’s bad taste to judge a dead man.

The access door to the roof was large and imposing in front of him, even though there was still no noise coming from the other side. He was going to be mad and then relieved, in that exact order, if this turned out to be nothing.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Jumped around and shook his hands where they hung down beside the length of his body. He’d watched enough athletes—for research!—throughout his short life and getting loose always seemed to pump them up for competition. The same principle should apply here.

The door gave with a loud screech and he suspected that it wasn’t in regular use. Not that there was probably much to see up there anyway. Just roosting pigeons, stone slabs, and—

His mind went blank.

Crouching in the corner, so close to the edge that all it would take was a gust of wind to send him tumbling down, was some sort of winged creature. And the wings were massive things that arched up before curving downward completely over it’s back, the tips draped on the ground. Judging by how large they were, they had to be functional, which nearly caused him to wet himself.

He didn’t want to imagine that thing taking flight after him. Not that he would be exciting prey. Gods, this probably how a mouse felt when a hawk was flying overhead.

But it was the horns that really caught his attention. They were hulking black spirals and the sharp points were pointed right at him. Even in the poor light, it was obvious that they were pure black. Any other time, he might comment on how cool they actually were, how they were a cosplayer’s dream, but it wasn’t cool when it was a matter of life and death.

And he would most certainly die if those menacing horns and wings were any indication.

Trying to keep the element of surprise, he slowly let the door swing shut. Until a little bat started flew over squeaking, which caused him to squeak as well. The door hit the frame with a loud rattle. His body went heavy with fear and his eyes snapped shut, a natural prey response. He had never, ever been this scared.

Not patient enough for Shang Qinghua to turn around on his own, the creature flung him around to face it with an aggressive growl. And he had thought it was loud when he was on the sidewalk. Which wasn’t true at all. It was much louder and more intimidating when it was right in his face.

“Trespasser!” it growled, teeth clicking.

…Okay, so it could talk. Maybe this was a good thing. Now could grovel with it to spare him!

Blinking rapidly, he opened his eyes and looked up, up, up. It didn’t look as horrific from the front as it did the back. In fact, it had a humanoid appearance and was distinctly male. He was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, a total fantasy come to life. How the hell was he real?

His was incredibly tall, his huge wings proportional to his size now that he was standing up. Now that he saw them up close, Shang Qinghua noticed that they were a beautiful shade of blue that started out dark but lightened to pale blue once it reached the tips, which also had sharp spikes—Nails? Claws? He wasn’t well versed in anatomy—attached.

The top of his ears were pointy, too, just like the tops of the wings. Oh, and the horns! There were two of them, both pure, glossy obsidian, that sprouted out on either side of his temple, the bases thick and ridged as they spiraled like a ram’s. The only difference was that his horns were much larger. He could maul someone with those along if he wasn’t careful.

But now that he considered it more—even in times of crisis, he could multi-task when it really counted—the horns only added more to his attractiveness. They were intimating, sure, but also sexy, in a monsterfucking type of way. He gasped as a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Yep, he could definitely get into the horns and claws. Mark him down as scared and horny.

The growling died down but sharp teeth were still on display, and there was a stylized tattoo-looking mark on his forehead. Despite the snarl, Shang Qinghua instinctively knew that his face was insanely attractive; it had to be to match the rest of him. Speaking of the rest of him…

He dropped down in front of him, making sure to drag his hands down that ripped physique and gave his massive pectorals a quick squeeze before he landed on his knees in a kneeling position.

His face was right in front of the creature’s impressive package, covered only by a flimsy loin cloth. It fluttered in the night breeze and he had to bite down on his finger to stop his depraved moaning. “Ff-forgive me, my good-demon-sir, but I swear I’m not trespassing. I’m a humble worker here at this museum.”

He quickly took out his employee badge to offer it up to the demon who barely gave it a glance. “Gargoyle,” it said in reply.

“Oh. I’m sorry but I don’t really know what you mean by that.” Wait, why did he say that? He didn’t want to get further in the demon’s bad side than he already was! “I mean no offense, of course. I’m sure gargoyles are absolutely lovely—”

“No,” he interrupted, his face smoothed out into blank slate. It made it harder to read him but Shang Qinghua quickly decided that it was alright. “I am a gargoyle, human. You may address me as Mobei Jun.”

Ohhh. Now that he mentioned it, his wings and horns could belong to a gargoyle. He knew that they were popular parts historical buildings that had a strong Western influence, which the museum did.

“And I am a king. Not a sir.”

Curse his authority kink. He was sure that any new fantasies he conjured up would be staring this particular king and Shang Qinghua as his servant.

“Of course, my king! You’re reeking of kingly handsomeness. As a lowly human, my apologies for the obvious mistake.” The gargoyle king didn’t make any move to acknowledge his words other than a slow blink, so he figured that it was all good. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but what are you doing up here? And what was all the noise about?”

“Guardian. I was charged with the safety of this place by a war lord.” Jeez. So he’d been with the building for centuries at least, maybe even millennia.

There was a pause and he realized that he wasn’t going to answer the second question. It also seemed like the gargoyle king was waiting on him and a light bulb went off. “S-sorry again my king. I am Shang Qinghua. I am in charge of the rare artifacts inside of the building, so you may see me closing up most nights.”

The gargoyle king nodded sagely and he figured that the role must be acceptable to him. A loud sigh left him and his muscles relaxed just in the slightest way. He might survive this encounter yet. Ever better, survive and be able to go home and break out that new bottle of lube that he bought last week. There was plenty of new material to work with, that was for sure.

Then the gargoyle stepped back, giving him more space, which was actually the opposite of what he wanted. Feel free to punish him for earlier transgressions, king, especially if they were rough in a sexy way!

Unaware of his inner pleadings, he continued walking away to crouch back near the edge of the roof.

“Umm, be careful, king. It’s dangerous to be that close—”

“I am a king. Concerns such as that are not applicable,” he said, puffing up his chest. Those pecs! He might have to put in a request tomorrow to do more work on the roof. It was a crime that no one was admiring that body on a regular basis. “Leave. Return home. The circles under your eyes are hideous.”

He gasped, touching his bags. Rude! He had just finished a long shift and definitely wasn’t at his best. He was going to have to step up his game if he was going to tempt this gargoyle in the future. Trying his best not to show embarrassment, or disappointment, he agreed to leave.

“Whatever you want, my king. I’ll leave for now but if you need anything, I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after as well. In fact, every night, in case you need me.” Screw his weekend off. Who needed one of those when there was a hot gargoyle of legend serving as the guardian of the museum. Not him, that’s who.

He scrambled to his feet and bowed again for good measure. The door was open and he was across the threshold when his dream gargoyle muttered something. “Did you say something, my king?”

He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “The pigeons pooped in my hair.”

Suddenly, the growling from earlier made sense. No matter if you were human or gargoyle, having birds shit in your hair, especially hair as luscious as Mobei Jun’s, was bound to make anyone furious.

Determined to keep his laughs to himself if it was the last thing he did, he merely replied, “Yes, my king. I will make sure to chase them away from you next time.”

“See that you do.”

On cloud nine, Shang Qinghua grinned as he bounded down the stairwell. The gargoyle’s comment implied that there would be a next time. And he intended to romance the loincloth off (literally) of the serious gargoyle king.

Hope you all enjoyed! So happy to share this with everyone. Thanks for reading :)

#svsss #svsss fanfic #mobei jun #shang qinghua #moshang

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let-it-raines · 4 years ago

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I Hope We Never See October (2/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Thank you guys for reading the first part of this! I cannot say enough how much I appreciate all of you and how glad I am little things like this bring you guys joy! Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading over these words. ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: One | Two

-/-

“Emma, the couple at table two wants to talk to you, and the woman at table seven has a complaint about the quiche. Something about there being eggs in them.”

Emma groans and closes her laptop to look at Ashley, one of the new waitresses she hired this summer. She’s good, courteous, and she’s always here on time. Emma is going to hate to lose her for a few weeks when she has her baby, but come hell or high water, the girl is getting maternity leave even if Emma can’t manage more than three weeks without the owner getting involved and likely trying to fire all of them. She deserves months more than that, but Emma can’t change the system.

It’s a shit system, especially for moms.

“They don’t want eggs…in their quiche? Are you serious?”

“She’s vegan and claims she’s been misled.”

Emma rolls her eyes and stands from her chair. She pulls her jean shorts down, the frayed edges covering just a little more thigh, and unties the bottom of her button-down. She probably needs to start dressing up more for this job, but she can’t be bothered. She managed to wear her Blue Dog Tavern polo last week, so that seems like enough effort. “We have symbols on the menu to indicate dietary restrictions, but this isn’t really a restaurant for dietary restrictions beyond one or two items. I’ll deal with it. Thanks, Ashley.”

It’s Sunday morning, which is their second busiest time after Friday and Saturday nights, and the Blue Dog is packed. It’s all hands on deck this morning, but Emma was hoping to get some scheduling and produce ordering done in her office during it. But this is a restaurant, so of course there’s never any time for a breather when she needs it the most. She’ll finish all that later, she guesses, because she has a feeling neither of these conversations are going to be a short one.

And she’s right about that. The woman hating on the quiche pitches a fit and demands her money back before threatening to sue the place and, quite frankly, threatening to cut off Emma’s legs, and Emma has to resolve that without losing her cool when all she wants to do is punch jerks like that straight across the jaw. Then the couple at table two asks her to run through every item on the menu and whether or not everything is organically sourced.

They serve fried mac and cheese balls at ten in the morning and have kitschy, slightly tacky artwork nailed onto the darkly stained wood. If you eat outside on the patio, you get a nice view of people taking off a little more than they should while sunbathing on the surrounding beaches and docked boats. There’s also the occasional ferry that drives by and blows a loud horn that tourists seem to get a kick out of. Do they really think everything is organically sourced?

God, sometimes she really hates tourists.

This is a nice place, though. It’s not somewhere you go for fine dining, but their brunch is divine, it’s got a good atmosphere, and the new bartenders she’s hired this summer make better drinks than you can get at any reasonably priced bar in a ten-mile radius. She likes this little part of the island, and even though she hates tourists, they do fund her entire life. So maybe she hates them a little less than usual when the paychecks roll in.

Today is not a day where the paycheck is rolling in.

Emma notices some of the tables are a little slow, so she picks up the slack, getting drinks and refills and checking on meals. It keeps her on her feet for most of the morning and through the lunch rush, but when it’s over, she collapses on a stool at the end of the bar.

“Chip, can you get me a coffee?” she asks without looking up. “I don’t care what milk or creamer you put in it as long as you don’t bring it to me black. Though, I think I need the caffeine so badly that I’d drink it. I don’t know why I agreed to work the late dinner shift at The Oaks last night. I’m exhausted.”

When she doesn’t get a response, she looks up for Chip. He’s nowhere to be seen, and when she checks her phone schedule, she realizes it’s his break time. Of course it is.

“Lass, I don’t believe the barkeep is here anymore.”

“Yeah, it’s his break, but I can help you. What’s your poison?”

“The coffee you’re having.”

Emma nods and turns to look at the man talking to her, and if she wasn’t so tired, she would have recognized the voice a hell of a lot faster than she did. A lot of different accents pass through this place, but he’s the first British one in awhile. Also the first one to show up in her backyard. Or the Fishers’ backyard, technically, but she’s been renting it for long enough for it to feel like her own even if she’s changed very little of the furniture and decorations outside her bedroom.

Killian. She thinks that was his name. Honestly, she’s surprised she remembers anything because she was in such a rush to get to work that she didn’t have time to deal with all the people at her house. But he was unexpected and attractive – she’s not blind to attractive men no matter what Ruby and Mary Margaret think – and he threw her off for a minute. He looked familiar, but she has no idea why. There’s no way she would have met him before.

But she also doesn’t care. She’s got a gut feeling that she needs to watch out for him, that there’s something that’s not right, and him being at her job is proving that to her. What are the odds that he’d wander in a few days after meeting her when she’s pretty sure he’s never been here before?

Then again, maybe that’s why he’s familiar. It’s June. A lot of people come through here, and she’s not going to remember all their faces. Sometimes she does, though, in the back of her mind where vague, slightly blurry memories reside.

“Sure thing,” Emma sighs, standing from the stool. “Do you have a server?”

“Aye. Heather, I believe, but…”

“But she’s on her phone.” Emma shakes her head. “My boss’s niece. Not much I can do about it, but I’ll get you your coffee, a water, and take your order right away.”

He nods, going back to his own phone, and Emma takes that as her cue to get behind the bar and start making some coffee. She doesn’t usually work this machine, so it takes her a minute to get it right all while she feels Killian staring at her.

“Do you need any suggestions on the menu?” Emma asks as the coffee percolates.

“How are the salads?”

“I prefer things with more calories, but they’re good. Our vegetables are fresh, and I personally enjoy the strawberry poppyseed with chicken, but I know not everyone loves fruit in salads.” He hums behind her as his mug fills, and she grabs some milk from the fridge under the sink, turning to show him. “Milk okay?”

“It’s perfect, Swan.” She raises her brows, which he mirrors, until he cocks his head forward and his lips form an obnoxious little smirk. “On the nametag, love.”

“Now, what did I say about being your love?”

“That you’re not.”

“Exactly.” She finishes making his coffee and hands it over. He’s a customer, she reminds herself. She’s got to try to be a little bit nicer than she wants to be. “So, the salad? If you’re looking more toward the healthy options with protein, the grilled chicken breast on its own is fantastic. You get two sides, which you can find at the bottom of the menu.”

He nods and looks at the menu for half a second before looking up. “The salad would be great. Thank you.”

He picks up his mug, pointing it toward her, and Emma takes it as a dismissal so she can put his order in, and hopefully she can get Heather to do her damn job and serve him for the rest of the meal. She doesn’t like that he knows where she lives and works, and even though she doesn’t think Ariel and Eric spend time with shady people, something about him gives her weird vibes.

His face just looks so damn familiar, and usually she’s really good remembering faces. Huh.

And Emma is usually right about these things. He’s likely nothing more than a rich man looking for a break from life by renting out a large house on the island. He’ll spend a week or two, maybe a month depending on his work situation, here, sleep with as many women as he can, and then he’ll go, never thinking of Martha’s Vineyard again. And she’s pretty sure Ariel does something having to do with high-powered people over in London, so he fits the profile. God, she must have seen him before with Ariel or something. That has to be it.

But for now, he’s a customer, and since Heather seems to be completely checked out, Emma guesses she’s going to have to deal with him. After this morning, he won’t be the worst person she has to deal with all day, and since she’s working at The Oaks tonight, she imagines being treated like shit then will outshine all of this.

Why the hell did she decide to pick up so many shifts at The Oaks? It’s a stuffy country club where tips reflecting the price of the meal aren’t even guaranteed, but it’s extra money with a flexible schedule. She’s doing okay on the money front right now, though, and if she were sane, she’d take some time off and relax, maybe enjoy the beach or any of the hundreds of good restaurants around here.

She is obviously not sane.

-/-

“Oh my God,” Emma grumbles as she strips out of her jean shorts, kicking them to the ground before unbuttoning her shirt. “I’m so tired of people.”

“I’m people,” Ruby says. “Nice bra, by the way. The girls look great.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she does glance down at her boobs and hike them up a bit. They do look great today. “Shut up.” Emma picks up the black dress she has to wear at the country club and slips it over her shoulders. “You know I’m not tired of you.”

“That’s because you’ve barely seen me.”

“Busy. I’m busy. I work way too much. Speaking of that, why the hell aren’t you at work?”

Ruby stands from her couch and grabs her name tag from the end table. “I’m in between shifts. Granny’s in charge downstairs. I have a five-second commute to work, unlike you. Why are you changing here again?”

“Don’t want to run into any of the people at my house.” Emma smooths her dress and turns to Ruby’s mirror to reapply lipstick and put on some mascara. She’s got to wash her hair tomorrow. It’s hanging by on a thread today, if that thread is a little greasy and has a hell of a lot of dry shampoo in it. “But don’t worry, tomorrow, I will be out of your hair as they will soon be out of mine.”

“You know I’m always fine with you being in my business. Mary Margaret and David are coming here for dinner tonight. Any chance you can slip away?”

Emma finishes another coat of mascara. “Can’t. Working until past closing and then heading straight home to sleep in my house of strangers.”

Ruby laughs, carefree as always, and for a moment, the jealousy stings. Ruby has plenty of her own shit going on, but she always handles it with such ease. She’s the most carefree person Emma has ever met, and Emma can’t imagine living like that without way too much alcohol in her system.

“I told you that you could stay with me this week. Have I ever said it’s batshit crazy that they come to visit and are okay with you still staying there? Because that is batshit crazy.”

Emma shrugs and pulls back to take in her appearance. This is as good as it’s going to get. She doesn’t think she’ll be using her looks to get her any tips tonight, which is a crying shame since that’s half the reason she took this job in the first place. She knows exactly how to charm some of the older men into giving her more money by flirting a little, and she’s not ashamed that she has to give away her dignity to do it. She had to hire a dinner-shift manager at the Blue Dog because she was doing the work of two people with the pay of one. Now she’s doing the work of five people with the pay and of one and half people, so obviously she’s winning at life.

“I’m never there, and they seem like good people. I think they’re just glad I actually maintain the place and am slowly but surely getting through some of the renovations.” Emma looks at her hair again and ties it up in a ponytail with the elastic from her wrist. “Any way you can make me a grilled cheese to go?”

“Only if you agree to go to a bar with all of us sometime in the next month.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever you want.”

God, she hopes Ruby doesn’t remember this conversation. The last thing she wants to do right now is go out with her friends and then end up sitting alone as they all make out with their partners and leave without telling Emma goodbye.

Actually, the last thing she wants to do is go to work again today, but here she goes.

-/-

Emma quietly turns the key in her front door. She saw that the kitchen light was still on from the street, and while the Fishers likely just forgot to turn it off, she doesn’t want to run the risk of seeing them tonight. It’s their last night here, so she only has to make it through one or two more awkward conversations before she has the house to herself. It’ll be just her and the creaky floors. She can collapse on the couch in her dress instead of having to walk all the way up the stairs and make it to her bedroom like a responsible adult.

In another world, Emma would like to own a house like this. It’s charming. That’s the best way to describe it. It’s two floors, three bedrooms, has bay windows and built-in bookshelves, and the cabinets in the kitchen are a light green. She likes that it’s not cookie cutter white all the way around like some of the nicer houses around here. It has character, and though there are a few things she’d change beyond the needed repairs she does for the Fishers, it’s got good bones. Plus, the location is fantastic, and the backyard is spacious. It allows Emma to spend time in the sun without being stuck on a crowded beach or near a busy dock.

But this is not another world, and Emma could never afford a house this close to the coastline. She’s got no idea why she still lives here. Well, that’s not true, she knows exactly why she still lives here, and it’d be possible for her to pick up and move inland toward Boston. She just…she can’t. She’s been here for ten years after leaving her last foster home in Brockton, and it’s been a comfortable reprieve. She’s got her friends and her job(s), and even though she’s got years of hospitality experience, there’s no guarantee someone like her with a GED can get a job this well-paying and accommodating somewhere else. Plus, her housing is almost free, and she really can’t pass that up.

It all comes back to the house, which she’s dreading going into now no matter how much she wants to collapse onto her bed.

(Or the couch. She really misses the couch. It’s the best for napping.)

Emma steps inside, avoiding the places that make the floor groan, but it’s impossible to dodge them all. She tenses, then hurries across the living room toward the stairs, only turning to the opening to the kitchen at the last minute.

“Holy fuck,” Emma gasps, dropping her purse. It hits the ground in a gentle thud, her keys spilling out and clacking along the floor.

“Didn’t mean to scare you there, Swan.”

Emma’s breath hitches as she realizes who it is sitting at her kitchen table.

Killian…whatever his last name is. She’s got no clue and doesn’t care to ask. What she does want to know is why he’s sitting here alone at two in the morning like a fucking serial killer.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He takes a sip of his drink, coffee she thinks from the smell, and leans back in the chair, the front legs tipping up with him. “Getting sober so I can drive home. Had two drinks with dinner, and it appears I’ve become a bit of a lightweight.”

“Don’t drink much then? I thought all you Brits liked going to the pub.”

He laughs, smile bright against the black of his stubble despite her poor attempt at his accent. “We do, but not so much me anymore. Trying to cut back.”

“Yeah, I get that.” She leans down to pick up her bag, grabbing her keys and tossing them back in. “I also get that we have Uber here. You might want to try that the next time you have a little too much to drink. You look like a murderer sitting in my kitchen like this.”

“It was two glasses of rum, nothing excessive. Wishing Ariel and Eric well before they leave in the morning.” He leans forward, the chair landing on all four legs, and downs the rest of his mug. “I don’t make a habit of drinking too much.”

“I don’t care what you do in your personal time. Just don’t make a mess in my house…or your friends’ house, I guess. And sleep on the couch if you want. There are blankets in the basket.”

She doesn’t know why she’s offering him the couch. She should be making him leave. Her heart is still leaping out of her chest from him scaring her, and even though this has been her home for years, she technically can’t ask him to leave. In reality, Ariel has probably offered him the couch already.

What a long day.

She wants it to be over.

“That’s surprisingly kind of you.”

Emma’s step falters, and while she was turning away from the man, she decides to turn back and narrow her eyes. What the hell is that supposed to mean? “I guess I’m full of surprises for men who don’t know me.”

“Just who are you then, Swan?” he asks, standing from the chair and putting his mug in the sink, turning the faucet on while never losing eye contact.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Perhaps I would.”

A shiver runs down Emma’s spine, but she ignores it and walks up the stairs. This is a weird week, one she doesn’t want to repeat, and the last thing she needs is to spend too much time with a man who thinks he can charm his way into anything with a few smooth words and a smile. She’s been around enough men like that in her lifetime, but it doesn’t matter with him. Tomorrow, he’ll be gone with Eric and Ariel, and she’ll be back to being able to walk around her house without pants whenever she wants.

Tomorrow, this weird as hell week will be over, and she’ll be back to normal…mostly.

-/-

Tag list: @qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight

#I hope we never see october #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan

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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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motherjoel · 4 years ago

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Leading Lady (Spencer Reid x Reader)

chapter one- movie pirate

wc: 1.2k

summary: you’re a struggling actor in New York at risk of being the next victim in a string of local murders

a/n: this is a story thats on my AO3 that I decided to post on tumblr as well! i hope you guys like it

chapter index: chapter 2

“Deep breaths, Y/N. Once you’re up there, it’ll be a piece of cake! You just, yaknow, have to get up there,” you say to yourself, in hopes of convincing yourself to calm down. Being on stage was your favorite place to be, but for some reason it took all of your strength to actually walk onto the stage, even though it was just a rehearsal. Your passion outweighed the stage fright though, and as you heard your cue you got into character and made your way onto the stage.

“It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes… Tomorrow comes!” you sang, tears threatening to roll down your face. It was still only rehearsal but for some reason the last words of Les Mis brought you to tears every time. You finally landed your dream role of Eponine, although it was just a local community theater, the cast was very talented and you were honored to stand with them.

“Great rehearsal everyone. I know it's been a long day so I wont keep you. Go home, rest your voices, stay hydrated and be ready for tech rehearsal next week!” your director said. The rest of the cast had rushed off the stage, running off to their night shifts and chicken flavored ramen. Most of the cast were young and struggling to make it in show biz, much like you, who had yet to move from your position on the stage, still soaking in the moment. You snapped out of it, though- you had an early shift the next day and needed your sleep. Jumping off the stage, you gathered your things from a chair in the audience and headed out of the theatre.

Your walk home was fairly short. Living in New York had its perks, especially the walkability. Never mind the polluted air and real estate prices- you just felt like you belonged here in Manhattan. You normally felt safe walking home at night, with the streets usually occupied, but you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching you. Picking up your pace, you made it to your apartment building and ran up the 5 stories.

“Yo, how was your rehearsal?” asked your next door neighbor and friend Brooke as you unlocked your door. She, like you, was a struggling artist- Brooke was always working on a novel, hoping to be the next big author.

“It was fine. I'm starved, though. Wanna order a pizza?” you asked, hoping she'd come inside with you to hang out. You were still unsettled from earlier, couldn't shake the feeling of being watched and you didn't want to be alone.

“At 10:30 PM?” she questioned, to which you nodded. “Ugh I wish I could hang, I have to get to bed. I’m flying home tomorrow morning and I gotta leave the house at like 4 AM. Why don’t you ask Maaaaaatt to hang out…?” she suggested, drawing out the “a” in matt to tease you. Matt played Marius in your show and the two of you have a bit of a “showmance” going on. It wasn’t really a love connection but at least he was someone to pass the time.

“Eh, maybe. It is actually kinda late and I gotta be at the store pretty early tomorrow. Have fun on your flight!” you said, stepping inside your apartment. Shutting and locking the door, you threw your keys and bag onto the couch and strode into the kitchen. Your apartment was very small- barely enough room for 2 people. You had moved in with your now ex-boyfriend, Logan, a few months ago. He has since moved out and for some reason, the small apartment always felt empty.

Changing into your PJs and forgoing a shower, you climbed into bed and tried to fall asleep as soon as possible. You had to work at 8 and needed sleep. You drifted off with thoughts of France in 1815, not noticing the shadows on the fire escape outside your bedroom window.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Ughhhhh,” you sighed, not a morning person. It was 7:15 but it felt like the middle of the night. Rolling out of bed, you put on a denim skirt with tights, a black turtleneck and a pair of mary jane doc martens. This was your usual style, a staple piece being a turtleneck, sometimes you experimented with a colorful sweater but it was nice to have a style that was easy to throw on every morning. You heated up a frozen breakfast burrito while you put on some makeup, planning on grabbing some coffee at work. As you walked to grab your purse from your bed, you noticed the window in your room was slightly ajar. Weird for the middle of October, but you had work in 20 minutes and didn’t have time to dwell. You shut and locked the window, hurrying out the front door.

It was a short walk to your workplace- a quaint little bookstore/coffee shop store that you had loved ever since you walked in a few short months ago. After becoming a regular, you had noticed a “help wanted” sign in the window and jumped at the perfect opportunity to work your dream job. It was pretty chill and you got free coffee every shift which was a definite bonus. Today, however, was the opposite of chill. You knew this to be true when two serious looking men walked in with purpose- not the meandering behavior of your usual customers. You were behind the counter, just having finished ringing someone up, when the two walked over to you.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” the muscular one asked. You were shocked, to say the least, and you guessed it was pretty evident on your face when the man introduced himself.

“I’m agent Morgan, this is Dr. Reid, we’re with the FBI,” he said, flashing you a badge. “Could we speak with you?”

You were caught off guard, once again. “FBI? The worst thing I’ve ever done is go on 123movies to watch High School Musical!” you said, noticing a smirk on the muscular one's face- the skinnier one in the sweater looked puzzled by you.

“No miss, we’re not here about that,” he chuckled.

“We’re here because we believe you could be the next victim in a string of murders,” said the sweatered one, quite bluntly. The man you now knew as Agent Morgan nudged him and he put his head down, blushing. Your mouth was agape.

“Sorry for my partner here, he isn’t the best with bedside manners. But, it's true. It’s possible that you’re in a lot of danger. Would you come with us?” he asked. You checked your watch, seeing that your shift was due to end in 10 minutes anyway.

“Sure, I guess. Lemme just grab my things from the back,” you told them. As you headed to the back you heard the two bickering, but you were too in shock from the news you just received to listen in. After gathering your purse and jacket, you were led out the door by the two men and into a large black SUV.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/you #spencer reid imagine #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid angst #reid #criminal minds reid #derek morgan #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #hotch #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau

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janicho88 · 4 years ago

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Falling For You -Part 2

October

Pairing- Eventual Dean x Female!Reader, Dean x Lisa(past), Female!Reader x OMC Justin(past)

Word Count-4008

Warning- Mentions of cheating, little angst, some swearing, fluff. This is going to be a bit of a slow burn. Haunted woods. Talk of trying to fake a pregnancy, manipulation, trying to steal from significant other/ falsify documents, Lisa is awful, Justin isn’t much better, talk of being pressured into doing things you don’t want to. I think that is it

A/N- I had an idea for a one shot, and giving a backstory to Dean and the Reader meeting took on a life of its own. This story is AU, and un beta’d.

Summary- After being burned before you had sworn off finding love for now. Coming home from work one night there is a strange man pounding on your door. Neither of you knew what this meeting would lead to.

Series Masterlist

The next week kept you busy at work and not giving you much free time in the evening. Coming or going you always kept an eye out for your new friend though, not seeing him again till the weekend. Heading back to your apartment after your Saturday morning workout you ran into Dean coming out of his brother’s apartment.

“Hi stranger, how is everything coming together for you?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s coming. I found a job, starting a week from Monday. Still looking for a place though, guess I’ll be crashing with Sam a little longer and putting my stuff in storage up here till I find something. Work slow down for you yet?”

“Congrats on the new job! No, not yet. A family emergency came up, and our new person can’t start till next week. At least there is a light at the end though. I hate to run on you, but I’m supposed to be meeting Meg, and I really need a shower. Talk to you later?”

“Sure, see ya around.”

With the wedding dress found it was time to find Bridesmaid dresses. Hopefully this went a little better. Her wedding colors were red, black and silver, you would be happier with a black dress, but Meg was thinking red. The color of fire, this wedding was going to be hot she said.

Thankfully you and the 2 bridesmaids Ruby and Sarah were on the same page about finding one and getting done. None of you wanted to try on tons of dresses. Meg actually approving of the third one you found. They were free to leave after that, you got to go help her set up a gift registry. Your fingers were crossed these next six months until the April wedding went fairly quick. Done for the day, she suggested meeting up with Cas and his best man so you could finally meet him.

The guys were meeting you at a local pizza shop so you could grab dinner and talk. Walking in with Meg you quickly saw Cas, and getting closer to the table, recognized the spiky sandy brown haired man across from him. Sliding in next to Dean you mentioned how he never said anything about being the best man, when you said you were the maid of honor.

“Sorry, I think my head was still on other topics then.” He answered you with a small smile

“Wait, you two already know each other?” Cas questioned looking between you both.

“Yeah, I live across the hall from his brother, remember Cas?”

“I do now.”

“No one ever told me that you and Sam knew each other from Kansas though.”

“I guess we didn’t think about it.”

It was an enjoyable evening out with your friends. You found out more about Dean’s new job, he found a small auto shop hiring a head mechanic. The owner, Bobby, had done most of the work himself but was looking to cut back and possibly retire in a few years. If Dean was still around then and interested he might sell the shop to him. There was a part time mechanic working there also, Benny. Dean seemed to think they would get along well.

Dean gave you a ride back so Meg could take Cas with her since they lived in the opposite direction as you two. “I don’t think I told you last week, but I really like your car.”

“Thanks, Baby is my one true girl.”

“Baby?”

Patting the top of the dash Dean glanced over and smiled at you, “That’s her name.”

You just smiled back, “It’s very nice Dean, I hope the two of you will be very happy together.

Closer to home Dean told you he was renting a car and leaving for Kansas tomorrow. He would turn the car in there and drive a Uhaul back with Sam the following weekend. Apparently his brother wasn’t the best driver and he didn’t trust him to drive that far with his car or the uhaul filled with his belongings. Sam was flying home later in the week to meet up with him. Giving him a quick hug outside your apartment door you wished him safe travels and good luck, telling him you would see him when he got back.

Quickly entering your apartment and shutting the door, you were trying to figure out why you hugged him, and why you suddenly were overthinking it. You were friends, friends hugged right? No reason to give it a second thought.

Friday night there was a knock on your door, but you weren’t expecting anyone. Opening it you were surprised to find Jess on the other side with a pizza box and a bottle of wine.

“Hey, I thought I’d see if you were up for some company. Sam and Dean started the drive back this afternoon, so it’s just me over there.”

“Sure! Come on in.” The two of you spent the evening watching bad romance moves and talking about the brothers. Jess had known Sam since they were in undergrad at Stanford, and had a few stories to tell you about both of them. It was nice to learn a little more about Dean.

When Jess had more wine in her she opened up about Dean’s breakup. “I met the cheating bitch a few times and never cared for her. She thought she was better than everyone, always pushing Dean to buy her things, jewelry and fancy clothes. Apparently she started asking Dean some questions that he thought were weird but told himself she must have been taking an interest in things he liked for once.”

She paused to take a drink of wine. “When Dean was packing up after he kicked her out he discovered some stuff in his safe had been moved around, insurance papers, information on stocks he owns, and even his will was in a new place. I guess he didn’t think much of it; he was too caught up in the cheating mess, till a lawyer's office called the house like a week later and left a message saying they needed to come in and sign the last paper. Lisa had either made a copy of his signature or forged it and was trying to put things in her name and change his will for her to inherit even if they weren’t married. He called Sam because he needed legal help to straighten the mess up and make sure she got nothing.

Sam went down one weekend and helped him clean it up. They were looking up something on Dean’s laptop and one of them typed in a wrong word or start of one and some crazy past searches came up. They looked for more and found searches relating to Dean and what he owns, what his business was worth. There was even a search on how to fake a pregnancy test. Sam thinks she was going to try and trick Dean into marrying her if she couldn’t change the papers on her own. She was stupid enough to use Dean’s computer. His parents don’t know, he doesn’t want them too.”

“The first night I met Dean I called him by his last name and he asked something about how I knew and if I looked him up. I get why now.”

“Dean’s a lot more guarded now.” She gave you a lot of information to take in, no wonder he wasn’t looking to date again.

The next afternoon a commotion in the hall drew your attention. Opening the door you found Sam and Dean struggling with some boxes they were both carrying across the hall. You asked if they needed help, but neither heard you over Sam complaining about Dean not knowing how to pack a box. Dean was in turn instructing Sam to be careful with the valuables. Seeing you just before he turned inside Dean gave you a wink and said he would talk to you later.

A few hours later a knock at the door had you hoping for a green eyed man on the other side. Opening it you had gotten your wish. “Hey, I was heading out to grab some dinner. Give Sam and Jess some time together, thought I’d see if you wanted to join me?”

“I actually have lasagna in the oven, it should be done in 20. Would you like to join me here?”

Dean’s eyes lit up at the thought of a homemade meal and he readily accepted. Entering your apartment he removed his coat and asked if he could help with anything. Handing him the drink he asked for, you told him everything was all set. Salad was made and the pasta and bread were in the oven. You washed some dishes while waiting and Dean grabbed a towel to help dry. The two of you working together easily and talking about Dean’s trip back to Kansas. When dinner was ready you dished it up setting Dean’s infront of him. You noticed he wasn’t a big fan of the salad though.

“This is great, my mom isn’t much of a cook so it’s simple meals or take out at their house. Sam and Jess cook, but it’s not real food. He gets these plant or veggie burgers, kale and some green shakes. I need real meat and carbs.”

“Well, you are welcome to stop over here when it gets to be too much. I’m sure I could find something that would save you.”

“Thanks sweetheart, I may take you up on that.”

When you were both finished and everything was cleaned you invited Dean to stay and watch a movie. It was to give Sam and Jess more time alone you told yourself. Dean was just a friend, you were hanging out with.

A short time later your oven timer went off again and you disappeared to pull out the desert you had made. Grabbing some ice cream from the freezer and cutting into the hot treat you once again plated it up and took some to Dean warning him it was still hot. You didn’t think Dean’s eyes could go any bigger than they did when you handed him the fresh baked apple pie. Taking a giant bite his eyes almost rolled back in his head.

“This is incredible, one of the best I’ve ever had. Trust me I’ve had a lot of pie.”

“I’m sure it’s not really that special, but thanks anyways.”

“No, I’m serious. Love me some apple.”

“Fall is a good time for apples here. I would love to go to the orchard some time and pick my own, or even just hang out there one day. I’ve gone a few times as a kid, but I haven’t been in years.”

“You just want to go hang out with apple trees?”

“Not exactly, there is a lot to do this time of year. Apple picking, pumpkin patches, corn maze, hayrides and a store where they sell baked goods, fresh produce and other things. I just think it would be fun sometime. Maybe next year, I’ll find someone to go with me.”

“Tell you what, you pick a weekend next year and I’ll go with you. Speaking of weekends, do you have anything going on next Saturday?”

“Um, a baby shower for a friend in the early afternoon. Then catching up on some work around here, why?”

“One of Jess’ friends is having a big Halloween party, she invited me in hopes of getting Sam to lighten up about it. He’s not a fan of Halloween. Anyway she said I could bring a friend if you want to go. It’s a costume party in some old barn.”

You thought about it for a minute. Was he asking you out, neither of you were supposed to be looking to date right now. He did say bring a friend though. “I think I can manage that, I’ll have to see if I have a costume.”

“Great! I think she said it starts at 8, there’s supposed to be some haunted woods too. Not a corn maze, but it can still be fun. I’ll let you know what time she wants to leave, you don’t care if we ride together right?”

“Nope, not at all.” At least if you were with his brother and Jess it wasn’t a date. Why were you so worried anyway? Dean left a short time later and you cleaned up and got ready for bed.

The new girl you were training, Anna was finally starting to catch on in her second week. This meant you were able to get more of your work done, and not have to stay too late. You needed to find a costume and a baby gift sometime before Saturday. Running into Jess in the hall one night, you asked if you needed to bring anything Saturday. There wasn’t anything, and she was just happy that you were joining them.

Since you had just over a week until Halloween many of the costumes were already picked over, you weren’t looking to meet up with anyone so you were also trying to avoid anything too revealing. Plus it was outside in the evening, and temps were falling so you didn’t want to freeze either. Finally finding something you deemed would work at the third store you tried.

Saturday came faster than you had hoped. The shower went well, Kelly was so excited to meet her little boy in a few short months. You couldn’t wait to spoil him! Doing a quick grocery store run, you headed home to try and clean a little before you had to get ready. When 7:30 rolled around you were ready for the knock on your door.

Opening the door you bit back a laugh at the sight before you, “Howdy Sheriff.”

Dean shook his head sending you a fake smile, “This was one of the few adult costumes left.”

“That’s what you get for waiting till yesterday to get your outfit Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes, also trying not to laugh at his brother’s attire. He and Jess were dressed as Sandy and Danny from Greece.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I had this awesome Batman costume, but it’s in one of the boxes in storage and couldn't find it. Oh well, cowboys are awesome too.”

“Yeah, but Dean you're a toy cowboy,” Sam wasn’t able to hide the smile that time.

He sent Sam a glare before turning back to you, “I’m still a cowboy and a sheriff, I can still protect the princess here. All ready?”

“Yep, I’m good to go.”

You rode in the back with Jess, Dean pouting up front because Sam decided to take his own car instead of riding in Dean’s. Jess was telling you Sam didn’t want to dress up at all, but she was able to talk him into Danny since it was his own clothes except for the leather jacket and just some hair dye and gel.

Arriving at Jess’ friends you and Dean followed behind as they led the way to the barn. They had definitely put a lot of work into the decorations. There were pumpkins and jack-o’-lanterns everywhere. Some real, some plastic and other scary Halloween creatures along with orange lights strung all around.

There was a dance floor with the DJ already playing and round tables and chairs set up around the floor and a buffet in the back.

You had never been to a Halloween party this big before. Jess introduced you and Dean to some of her friends who Sam already knew. Dean grabbed the two of you drinks and you sat down at a table taking everything in. This was a little more than you were expecting.

Sam found you a short time later, Jess was ready to go through the haunted woods they had set up and wanted to know if you two wanted to join.

“I’m game. How about you, Y/N? Sheriff Dean will protect you.”

“Who can turn that down?” Scary things weren’t your favorite, but you had a feeling if you said no Dean wouldn’t have gone either and you didn’t want him to miss out. Justin had hated how some things would scare you, and you wouldn’t want to do something. According to him you would ruin his fun, you weren’t going to do that to Dean. If you were with the three of them it shouldn’t be too bad.

Wrong, wrong, oh so wrong! You were going to have nightmares for a month after that. Most of the actors scaring you had come from the front or side, so you had ended up in the back hiding behind Dean to avoid everyone. Jess had turned around to say something to you when you noticed her eyes getting bigger. Quickly turning around you were certain they could have heard your scream in Ohio. There was a creepy looking person behind you wearing a mask with a white face, green teeth and red eyes holding a giant knife above your head. You never heard him come up or had any idea he was following you.

Hearing you scream Dean turned and pulled you close to his chest and then turned the two of you back around so you were no longer facing that character. He kept you close until you were out of the woods. When you went back to the barn he took you over to your seat before grabbing you some water. Kneeling down in front of you, his green eyes carefully looking you over.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great.”

“You want to try that again? Especially since you are still shaking?

“I’m really sorry. I’m not the biggest fan of scary things. That really caught me off guard.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to ruin it for anyone else. I’ll be fine, really.”

“Sweetheart, we need to work on your communication skills. First that bar, now this. If something is going to affect you like this, you gotta say something.”

“I’m okay, really. Sorry to ruin it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything. Sit here a minute I’ll be back.” Dean walked off coming back a few minutes later with some food for both of you.

Sitting next to Dean you stared at the plate he put in front of you before talking.

“Justin took me to Cedar Point one day with some friends of his, all other couples. I’m terrified of heights and dropping too, he knew this beforehand. I’m more of a spin me girl, as long as it’s not too far off the ground. They were all excited about going on the biggest coaster there, I told them I would watch everyone’s stuff while they went. This one takes your picture on the way down, one of the girls said if I wasn’t there some stranger would be in the picture with all of them. Justin took me aside and said when I don’t participate in these things it makes him look bad and ruins his good time. I should be a better girlfriend and do what he wants.”

“I would really like to introduce your ex to my fist. If something is bothering you, I really want you to speak up, no matter what, okay.”

“Okay, thanks Dean.”

When Sam and Jess caught back up to you, she pulled you out to the dance floor with her since her fiancé wasn’t interested. The guys watched as the two of you enjoyed yourselves.

Arriving back at your apartment that night, Dean followed you in to make sure you were going to be alright. You assured him you would be fine. What you didn’t tell him was you were going to be sleeping with the lights on tonight. He did a quick check of your apartment before going back across the hall.

Halloween was the following Friday, Meg invited you over to her and Cas’ place to hang out while they handed out candy to the trick or treaters. Cas had also invited Dean, Sam and Jess. He must have told Dean you were coming because Dean offered to drive you over with them.

The phone in your pocket started going off snapping you out of your daydreams, “Hello.”

“Hey Y/N, are you still home?”

“Yeah, why what’s up Dean?”

“I’ve been knocking on your door for a few minutes now, everything okay?”

“Yeah,” looking down you saw the time on your watch. “I’m sorry I lost track of time. I was sitting on the patio and didn’t hear you.” Rushing inside you locked the door behind you before quickly letting Dean in.

“Sorry, let me grab these and I’m good to go.” Grabbing your Halloween sweatshirt and the two containers sitting on your counter you were headed back to the door.

“What’s in there?”

“Oh I got bored last night and made some Halloween sugar cookies and pumpkin cake bars with apple cider glaze for today.”

Dean just looked at you as you rode the elevator down to meet Sam and Jess, “What is that look for?”

“Well, are you going to give me one?” You were a little lost and just stared back. “Oh sorry, forgot the magic words, trick or treat. May I have my treat now?” He asked, pointing to the containers.

“Oh sorry, sure, the bars are a little crumbly, but you can have a cookie now.

He took a big bite of the orange pumpkin shaped cookie. “It’s not your apple pie, but it’s very good, sweetheart.”

The guys disappeared into the basement when you arrived, apparently there was some horror movie marathon on, you were just fine avoiding that. You three ladies hung out in the living room so you would hear kids coming to the door, and watched the Halloweentown movies on TV. Meg and Jess compared wedding notes and talked about their different frustrations. Jess and Sam were getting married in July.

You were happy for your friends, but if you were being honest, also a little jealous. They had found great guys, been with them for years, now they were getting ready to walk down the aisle to them. You had thought by the time you were 27 you would be settling down too. Instead you were swearing off dating right now. Your Mr Right seems to have taken some wrong turns somewhere and wouldn’t ask for directions. Apparently you zoned out from the conversation because both girls were looking at you. “Sorry, what’s up?”

“I was saying I’m not sure I would be cut out for the matron of honor duties when you get married. We all know I don’t have the patience. You could have Jess, and we know Sam would be the best man, it would work out great.”

Yep, you definitely missed something. “Wait, when and who am I marrying, and why is Sam already the best man?”

“Really Y/N?” Meg giving you her best bitch face, “when you and Dean get married.”

“You guys make such a great couple! I’m so glad he found you! Lisa was just awful to him from the start, and to cheat on him like that.”

Lisa must be the reason he left Kansas, no one mentioned her name before. “Guys we’re just friends, we aren’t a couple or even dating. Neither one of us want to get back out there right now.”

“Y/N, you can’t let Justin ruin your chance at happiness, it’s been over four months now. At some point you need to get back out there. Deano is one of the good ones, you are going to regret it if you let him go.”

“Meg, Dean doesn’t want to date anyone either. We really are just friends, just hanging out.”

When you walked away to hand out candy, Meg turned to Jess, “any idea how long those two are going to stay in denial about how they feel?” Jess just shook her head as they both stared after you.

Part 3

Thank you for reading!

Tags- @talesmaniac89 @katehuntington @winchest09 @flamencodiva @whatareyousearchingfordean @waywardbeanie @deanwanddamons @smol-and-grumpy @emoryhemsworth @anathewierdo @malfoysqueen14 @superfanficnatural @jensengirl83 @atc74 @sandlee44 @akshi8278 @fantasydevil2002

Falling For You tags- @halesandy @abuavnee @hearteyes-j2 @vicmc624 @440mxs-wife @wonder-cole

#dean x female reader #dean winchester #supernatural #FallingForYou #dean x reader

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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Sessions with August | August Walker x Reader -- Chapter 1

This is something I’ve been working on for a while with my bestie @nuns-and-roses! We will be posting some future chapters from her blog so give her a follow for more of this (and also lots of amazing fics).

Summary: As a CIA psychiatrist, most of your clients are aggressive, intimidating, maybe even a little threatening. But none of them are quite like August Walker. You were trained to trust your gut and remove yourself from any situation that made you uncomfortable. If you had followed that training, maybe you could’ve saved yourself from the twisted world he planned to bring you into…

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: mentions/descriptions of childhood abuse; no smut in this chapter but there will be eventual non-con/heavy dub con and lots of dark themes like manipulation, gaslighting, stalking, etc. Discretion is advised.

Session 1 - October 9th

You only had five minutes between sessions each day, and it was a very important time. As a psychiatrist seeing patients, there is limited time to oneself. Your patients become a part of you, and you assume an identity at work that often follows you home.

Reserved, kind, patient. Every single word, every movement, was an act. And it's not that you were really lying or manipulating your patients, it's just that you had to close off most of yourself to them. It was how both of you were protected.

In five minutes, you had time to step out of that persona while you sorted your files and grabbed a quick snack. You contemplated between a granola bar or clementine, eventually choosing the latter, though you had to wash your hands to get off the sticky residue of the acidic peel.

As you washed your hands, you contemplated yourself in the mirror. You had put a lot of thought into your look for this persona. To save time and energy, you wore the same thing every day: your closet was all black pencil skirts, white button-downs and black blazers, with only a little space for your off-work clothing (which never got much use). In winter you added thick stockings to keep from freezing during the walk to and from your car, but otherwise it remained the same. Even the jewelry-- freshwater pearl studs and a dainty gold tennis bracelet-- remained the same, along with your beloved pair of Italian leather heels which weren't so high that you felt overdressed, but just high enough that you felt taller, and perhaps a bit sexy though you knew that shouldn't matter.

The goal was to look neutral, to not have your appearance distract in any way. To blend in. It had actually been sort of difficult to perfect one makeup look that you could put on quickly before work, but you'd managed. Your hair was probably what you spent the most time on each morning, since it had to be pulled back pretty tight and you wanted every single hair to be in place.

Checking the clock, you saw that it was about time to call in your next appointment. It was a new patient, a somewhat recent recruit that had already garnered a bit of a reputation. From what you'd heard he was incredibly ambitious to the point of being a bit cutthroat. What the rumors had failed to mention, you realized as you opened the door to guide him in from the waiting room, was that he was hot. And not just "hey, good for you!" hot, but "how am I expected to get any work done in these conditions?!" hot. You introduced yourself with a firm handshake and tried not to think about the size of his hands or the strength of his grip.

"Mr. Walker, please, have a seat," you encouraged, motioning to the room.

"Which one?" he asked, noticing the menagerie of chairs and sofas in your office.

"Ah, yes, this may be strange if you're used to a more... clinical space," you nodded. "Sit wherever you'd like. Whatever looks most comfortable to you."

He examined his options and seemed to be putting more thought to it than most did.

"This is a test, isn't it? You want to see what kind of person I am by what I pick?"

You laughed. "No, I just want you to have options."

He settled for a high back chair which normally made people look kind of short but his body barely fit into it. He made it look like a toy chair for a child.

"Is that your final answer?" you asked with a smile.

"I knew it was a test," he frowned.

"It's really not," you laughed, "I just want you to be comfortable."

"Tell me what it says about me. What do you know because I picked this chair?" he demanded, apparently not believing you that it wasn't a test.

"What do you think it says about you?" you asked instead.

He thought about that for a second. "I guess I'm probably more… structured than the guy who picks the bean bag. More formal."

You nodded. "That makes sense."

"Who picks the bean bag anyway?" he smirked.

"Almost no one picks the bean bag."

He smiled, and it looked a little rehearsed. But it was only the first day, so maybe he would open up over time.

“What are we supposed to do in here?” he asked, looking around as if he was expecting something he could see to explain therapy: did he think you were going to give him shocks or something?

“Well, that’s sort of up to you, Mr. Walker. The goal of these sessions is really just for you to have time each week that you can spend however you’d like.”

“Really? I could just come in here and read a book or whatever?”

“Yes, although I can’t promise you that would be the best use of your time.”

“Could I clean my gun?” he pressed.

You tried not to have a strong reaction. Then again, that could describe a lot of your sessions. “I personally would prefer that you didn’t, to be honest.” He smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of guns.”

“No, I’m not,” you answered honestly, “but I think it’s better for you if this time feels distinct from your work. I know that can be difficult since this is happening through your work and is being funded by your work and we work in different wings of the same building…”

“I don’t need time away from my job. I love my job.” “I’m glad to hear that. I love my job, too, but I would have to say that it is important to my health that I get some time separate from that.”

“Your job is way worse than mine,” he grinned.

“Really?” you smiled back. “A lot of people would say my job is easy.”

“Listening to these crazies bitch all day? I’d lose my mind,” he chuckled.

“Who said I hadn’t lost mine?” you smirked.

Session 2 - October 16th

“You’re wearing the same thing as last time,” he noticed instantly. It usually took a few sessions for someone to notice. Had he really spent so much time looking at you that he remembered what you’d worn?

“Yes, I am,” you agreed.

“Lucky coincidence?” he asked.

“No, I actually wear the same clothes every day,” you corrected. He gave you a confused look. “It saves me time in the morning.”

“That’s it? You wear the same outfit every single day, just to save time in the morning?”

You looked to the ground, questioning how honest you should get. But how could you expect him to be honest with you if you couldn’t open up in this one little way?

“Clothing is a form of self-expression, and these sessions aren’t about expressing my self,” you explained. “I’d hate for my clothing choices to become a distraction.”

He looked you up and down and you felt more observed than you preferred to be.

“What you’re wearing now is plenty distracting on its own,” he said darkly.

You shifted in your seat. You felt very observed, more than you preferred to be.

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” you awkwardly replied.

“Don’t be sorry,” he shrugged.

“What… what were we talking about before?” you asked awkwardly.

Session 3 - October 23rd

“Good afternoon,” you smiled, extending your hand for a handshake. Why did you feel a little awkward when he shook your hand in return? “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright, thanks for asking,” he smiled. “How about you?”

“Well, thank you,” you answered warmly, taking your seat. “So, what do you want to talk about today?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged.

“Well, it’s up to you to guide the discussion wherever you want it to go.”

“What do the superiors think we should be talking about?” he asked, sounding a little incredulous.

“Do you think I get notes from your managers on what to discuss with you?”

“I… sort of assumed,” he admitted.

“I don’t. This is your time. Use it however you’d like.”

The way he looked at you made you wonder if he was going to take that a little too seriously.

“I guess you want me to talk about my traumatic childhood or something?”

“Well, if you’d like to…”

August looked at where his shoe was propped over his other knee, bouncing it as if he was nervous.

“It’s only our second session,” you dismissed.

“Right, right,” he responded, sounding like he was deep in thought. “I don’t want to burden you…”

“Burden? August, never worry about that. It’s my job. I’m here to help you.”

He looked up at you again, something broken and hollow in his expression. “It’s… upsetting.”

“Try me.”

He took a shaky breath, rubbing his hands together. You furrowed your brow at the complete 180 in his body language.

“Well,” he began slowly, “I always knew something was wrong when I was a kid. I knew that that wasn’t how things were supposed to be, even if it was the only thing I’d ever known.”

He narrowed his eyes like he was thinking, then glanced over to the window.

“I knew there wasn’t supposed to be blood on the walls,” he recalled with a shockingly-neutral expression, “I knew there was something wrong…”

You nodded but said nothing, wanting to let him finish this train of thought before you contributed.

“My mother…” he continued, his voice getting darker, “she was troubled, I suppose. She hated me. I don’t know what I did that made her hate me so much. She was good at putting on a face for other people, hiding my cuts and bruises so people wouldn’t ask questions. But in those days, no one was really asking questions anyway. Children were property, and women were always doing right by their children no matter what they did.”

You waited for the silence to steep for a while before you commented. “That sounds… terrible,” you replied quietly, “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” he responded with a curt nod.

“Where was your father in all this?”

“Who knows?”

“He wasn’t in the picture,” you presumed.

“No, he lived with us. He just… wasn’t there. I guess he didn’t see anything wrong with it. She always had dinner ready on the table when he got home, and past that, he barely even acknowledged my existence. I guess he trusted her to raise me. I tried to tell him a few times, but he just told me to respect my mother. He just wanted me to leave him alone.”

“Do you have any memories of time alone with your father?”

“No,” he said like he was realizing it for the first time. “No, I don’t think I was ever alone with my father.”

You decided to let that one sit, hoping to let him continue without you prompting him.

“Every day was hell with her,” he finally added after a moment. “It was always something. No matter what I did, I had always done something wrong. She didn’t always beat me… sometimes she would burn spices and blow the smoke in my face. Sometimes she would make me kneel on uncooked rice. Mostly it was just beatings, though. I lost a lot of my teeth early because of it. And I’m still deaf in this ear,” he explained, motioning to his left ear.

“Wow,” you whispered. “Did no one ever stick up for you? Nobody ever questioned your injuries, like a doctor, maybe?”

“I didn’t see a doctor until I was an adult,” he laughed coldly. “She didn’t believe in that. She thought it was all part of the mind, I think-- that every health problem was just an outward reflection of all my inner faults. Thankfully, I never came down with anything too serious. She was always able to nurse me back to health, even when I got what I realize now was almost certainly pneumonia.”

“Was she more caring when you were ill?”

“Not exactly a warm-and-fuzzy type, but yes, she was gentler. She didn’t beat me until I was well again.”

“How generous,” you groaned with an eyeroll.

“I know, but you learn to appreciate the little things,” he explained. “You must have clung to any affection from adults that you could,” you offered.

“Yes, I did.”

“That seems like a reasonable response.”

“Yes…” he repeated, something darker crossing his tone, “but it can be dangerous, chasing down affection…”

You shuddered a little, but suppressed it. You wanted to explore that statement more, but a glance at the clock revealed you didn’t have even close to enough time to dig into it.

“Sounds like something we can pick up with next week,” you said lightly.

“Oh, is it already time?”

“Getting close to it,” you nodded. “I don’t want to cut you off or anything. This has been really productive. I feel like I’m getting to know you better.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “ditto.”

“And before we wrap up, I just want to say a few things, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, go ahead.”

“First, thank you for sharing this with me.”

He nodded in acknowledgement.

“Second, I want to tell you that you didn’t do anything to make your mother hurt you like that. There’s nothing you could’ve done to justify that… you were a child. You were her child. She was supposed to take care of you, and she didn’t. And it wasn’t because you did something wrong, but simply because there are awful, evil, sick people in this world who do terrible things to innocent people.”

He looked taken aback by that. “Nobody’s innocent.”

That wasn’t the response you expected. Most people hear “it’s not your fault” and brush it away, say that they know that even if they don’t, say that they’ve heard it all before. Had August not heard this before? Was this the first time someone was responding this way? Worse, was this the first time he’d told someone at all?

“August, you were a child. You were innocent.”

He nodded, but didn’t seem super convinced.

“And, lastly,” you finished with a sigh, “does this time next week work for you?”

Sometimes, you just have that itch in your brain, and you need to scratch it. On your way to your car from your office, you found yourself taking a detour to the records office, and leaning on the desk of the receptionist there.

“Good evening, Melissa,” you greeted.

“Oh, hey!” she smiled back from behind her computer. “What’s up?”

“Could you get me anything you have on August Walker?”

“You should be able to access that already--”

“No, that’s just from his time in Operations. He used to work in Support.”

“Really?”

“Um, yeah. Can you… get me that file?”

“Yeah, sure. ...Looks like he had another psychiatrist then, too. I think they had a mandated intake interview back then.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’ve got some tapes here.”

You laughed a little when she actually handed you literal cassettes. “Oh, you mean tapes. I assumed it was digital.”

“Not this far back.”

You slipped the tape into your car’s tape player on your drive home. Perks of having a shitty old car.

So, tell me, August, the calm male voice of the retired Dr. Newbury began, what inspires your interest in the CIA?

I have a talent. I want it to get some use.

What do you mean when you say ‘talent’?

I can do things other people can’t. And I don’t mean physically, although I suppose that’s true, too. What I mean is, I can tolerate things other people can’t. I can survive things other people can’t. There’s something about people that makes them… sensitive. Reactive. I don’t think I have that. I don’t feel things the way other people do.

And you don’t see that as a weakness?

I think I did, once. But I realize now that it’s my greatest strength. I have a sense of… peace, that most people can only dream of.

Peace? Is that something that’s important to you?

Isn’t it important to everyone?

That’s fair. Where do you think that sense of peace comes from?

Is it time to dig into my childhood, Doc?

You shivered at how similar it sounded to his own discussion with you, even when he was clearly so much younger.

I suppose.

Are you one of those people who thinks peace can only come from suffering?

Let’s not talk about me.

Well, I think that suffering is overrated. My childhood, since you’re dying to know, was fine. Simple. Something in me is… missing, maybe, but it wasn’t stolen. My mom was sweet-- the kind of person who would bake a pie and leave it in the windowsill to cool. Always at social functions, always showing me off.

And your father?

Quiet. Stern, never cruel. I mean, he would discipline me when I did something wrong-- but that’s not cruelty, that’s love, isn’t it?

You could say that.

Then sure, my father loved me.

Is that the only way your father loved you? Through discipline?

Is there any other way?

You stopped the tape but what you had heard echoed in your mind. There was something about this story that you hadn’t gotten out of what he had told you. That undefinable, inscrutable element that could only be described as the truth. Of course you had questioned his story at the time, but you had been told to believe people when they were confessing something so serious, even as some covert sense told you that something was wrong.

You pulled over and grabbed a paper file from the seat next to you.

“Of course,” you mumbled aloud to yourself, “of course something was wrong…”

You flipped to his physical examination results from his first intake. He was just 19 then, a few weeks before the interview you had just listened to.

Perfect hearing in both ears. 20/20 vision. Flawless dental impressions-- due mainly to 7 years of corrective braces staggered throughout his childhood.

You felt sick-- actually, physically sick. As much as you had anticipated that there was something off with his original story, you hadn’t prepared for such a significant fabrication. You still didn’t understand why he had lied to you… or what more you would learn had been simply a story.

#august walker x reader #august walker x y/n #august walker smut #august walker headcanon #august walker imagine #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill headcanons #mission impossible fanfiction #dark!henry cavill

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yaz-the-spaz · 4 years ago

Note

So I’m new to the Ziam fandom, I’m a strong larrie but I also couldn’t help to notice that there was something between Z*yn and L*am too. Could you tell me about the tiger tattoo? I keep hearing that its an iconic Ziam tattoo and I’m a little confused. Also, do you think Ziam is still together right now in 2020 and could you explain why? I hope this isn’t a bother.

hey nonnie, welcome to this side of the fandom! and please don’t worry, you are not a bother at all, and we are always happy to have new members! please accept this adorable gif of ziam waving hello as your welcoming gift into the ziam fandom lol! 😊🌈

now onto your question about the tiger tattoo...

hooo boy, nonnie

idk if you know what you’re asking because this is a BIG life-altering question.

BIG.

...are you ready for this?

are you ready to die? are you ready to have your soul ascend from your body up to the gay ziam heavens for all eternity?

i mean it’s pretty nice up here and all but you may just wanna get your affairs in order before you continue, cause once you discover all the ways zayn javadd malik has professed his undying and eternal love for liam james payne all over his goddamn body there is no coming back.

are you absolutely sure you’re ready?

ok, here we go!

so. once upon a time way back in october 2013 zayn debuted a new tattoo of a tiger on his arm. at the time it seemed like just another tattoo in a quickly growing long list of (random) tattoos, and went by relatively untalked about among fandom (at least afaik) for a couple of years. but THEN, in early 2016 zayn followed that tattoo up with the addition of the full title of his m.o.m. album spelled out around the tiger...

seems normal, right?

first off, notice how the tiger’s tail is shaped suspiciously like an L?

well, that’s not all that’s gay i mean odd or interesting about this tattoo lol...some have also noticed that the muscles of the tiger’s back quite remarkably appear to resemble the muscles of a certain boy whose name also starts with L

(and no i’m not talking about louis lol)

but here’s where shit really gets real because guess what? you may have noticed that the letters of the ‘mine’ part are kind of shuffled in an odd/not really consecutive order to spell out the word mine in a way that’s clearly or easily readable...that’s because zayn’s extra ass arranged it specifically so that only the i, e, and m, are all directly around the L-shaped tiger tail, while the n is just off to the side like a lonely forgotten reject

by now you might be saying to yourself okay, well that’s not really all that significant to liam, and the L could just be a coincidence/not really mean anything, couldn’t it?

wrong again!

because once more, zayn ‘i live to be as extra as humanly possible about my love for liam james payne because i don’t know any other way to live’ malik made sure to put a little tail/extra line on the side of the letter ‘e’ to make it interchangeable with an upside down letter ‘a.’

now again you might be thinking i don’t know if that’s really intentional or all that meaningful. but look closely.

there is clearly an additional connected piece on that e that cannot be explained away or mistaken for just a weird blot of ink. it’s not just an error on the part of the tattoo artist (if it was i’m sure zayn would have had it fixed by now given that he’s had that tat for over 4 years at this point) and there’s also no letter ‘a’ in ‘mind of mine.’

so why is it there? and why does it just so happen to be right next to the i, the m, and the L-shaped tiger tail. why did zayn choose to arrange the letters of the word ‘mine’ in such a weird order instead of a more normal/easier to read format like the rest of the album title? and why did he choose put those exact letters all near each other? because it’s intentional. and because it’s meant to have a very particular double meaning.

if he was going for just a random order he could’ve put those letters anywhere. but he didn’t. and more than that he went out of his way to make sure that that additional piece on the e was added and distinct so that it could very clearly double as an (unnecessary) a.

there’s no way you can argue that all of those things are just coincidence or that the random letter ‘a’ means absolutely nothing lol. that tattoo was clearly meant as both an homage to the album and to liam (who the album is largely believed to be about lol). and the fact that the muscles seem to match quite closely to liam’s is a nice added bonus that just helps confirm that imo. (plus there’s also the lovely little tidbit of knowledge that the tattoo is positioned in such a way that whenever zayn wears short-sleeve shirts the ‘Liam’ part is the only part clearly on display 😏😏😏)

BUT GUESS WHAT??

THAT IS NOT EVEN WHERE ZAYN’S TATTOO DEDICATIONS ENDDDD

never mind that he already had all of us ziams sobbing ourselves to death and morphing into withered soulless husks over this tattoo after he debuted the full thing in 2016, but there’s so! many! more!

boy’s body is literally a giant ass open love letter to liam and i am NOT OKAY. (have i mentioned i hate these extra ass romantic saps with every fiber of my being? no? well i do. and you’re about to find out all the reasons why)

reason #1 - all. the. goddamn. mandala. tattoos. (there are multiple but i’m only linking to this post featuring/talking about the main one, i.e. the very first one he got cause that’s the one that kills me the most but if you wanna see the others peep my ziam tattoos tag or my zayn’s tattoos tag)

reason #2 - love & marriage poem tattoo (read all the posts in this tag starting from the bottom first for full context)

reason #3 - red wolf & bat wings chest tattoo

reason #4 - wolf leg tattoo (more background details here too)

reason #5 - liam’s silhouette leg tattoo

reason #6 - smoking lips hand tattoo (which literally matches the album art for liam’s debut single exactly and was debuted on zayn’s hand months before the single’s release - scroll down to the part where you can see the red lip pics)

reason #7 - the snake tattoo (aka the snake habitat tattoo)

reason #8 - motherfuckin 25!! idk what it means but it clearly means SOMETHING important to the both of them and it still drives me insane to this day and probably will to my dying breath 🤬

bonus - it’s not a tattoo but: zayn’s nose piercing. which along with the mandala wrist tat is literally a desi bride declaration of marriage; fun fact - tan france, a gay married british-pakistani tv personality who is part of the queer eye crew also has a mandala tat on his left hand that some have speculated may also be to symbolize his dedication to his husband)

anyway there are more tattoos of zayn’s that seem to also be related to liam (though more loosely imo) but this post is already beyonddd long enough so i figured it’s best to just stick to the main ones/most obvious ones here lol

(side note: liam also has tattoos that are clearly dedicated to zayn/his and zayn’s relationship as well, but that’s for another post and also if my recall is correct i think zayn might actually have more?? well that we know of anyway lol)

(side note 2.0: one other thing that adds to the theory of the m.o.m. tiger tattoo being a dedication to liam/liam’s name, besides the obvious lettering thing described above, is that zayn is known to have a thing for tattooing the names of his closest loved ones on his body. the only person in his immediate family whose name he doesn’t appear to have tattooed on him is trisha’s and i’d be willing to bet that’s either because she specifically asked him not to, or he does have one but it’s just in a very hidden place. but we know that he has his father’s name, grandfather’s name, and all of his sister’s names tattooed on him so when you combine that with the weird lettering of the m.o.m. tiger tat and the fact that the album was very likely about liam/closely followed the story of the beginning of his relationship with liam, it becomes even less plausible imo that that tattoo is meant to be about anything else but liam. ain’t science grand?)

(side note 3.0: zayn’s whole left arm/left sleeve of tats seems to be specifically reserved for tattoos dedicated to liam and/or related/connected to liam’s own tattoos, and there’s a couple of good posts here - x, x, x, x - that go through some of the more specific parallels between their tattoos and how certain ones seem to mirror or directly pair with each other’s)

ok i promise that’s it for the side notes lol!

lastly, to your final question, i do believe that they are still together currently, especially considering this most recent soft outing/confirmation from one of zayn’s songwriters (who is also not the first to do that either btw lol) but that is not the only reason - see my post here for some of the biggest reasons why i believe ziam remains real and strong :)

#asks #anons #ziam #ziam tattoos #zayn's tattoos #ziam declarations of love #ziam is real #ziam remains real #obvious husbands are obvious #ziam masterposts #mine #this post took me over half the goddamn day wtf #i hate my inconsistent ass tags #why am i like this

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cosmosflower92 · 3 years ago

Text

i haven't dropped in

and given you guys much of an update of whats going on in my life since around the end of October,

i broke things off completely with Jorge at this point and i have decided that im gonna be open to dating but just really lightly, im not interested in falling in love right now because i need to learn to appreciate my own company and get back into doing what i like to do. that is gonna come with me blogging some more than i have in the past and making my candles, along with my tarot reading and practice.

i have noticed that i have started to like the adderal i have been getting from my friend a little to much, im going to lay off of them for a few months because i dont want to develop and habit with those, i have noticed when i come down i get really really depressed, i cant have that kind of depression knocking at my door right now.

i noticed i would not be able to sleep and i would just want to cry constantly.

with that thought being present i have decided to only to smoke weed this year.

many of you are new hear so long story short i struggled with an addiction to a bad substance and have been clean off that substance for 3 years but i do have an addictive personality that i can not ignore so when i start to see some developing habits no matter what the substance is i cut it out for long periods of time cold turkey.

i know being an addict is something that i will have to face throughout my lifetime, its something i think i have better handle on it now than i have had in a very long time.

in other news my mom had invited this random guy to come stay with torrey and her (torrey is my 28 year old younger sister) just before Christmas, and this is someone she barley knew wich is what scared me about the whole thing, my mother suffered a brain aneurysm 2 years ago and while she has healed in physical ways in some mental ways she is different, one of these differences is that she doesn't use forethought the way that she should and doesn't asses risks because of that. anyways...i went over there on Christmas eve to spend that night with my mother as is tradition, when i god there he introduced himself and me being super intuitive noticed something was off about him right from the start, i got this like vibe that he was not being truthful about alot of things, over the course of the night he got weirder and weirder i think he was on drugs that night because he was acting really erratic and at one point started to fight with my mom after me and my sister had gone to bed, me and my sister heard the argument and i went out there and she told him to pack his bags and leave, me and my sister decided we would drop him off at his moms house that he got kicked out of. we also gave him some money so that he could either get a hotel or pay someone to stay with them, on the way to do this he mentions that he also have active warrants because of violation of his probation which means he was already in trouble with the law. i really felt bad for him though because i can tell that he is going to be a person that will sabotage any thing he has going for him because he expects people to give on him but when you also make bad choices and do bad things people dont have to help you through it, its almost like a catch 22 in that way. i really hope he finds his way but i can tell his aggression was going to be a problem for my sweet mother. im glad he is out of her life but i am sad because we didnt get to a chance to show him what real love and support looks like. but my mom is to old to be trying to raise another person who acts like a child at 22. idk i guess ill harbor some guilt about this but i will pray for him and try to move in grace from that situation.

but that is it basically for the update for now,

im committed to blogging more and going back to using this page as my diary because i dont have anyone on here from my personal life so i feel way more comfortable expressing my feelings here anyway.

#personal

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years ago

Text

The Bodyguard Pt. 2 (Elorcan)

I didn’t really edit the ending of this whoops.

Part 1 | Part 3

______________________________________________________________

Elide turned over in bed for what had to be the hundredth time, practically strangling herself in her bed sheets. The idea was more than a little tempting at this point.

She glared at the ceiling for a moment, then sat up with a yell. “Get out!”

A deep, unaffected sigh graced her ears. “Go to sleep, Elide.”

Lorcan Salvaterre, her supposed-bodyguard-but-more-like-pain-in-the-ass, was sitting in a chair in the corner, long limbs sprawled in front of him, head resting against the wall of her room.

Her bedroom.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had a man in her bedroom, intent on staying the night. Oh, wait, yes she could.

Fucking never.

“I’m trying,” she spat back, exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders. “I can’t sleep with you in here, mouth breathing all over the place.”

That was such a lie she almost laughed. His even, deep breaths were the last thing keeping her awake.

He peered an eye open at her. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I don’t know. “Just sit outside the door or something.”

Lorcan closed his dark eyes again. “The picture was taken from inside the room. I will stay inside the room.”

She groaned, and the corner of his lip quirked up.

“Would you feel more comfortable if I were in the bed with you?”

His eyes were still closed, but she pressed her palms over her cheeks to hide the blush anyway. “No, of course not.”

“That’s what I thought, so shut up and go to sleep.”

She was about to tell him what she’d do to him if he ever told her to shut up again when a loud bang sounded against the wall. Elide sat up, curious about what the hell had hit the side of the building hard enough to cause such a loud sou-

The glass window exploded before she could find out, a thousand razor sharp shards shooting across her room. But she wasn’t exactly concerned about that.

No, because faster than she could even track, Lorcan had thrown himself across her room, tackled her back down to the bed, and covered her body with his.

He was on top of her, legs covering hers, strong chest pressed against her, arms cradling her head.

She knew this was the last thing she should be thinking about while someone was trying to kill her, but good Lord the man was tall. And built like a freaking slab of concrete. His deliciously heavy weight was pressing her down against the mattress, allowing her to feel every inch of his body against hers.

“Don’t move.”

Move? She could hardly breathe. “I can’t, you heavy son of a bit-”

“Don’t speak, either.”

Repressing a smile, she did as she was told.

Eventually, when he’d deemed it safe enough, he rolled off of her. “Stay on the bed.”

Holy sweet- he should not say things like that.

She stayed still.

He searched the room, then picked something up and held it out to her. It was a brick, and a note was attached.

Elide,

October, 2016.

Elide read it again and again, praying the words would change but knowing they wouldn’t.

“What happened in October of 2016?” Lorcan asked, peering over her shoulder.

Ignoring him entirely, she shot out of bed and sprinted to her bathroom, barely making it before emptying her guts into the toilet.

Once she was done, she just flushed and leaned against the tub, not having the energy to get up. He leaned in the bathroom’s doorway, unperturbed. “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s not important.”

He narrowed his eyes, making him look a little like a predator about to swoop in for the kill. “Tell me.”

She shook her head. Lorcan pinched the bridge of his nose, then suddenly slid down the door frame to sit across from her. “No judgments. I promise. But I need to know what he’s talking about so I can protect you from it.”

A harsh laugh forced its way out of her at that. The man across from her just tilted his head and waited, his face uncharacteristically lacking its scowl.

“In October of 2016, I ran away.”

Lorcan nodded, so she continued. “It was really stupid, honestly. I didn’t have money or clothes or food, and I could hardly walk because of... I was hurt. Somehow, I managed to make it to the docks across town.”

“I thought I made it,” she scoffed, remembering how stupid she’d been. “I thought I was safe. Especially when one of the fisherman’s wives brought me food. But Vernon has everyone in that town on lock down. I never made it onto the boat.”

Elide had to clear her throat before saying the next part. “When he caught me and brought me back, he locked me up. In the basement, in the dark. The only time I’d see a light was when he opened the door to come down and punish me for being so foolish.”

“How long?” Lorcan asked, his voice holding a shocking amount of rage.

Wiping her face clean of tears, she smiled sadly and said, “Six months.”

His jaw was clenched so tight she worried he’d break a tooth.

“That was for when I ran away for less than a day. I’ve been gone for almost two years now. So if he catches me...” Steel made it’s way into her voice. “I’ll kill myself before I let him bring me back to that place.”

Lorcan’s eyes blazed at that statement. “That’s not going to happen. He’s not going to get to you.”

“He can get to me anywhere.” That was beyond true at this point.

“Not anywhere,” he growled, scooping her into his arms and standing up like she weighed nothing. He sounded a little pissed, a little remorseful.

“Um, what are you doing?” When he walked out into the hallway and slammed the door behind them, she amended her question. “Where are we going?”

He seemed to resent even saying the words, but replied, “My apartment.”

About thirty minutes later, she sat across from Lorcan in his living room, holding a cup of hot water.

She’d asked if he had tea and he’d given her the most affronted look and asked, “Why the hell would I drink dirty water?”

Men.

“Why are we here?”

He sighed. “We’re here because you’re not safe at your place.”

Elide glanced around. “And I’m safe here?” I mean, sure, it looked a bit safer, considering there were four deadbolts on the door, but that didn’t mean much.

“Believe me, it’s safe.” She raised an eyebrow, and he rolled his eyes. “I have bulletproof windows, the door’s made of steel, and no one’s allowed in the complex without a security code. Compared to your place, this is Fort Knox.”

“Oh.”

He nodded.

“Um, thank you, I guess.”

Lorcan cringed, clearly unused to having visitors. “You can have the guest bedroom.”

Taking his more than obvious hint, she walked down the hall and into the room. Like the rest of the place, it was painfully in need of a woman’s touch. Gray walls, black furniture, and a bed covered in a white comforter.

No art, no color, no anything.

The windows overlooked the city, but she took him at his word that they were bulletproof. She still yanked the curtains closed before flopping down on the bed.

And even though she felt completely awake, it wasn’t long before she drifted off to sleep.

Something nudged her shoulder, and she swatted whatever it was away.

It dodged and bumped her again.

Elide ignored it. Something important was flaring at the back of her mind, but she was too tired, too comfortable to do anything but nuzzle further into the pillow.

A gravelly voice interrupted her goal of falling back asleep. “You’re drooling on my pillow.”

She could recognize that ever-annoyed growl anywhere.

Peeking an eye open, she practically jumped out of her skin. Lorcan stood next to her, towering over the bed, wearing low-hanging sweatpants and no shirt. He sipped his coffee and cocked a brow at her, seemingly unaware of the fact that her position hanging off the bed put her face directly in front of his crotch.

Blushing like crazy, she turned over and sat up, making sure her sleep shirt and shorts was covering everything.

“It’s seven thirty,” he informed her helpfully.

Elide tried to ignore the fact that he was shirtless when he said it, but her brain didn’t listen to the order. Well-defined muscles she was pretty sure she didn’t even possess covered every inch of him, and it was all she could do to stop herself from reaching out and poking one.

“You’re drooling again,” he teased, making her blush.

She jumped out of bed, rushing to... oh, shit. “I don’t have any of my clothes! I don’t even have my toothbrush!”

Before she could start pacing, he nodded to the floor. A black duffel bag was below her, and when she glanced inside, she saw a pair of jeans and a grey turtleneck. And a toothbrush.

“When did you grab this?”

He certainly hadn’t packed a bag before carrying her out last night.

“I went this morning. Not all of us sleep in.”

She would’ve pointed out that anything before noon was the opposite of sleeping in, but she had to get to work. “Okay, thank you, now get out!” She pushed his shoulder, but he just shrugged her off, rolled his eyes, and walked out of the room.

So stubborn this morning.

Once she was ready, she stepped out and asked, “Ready for another day of therapy, Mr. Salvaterre? Maybe we can finally get you to open up and talk about your childhood.”

He just glowered and jerked his chin for her to follow him.

It was only her first day of staying at Lorcan’s place, but she could already tell he was regretting his decision to take her in.

By the time Friday rolled around, she and her new roomie had developed a pretty easy schedule to follow. But even without the stress of being kidnapped in her own home, it had been a long week.

She was beyond ready for the concert tonight.

“This is reckless,” Lorcan pointed out from his position leaning against the bathroom door.

Elide finished her mascara before replying. “It’s not reckless to have a life. What was the point escaping if I lock myself in my apartment all day, anyway?”

He glowered, but she noticed his eyes followed her movements as she drew on her lipstick. Repressing a smug grin, she took more care than usual, making sure it was just right.

When she was done, he got back to his point. “You have a life. A... career.”

A few days ago, she would’ve been annoyed at the resentment in his voice, but she’d gotten used to the idea that therapy wasn’t his thing. “Yes, but I need a social life. You know what that is, right?”

“I have acquaintances.”

She peered over her shoulder, eyes raking over his tall frame dressed in head to toe black. “No girlfriend?”

His eyes narrowed, just a fraction. “No girlfriend.”

That made a horde of butterflies parade through her gut, but she ignored them.

“Makes sense why this place has zero decorations, then,” she teased.

Lorcan looked at the ceiling, and she had a feeling he was praying for sanity. “I have a rug. This discussion is pointless, just like the concert. Let’s go.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was ready anyway, so she followed him downstairs. After a tense taxi ride--during which Lorcan glared at the driver so intensely he practically flew down the crowded streets--they were at MSK, a usually quiet bar on the opposite side of the city.

Lorcan eyed the place like it would be home to the toughest criminals alive, but she’d been here enough to see that the harsh exterior didn’t really matter.

Pulling him inside, she walked up to the bar and winked at the woman behind it.

Manon Blackbeak, the most insanely badass woman she knew and her absolute best friend, gave her a smile. Then glanced at the man next to her.

“Boyfriend,” she explained quickly before the man himself could say something stupid like the truth.

Said man glanced down at her and raised a brow, but she ignored it.

“Hm. You could do better,” Manon told her.

Elide ignored that, too. “You excited for tonight?”

MSK was her bar, so the concerts were a good way of bringing in revenue without having to do much. Plus, Asterin and her had been friends since they were toddlers, so they worked well together.

Manon shrugged. “I hate the new album, but the bar will make some money, so whatever. Want a drink?”

She could feel Lorcan’s eyes on her now. It had been his one big stipulation for “allowing” her to come: no drinking.

She shook her head, thankful the band started playing something loud and obnoxious so she didn’t have to explain. Asterin made her way on stage, and the crowd went crazy.

“This is the kind of music you like?” Lorcan leaned down to ask in her ear. “Metal?”

She laughed at the almost comical look of disgust on his face. “No. I just love Asterin enough to put up with it.”

After four songs, even Elide was doubting that statement. A look at Manon confirmed it. The album was worse than usual. “How much longer?”

Her best friend put her head on the bar and groaned. “God, I hope not long.”

She laughed, then glanced at Lorcan. He was sitting at the bar, glaring at anyone who tried to come close to her.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she yelled.

He gestured for her to lead the way, and she rolled her eyes but walked down the dark hallway to the ladies room. She opened the door, glanced back at Lorcan, and shut the door between them before he could insist on coming in.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Even if his attention made her feel safe.

Ridiculous.

She washed up and used the bathroom, trying fruitlessly to fix her ruined makeup. Eventually, she figured the eyeliner was staying smudged and the lipstick was pretty much a lost cause, so she decided to just go back to the concert.

When she opened the door, Lorcan wasn’t waiting outside in the dim hallway like she expected. Maybe he went to the bathroom, too? Or maybe he had to take a call?

Both seemingly good options, but the little voice that had kept her alive this far screamed at her that something was wrong. Her fight or flight instinct activated, and like the other times that voice had saved her, she listened.

And bolted for the back door of the bar.

She’d get outside, make sure she was alone, and call Lorcan. Nothing was wrong.

The back door swung open, revealing two things and she stepped outside, relieved to see the alley empty.

That relief vanished as harsh hands wrapped around her shoulders and pushed her against the side of the building roughly.

Elide looked up frantically, her inner voice screeching warnings and now-helpless advice as she stared into the face of her uncle Vernon.

“Hello, Elide.”

______________________________________________________________

Part 3

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