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nnight-dances · 1 year ago

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ADORABLY, YOURS.

pairings: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader, feat. choi seungcheol tropes: love triangle, friends to lovers (jeonghan x you), strangers to friends to fwb to friends (seungcheol x you), kinda slowburn, one-sided love (or is it?), pining, slight age gap (2-3 years) etc. genres: fluff, angst, jealousy, sexual content (no explicit smut content but references to it) with vulgar language, cafe!au, non-idol!au, college!au. word count: 12k (I am sorry about this.) what to expect: You’ve liked Jeonghan since you met him through your best friend, Wonwoo. But little by little every day you’re convinced he knows you like him and his non-action can only mean your feelings are not mutual. Then, you run into Seungcheol, a childhood best friend of Jeonghan’s, who instantly develops a soft spot for you. The resulting love triangle that wreaks havoc on your emotions might as well end being the answer to your problems. Bittersweet like coffee but decisive as a caffeine rush, this is the story of how you beat all odds to be with Yoon Jeonghan. warnings slash author’s note: I warn you beforehand: the logistics of this love triangle are a bit morally ambiguous, i.e. I can’t tell if I used Seungcheol purely as a plot-point or not. I probably did. But in my defense, I think all love triangles are inherently a little bit evil and cruel. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this admittedly self-indulgent mammoth of a fic. I had a headache the whole three days I was writing it. I love Jeonghan and I promise there will be a make-up fic for Seungcheol, because I’m biased but not corrupt. As always, this isn't proofread but I will get to that in the next few days! All right, that’s all. Love you, friends and foes!

It’s one of those days. You can’t help yawn after yawn and no amount of caffeine is washing the throbbing in your head away. To make things worse, you’ve managed to sleep with a spine posture worse than even your worst days which means your back hurts from standing at the register all day. But the day is far from over as a glance at the clock informs you; your cafe shift has a good three hours remaining.

And whenever you’re hoping to take a break on the uncomfortable chair propped in a corner near the register, the door to the cafe will jingle with the presence of a new customer. At least your co-worker for the day, Joshua, is also a friend so you can talk his ear off about the various ways in which you might escape the prison of existence.

Just as you’re going into detail about how you wouldn’t mind dissipating into air, the glass door swings open and in comes a tall man clad in a suit, the heels of his dress shoes clanking against the floor of the coffee shop. You reign in the surprised look that threatens to overtake your face – because goddamn, the man is gorgeous – as you greet him, “Good morning! Welcome to Moon Coffee!”

“Good afternoon to you, too,” the man corrects you with a dimpled smile. You wince at your mistake and nod, “Right, sorry about that. What can I get started for you?” You force a smile that you hope is friendly enough onto your face, gesturing to the large menu boards above you, “Please, take your time.”

As the man busies his eyes with the plentiful options displayed on the boards, you busy yourself with questioning what a fancy ass man like him was doing at the campus coffee shop. His hair was long, brown ends curling around his neck and as he ran a hand through it, deep in thought, you could essentially smell how rich he was.

“The hazelnut mocha sounds like it’s good but also really sweet,” he comments, looking at you for a second opinion.

“Right, it’s one of our best-sellers! And it is on the sweeter side because of the chocolate in it, but you could balance it out with a double-shot?” you suggest and then, “Otherwise, our classic mochas are not as sweet.”

The man nods with a slight smile, “Hmm, I like the sound of the first option. I’ll have that, please.”

“Is that an iced hazelnut mocha with a double-shot for you?” you ask with a smile. When he nods, you punch in his order, “Can I get a name for the drink?”

“Seungcheol.”

“All right, thank you very much. That’ll take just a few minutes. You’re welcome to take a seat and wait.” He nods as he walks to one of the tables next to the window.

Joshua’s already getting to work with Seungcheol’s drink and you take a moment to rest your back against the counter, throwing a glance or two at the new (and gorgeous) face in town. But thankfully for this rich stranger, today is the day you don’t have the energy to go down a rabbit hole trying to find an explanation for his presence. Instead you wave him a good day as he leaves with a satisfied smile on his face and an iced mocha in his hand.

Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all.

A week later has you eating your words. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Thursday afternoons are the busiest times of your shift at Moon Coffee. Most students were either rushing to down caffeine to finish some daunting assignment due at the end of the week or otherwise, others would be early in celebrating the fast-approaching weekend. The first kind you can deal with: they’re easy to relate to and they don’t really care if your customer service is the bare minimum from how tired you are.

But the second kind? You wish you could be granted with some kind of powers that would take away any more weekends from the rest of their lives. If the way they strolled in grinning and took their time with the menu didn’t have you fuming, their inane but obnoxious questions about your life would have you at the edge of your temper every week. You were only thankful you didn’t have to work the Friday crowds or you’d actually be declared a public threat.

But today, unfortunately for you, Jeonghan’s decided to make a visit to the cafe and if the fact that he’s not even a student anymore wasn’t enough, he was celebrating his birthday week. Which meant he was even worse than in exhibiting his usual infuriating customer behavior. But annoying customer or not, Jeonghan was also the guy you’ve harbored feelings for since two years ago now.

So when he strolls up to the counter with Seungcheol, the polite rich man from last week, by his side, you have more than one reason to stare at them dumbfounded.

“Oh, hey, it’s you!” Seungcheol starts, eyes trailing to the name on your tag, “Y/N!”

Jeonghan shoots you a confused look and then elbows Seunghceol, “Don’t even pretend that you know her. I totally caught you looking at her name tag. Have a little shame, Cheol.”

You clear your throat, “Um, good afternoon and welcome to Moon Coffee! What can I get started for you?” You punctuate the question with a smile that you hope screams please order fast and get out of here!

But Jeonghan evidently has long missed the memo when he pokes Seungcheol again, “You know sometimes I come here just so I can see Y/N smiling. She never smiles off the clock. It’s truly devastating.”

Seungcheol looks amused, “Is that so? I mean, fair enough. With a smile like that, you ought to be paid to show it.”

You cough into your palm, caught off-guard but quick to conceal the shy grin that’s crept up your face. You pray that the heat in your neck doesn’t climb up to show on your face. “Will you be ordering the same as last week? Iced hazelnut mocha with a double-shot?”

Seungcheol’s face lights up a little at your recognition but Jeonghan’s quickly butting in with an affronted expression, “Oh, so you recognize this man who’s been here once, but not your close friend of a long long time? Do you even know how much money I’ve spent on the seasonal lattes here?”

You sport a sly smile, “Right, thank you for enjoying our seasonal menu of beverages. We hope you continue to love the upcoming drinks. Feel free to leave any feedback or suggestions here!” You hand him a brand-new index card and gesture at a drop-box next to your monitor.

Seungcheol cackles at the defeated look on Jeonghan’s face and grins as he says, “You know what, I think I’ll get the same mocha again, Y/N. It did wonders for my mood.” You find yourself grinning almost immediately, tapping in his order with a hum.

“And for you?”

“...”

You know Jeonghan’s scheming something but you can’t afford to let him play out whatever sick mind games he’s planned out at your workplace so you’re quick to appease him, “If I might, I suggest you go for the salted caramel brownie latte. It’s perfect for this weather and it tastes suspiciously like birthday cake.”

Jeonghan can’t help a smile at your words, rolling his eyes a little, “Fine. That does sound tempting. I’ll have one of those, but only if I get a personalized note from you wishing me a very very happy birthday.”

You contain a scoff, “Of course.” You nod, “Thankfully for the line behind you, I already have your names down. Please step aside while we prepare your drinks. Thank you.”

–

“She’s hilarious,” chuckles Seungcheol, bumping shoulders with Jeonghan as they settle into his car. “Didn’t think I would witness Yoon Jeonghan’s downfall in a random college cafe.”

Jeonghan scoffs, “I think you’re too happy about this. Plus, my downfall started a long time ago when I stopped cheating in board games.” He takes a sip of his latte, “Fuck, this does taste like cake. What the fuck?”

Despite his words, Jeonghan smiles when he sees the note you promised him:

jeonghan – happy birthday week, u weird old man! please invite me to ur birthday party so i can give u the best gift of ur life and maybe also stick ur head in cake :) lots of love, y/n.

“She’s in her senior year, you said?”

Jeonghan looks up with a nod, “Yeah, I met her through Wonwoo, back when we shared a class in college. And then when I graduated and settled here, I’d invite them to get-togethers because I know how miserable the nightlife on this campus is.”

“Wow, look at you, such an admirable role model,” Seungcheol jokes, “And Wonwoo? Was he the glasses guy who you FaceTimed this morning? He seemed… cool, I guess.”

Jeonghan shrugs with a shoulder, “He’s a piece of work, alright. But that explains why he and Y/N are inseparable. Anyway, you’ll meet the rest of the crew later tonight. Thursday night is board game night.”

‘Board Game Night’ was a very, very loose term for the weekly gathering at Jeonghan’s place – it was a mix of Jeonghan’s friends, namely Dokyeom and Woozi, from work doing karaoke, his tired college friends (aka your friend group) lounging around on their phones, and maybe a group of two to three actually playing board games.

Tonight is slightly different, though, because the alcohol that Jeonghan otherwise wisely guards most weeks has made its presence known to everyone, the fancy bar table propped in a corner of his living room finally finding meaning.

You make it to his place, around thirty minutes past the usual starting time, exhausted from another soul-sucking shift at your job. You’d planned to sit on Jeonghan’s couch and binge-watch some mindless TV show but you’re thrown off when a reddened Seungcheol answers the door.

“Y/N! You’re late,” he exclaims. His speech is normal, thankfully but as you step in to take in the rest of the people, you look back at Seungcheol, eyes doubtful.

“I did not know my night was going to involve babysitting a bunch of drunk old men,” you mutter, not quite meaning for Seungcheol to catch your words. But he does and chuckles, hand at your elbow as he steers you to the bar.

“C’mon, you don’t have to babysit anyone. I’ve got it under control. Now, let me pour you a drink. What can I get for you?”

You watch the tall man with a skeptical smile, a little flustered because he’s standing close enough that you can feel him hard bicep against you and a little bit amused because well, this was new. It’d been a while since you’d been flustered around a man other than Yoon Jeonghan.

“Oh, so you’re making me a drink now?” you ask, “How did you even convince Jeonghan to let out the alcohol? You must have some special powers over him for this to happen.”

Before Seungcheol can supply a reason, Jeonghan appears behind the bar counter, smirking, “Ha! You think I’d let this coward dictate my actions? Nope, this was completely my decision. I couldn’t let the week of my birthday be dry! That’d be such a shame.”

“You’re funny, Han,” you mumble, turning to him with a quirked brow, “How many drinks are you down?”

He waves your concern away, “Shut up. I’m older than you, I don’t need you fussing after me. Now, get yourself a drink before I get mad.”

You raise your hands in surrender, “Sure, wouldn’t want the birthday boy to be made at me.”

“So what will it be? Do you want a beer? Or maybe a good old rum and coke?” Seungcheol offers, eyes already searching for the ingredients.

You narrow your eyes at him, “I think I’ll have a Scotch and Soda, please.”

A few hours later finds you sprawled on Jeonghan’s couch, nevermind the alcohol in your system and the ruckus your friends were creating. You had engaged with their antics for an hour: playing stupid drinking games (only to get drunker by the minute because you suck at games) and retiring early.

Jun starts to complain when you announce that you’re giving up, mainly because he’d be the next target of the crowd, but Jeonghan firmly leads you to the couch.

“You okay?” he asks you, warm fingers steadying you by the neck. Your world spins as he becomes the focus, ironically enough. You nod as you welcome the soft couch underneath your unsteady body, “Hmm. I’m just bummed out that you didn’t help me out by cheating.”

He laughs and the sound unsettles you with its vibrations. “I told you I don’t cheat anymore, silly. Also, I’m pretty sure you’d have lost even if I did pull out some master cheating moves.” You gasp, weakly pushing him away, “Whatever, man, I don’t need your attitude.”

If Jeonghan’s started to genuinely get worried about you, it only gets worse when you cough into your elbow, groaning as you pull away. His hands find your neck again. You hate his touch because you lean into it so naturally, your eyes following him just like he wants. You hate the warm feeling you feel when he feels your forehead with a concerned frown. You hate how you’re practically burning at his touch because he’s a breath away and your fingers twitch in your lap from wanting to touch his hair.

But soft like the strands that tickle your ear, Jeonghan whispers, “God, you’re burning up. Maybe you did drink too much. Fuck, let me bring you some water and then, let’s get you to sleep.”

You protest his lamely sensible plan of action but he isn’t listening as he departs, leaving you feeling cold. You wrap your arms around yourself to compensate, trying to keep an eye on Jeonghan when another tall figure encroaches your field of vision.

“Y/N?” Seungcheol calls out and for a moment, you’re unresponsive, eyes fixated on something beyond him but then you perk up in recognition, pouting as you beckon him to the couch.

“You–!” you point at him with a squint, head working hard to recall his name, “Um, um, Cheol?”

Seungcheol smiles at the nickname, taking a seat next to you, leaving some space but extending an arm behind you because of how you’re dangerously swinging. “Right, that is me. How are you feeling? Not too nauseous I hope?”

You shake your head, “”M fine. But tell that to Han because that weasel’s trying to make me sober up and sleep.” You breathe out a little angrily and then when the world swims around you, you lean your head against the back of the couch– that is currently occupied by Seuncheol’s arm.

He jumps a little at the unexpected contact but steadies himself when he sees your closed eyes, your skin hot against his forearm. “Now, why would he do that? You literally just got drunk,” he tells you, trying to keep you engaged in the conversation, lest you should pass out.

“Right?” you exclaim, opening your eyes, head still against his arm, “It’s like he’s never had fun in his life. For how much he likes to tease people, he sure is a killjoy.”

“Ha, I’m surprised you know him so well, honestly. People usually just take him at face value and think he’s a devilish troublemaker. But god knows how mature Jeonghan is. It makes me mad sometimes.”

You giggle and Seungcheol’s stomach swims at how he can feel the sweet sound in his veins, like literally. “You get me, dude. How long have you known him?”

“Um, like, nearly ten years now? I don’t know, I kinda lost count at some point.”

“Wow, that’s a long time. I’ve known him for like two years?” you hum. “Yeah, he told me.”

You quirk a brow at that, lifting your head up in amusement. “You two been talking about me? What did he say? That I’m Wonwoo’s evil twin?”

“Hmm, yeah, something along the lines of that.”

Jeonghan’s back by your side, suddenly, his strong grip straightening you up and holding up a glass of water. His expression is stoic as hell for a board game night and you don’t know if you feel scolded or cared for. It’s always hard to tell with him.

You stare at him blankly, not drinking the water like he wants you to. Instead you turn to Seungcheol, “I don’t want to.”

Your plea is unreasonable, you and Seungcheol both know, and he can practically feel Jeonghan’s glare when you ask Seungcheol, “Cheol, can you tell him I’m not dying? I don’t need to be babied.”

“Yeah, you do,” Jeonghan says, touching the cold glass against your skin. You jump a little with a soft unfair! and Seungcheol sighs, “Hannie, let her be. I don’t think she wants to go to sleep yet.”

“Thank you! At least someone has ears ‘round here!”

Jeonghan shoots his best friend an unreadable look, still firm, “Well, she needs to drink water either way. Unless someone wants the worst hangover of their life the next morning.” This time, his unoccupied hand finds the back of your head, settling into the stray strands of your hair there. “Please, just drink this.”

You find yourself giving in, lips opening up to the glass and you swallow a few gulps of water, the cold liquid soothing your insides. Before you know it, the glass is empty. He holds it up in front of you, “See? That felt nice, didn’t it?”

There it is, again. The playful glint in his eye and the sly tone of his voice. You ignore the burning tips of your ears and give him a half-nod, throwing yourself against the couch again with a relieved sigh. “Thanks, old man! What would I do without you?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes as he stands up, “Ever so grateful, Y/N.”

“Y’know, Cheol and I were in the middle of a very mind-opening discussion about you.”

“Me?” his interest is piqued and he glances at Seungcheol, who he jostles lightly, “What’ve you been, shit-talking me?”

Seungcheol laughs as he throws the man off, “Wouldn’t you like to know? Anyway, if you want to go back to your game, I have a lot of anecdotes to share with Y/N. It’s our bonding time.”

And bond, you do. You spend the rest of the night talking to Seungcheol on Jeonghan’s couch, the owner of the place long forgotten as you go on to talk about everything else: college experiences, Seungcheol’s job (“So how rich are you exactly?” you grill him), and life interests.

“I can’t believe you like college so much! I hated it a lot back in my time.”

You snort, “You sound really old for someone who graduated two years ago. But I mean, each to their own. I prefer the comfort of the bubble here, you know. No real responsibility most of the time and you’re allowed to make some mistakes now and then. The real world? That’s like hell. I don’t think I’m ever going to feel like an adequate adult ever. Like, tax fraud is real, you know? And I never know which law I’m going to break? Don’t even get me started about the living situation.”

Seungcheol laughs throughout your troubled rant, “No, I get it. But don’t you feel excited about the independence you get to have? The freedom? And plus, if you get lucky with your job, working is actually very fulfilling.”

“Ugh,” you throw your head against the back of the couch again, “I don’t think I’ll ever feel fulfilled. Like ever. I feel too immature to be anything but a college student.”

He frowns on hearing that, confused because he’d never imagined of spending a whole night talking his heart out to a college student. But it happened because it was you, with your quick-witted responses and thoughtful questions. So, he’s fast to counter, “That’s not true–”

But his defense is cut short when Wonwoo approaches you, tapping at your shoulder with a smile. “Hey, you wanna head back?” You look up and are shocked to find the living room nearly emptied of its earlier occupants. When did everyone leave? “C’mon, I’ll walk you to your room. It’s getting late,” Wonwoo continues.

“Oh, damn, I didn’t even realize,” Seungcheol mutters, looking down at the watch on his wrist. “You guys sure you want to head back this late? You could just crash here. I would offer to drive but I drank.”

Wonwoo’s eyes trail to you, leaving the decision up to you. You mull it over, “I don’t know if Han’s gonna want a bunch of wasted kids at his place?”

As if you’d summoned him, Jeonghan appears beside Seungcheol with a yawn, “What’s this about me? Why’re you guys still up? Come on, let me show you to the empty rooms and please go to sleep before I have to use force.”

Wonwoo laughs, “He didn’t even leave us a choice,” and you watch as Jeonghan turns around, expecting you to follow him.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” you turn to your best friend, “Please tell me you don’t still try to suffocate other people in their sleep?”

The boy contains a grin, “I don’t know. It depends on how annoying the person I’m with is.”

“You’re sleeping on the floor, asshole.”

–

Seungcheol has a problem.

He likes to think of himself as a reasonable adult, with the ability to make logical choices and admitting to his flaws here and there. But had he been reasonable enough, he wouldn’t be this hung up over someone he met twice over the course of two weeks. It’s ridiculous: the way his heartbeat’s racing when you tread down to breakfast the morning after the board game night turned bonding time.

He’s smiling his way through an excited “good morning!” before he can collect himself. You look tired, albeit a little bit lesser than usual, and your hair’s down in something of a mess. Seungcheol vaguely recognizes the faded gray tee you’re wearing, probably a donation of Jeonghan’s. “Morning,” you mumble to the breakfast table, everyone present now that you’re here.

Wonwoo snickers, “You look like shit, dude.” You glare at him as you’re reaching out for a fork, “Thanks, Wonwoo, I see that you’re as sweet as ever.”

Jeonghan lightly slaps Wonwoo’s arm, “Be nice to her. Who knows what a hungover Y/N might do?”

You turn to Jeonghan, finally eating the piece of watermelon that you’d been reaching for, “I’m flattered you’re concerned but I’ll have you know I’m not hungover.”

“That’s impressive,” Seungcheol chimes in and you smile at him, “See, I can’t believe this man I met last week understands me better than my best friend and my other friend.”

“Your other friend? That’s what I am to you???” Jeonghan gasps, hand clutching his chest dramatically and Seungcheol laughs louder than he ought to, but he can barely help it, he’s all giddy. All it took was a half-compliment from you.

So yeah, easy to say, Seungcheol has a problem and it has something to do with the way you lean into him when you ask him to pass a slice of toast.

Luckily for Seungcheol, you also have a problem, and it occurs when you declare you need to head back, hoping that they’d let you go alone but Jeonghan’s standing up instantly with a nod. You have a problem with the way he’s unbothered with his behavior, easily saying, “I’ll walk you,” as if your best friend of years wasn’t sitting right there.

You look to Wonwoo, hoping he’d feel the heat of your expression but he simply stretches his limbs out with a groan, “Think I’ll go take a nap before I leave.”

“Don’t you have a class at 12?” you nudge him subtly, trying to ignore Jeonghan as he stands at the table, fingers tapping at the chair that he’s behind.

“Eh, I’m ahead of the syllabus in the class and attendance is a joke.”

You sigh in defeat and meet Jeonghan’s eyes as he lifts his lips into a smile.

And the smile only leaves his lips once you’ve stepped out, clad in your clothes from last night again, groaning when the morning sunlight hits your eyes. “Ugh is right,” he mumbles beside you as he starts walking.

You catch up to him, hands stuffed down your pockets, and he asks, “You have class?”

“Not really. But I do have an upcoming paper I want to finish over the weekend so I don’t perish next week.”

Jeonghan chuckles as he glances at you, “Wow, you’re still this hard-working, huh? I thought your lifestyle would’ve worn you out by now.”

“You’re one to talk about detrimental lifestyles, Han,” you scoff, “Just because you hang out with us once a week doesn’t mean we don’t know you’re overworking yourself for the rest of it.”

He’s silent for a beat and then he exhales, “Huh. I don’t know. Feels like I have the other kids fooled. It’s always you, with your smart little head and truth bombs.”

You laugh, hitting his side with your shoulder, “I’m serious, Han. Take it slow, won’t you? You’re going to end up burning yourself out to death by the time you’re 30. And then whos’ going to host board game nights?”

Jeonghan laughs and he turns to look at you, walking pace slowing down as he trains his eyes on you. You raise your brows in confusion, a slight smile playing on your lips as you try to guess what he’s thinking this time.

“You and Cheol have been getting along really well, huh?”

You’re thrown off guard, not having imagined this to be his next words. You shrug. “Yeah, he’s really easy to talk to, especially given his… I don’t know, social status?”

“Social status?”

You cough in embarrassment over your words. What were you saying? “Don’t know. It’s just nice to meet someone whose hopes and dreams aren’t being crushed by student debt.”

Jeonghan’s silent again and now it’s your turn to frown because you’re wondering if you said the wrong thing. God, does he think you’re creepy for liking his childhood friend? Fucking hell.

“I’m glad,” he says but you can sense a strain in his voice, “I was worried he’d get bored to death when he came to visit me.”

“Ah, well. How long is he around?”

“He took a month off, I think? But he’s got it easy with his flexible hours, so really, it’s up to him when to leave.”

You nod a little, “Cool.” You exhale in relief, a little bit reassured now that Jeonghan was back to talking like his usual self. You’ve finally reached the steps to your dorm by the time the conversation fades away and he waves at you, “Better be on time tomorrow for my party. And don’t forget to bring the best gift of my life.”

You groan when he quotes your note on his coffee from a day ago, shrugging as you turn around to run up to your room and melt into your pillow. But you’ve made it to two steps up when he calls out for you again. You swerve around to face him with a questioning glance.

“Y/N, remember you can come to this old man if you ever need anything, okay? I’m here for you, always.”

??????????

–

Okay, let’s rewind a little.

You’ve known Jeonghan for two years now, enough time to fall for him. You argue it was inevitable because all your life, you’d only been disappointed in your love interests, who would either ghost you in the talking stage itself or break up a few months into the relationship. One time it was because you were too busy with your studies and the third and final time because well, you were apparently too aloof. Not loving enough.

Which is why when Jeonghan came into the picture, you found yourself changing ever so slightly. Not to say you weren’t still a little bit wary of people and took your time opening up, but you met a lot of friends through him and he taught you that trust and attention goes a long way in relationships. If only you could apply this newfound knowledge to new relationships.

You’d tried: Wonwoo had set you up with a friend from class, Mingyu, and while you’d been able to sit through the first date, by the end of the night, it was clear that both of you were more interested in sex. Which was fine. But then there was the guy who was a regular at your cafe who had given you his number and you’d ended up wondering why you were with him in the bathroom, staring at a text from Jeonghan.

So you were down pretty bad for him. And as Wonwoo had voiced multiple times before, the next move to make was to actually tell the man that you’d been suffering in your feelings for him. But every time the topic came around, you had only one answer prepared: he already knows. Or so you’re convinced.

You had good reason to think so. Once, the group of you had been playing an online game that involved picking red flags for other people’s ideal types and when it was time for others to pick some for you, all hell had broken loose. “I bet she likes bad guys who are emotionally unavailable,” Jun had said, quick to drag the flag that said emotional constipation on it. You had defended yourself quickly, “UH? No thanks, men with no emotional intelligence are a hard pass for me. I don’t want to feed into some idiot’s Oedipus complex just because I’m the mom friend.”

“The mom friend?” Wonwoo had questioned, “Please, Y/N, if anything, you’re the dead friend with a severe case of RBF. Jeonghan’s the mom friend.”

Jeonghan’s shrug had been followed by a hysterical Joshua going, “Wouldn’t that mean Y/N’s ideal type is Jeonghan? I mean, it makes a lot of sense, he’s mature and emotionally intelligent.”

You’d choked over your next words, cheeks burning, “No, that’s stupid. Don’t be weird.”

Yeah, very weak defense.

When Wonwoo brought up the fact that you’d refuted Joshua’s claims and that probably led Jeonghan to believe you weren’t into him, you simply told him to remind himself of what happened next. Dokyeom had laughed, “But you definitely go for older men? I can’t imagine any guy in college being too smart like that.”

You’d agreed in the end, his logic being pretty solid. You had also noticed the way Jeonghan excused himself to the kitchen with a lame excuse about bringing more snacks when there was an array of unopened chips still lying around.

“Okay, so that’s one example, from like two months ago,” Wonwoo argues as you roll around in bed to avoid his glare, “Do you really think he remembers that incident so well?”

“Two months ago was not that long ago. And it wasn’t just this once. I’m a mess around Jeonghan.”

“You’re a mess period,” Wonwoo casually declares and when you sit up with an unhinged jaw, he laughs, “No offense.”

“Whatever. I hate you. And I hate Jeonghan. I should just skip his birthday party or I’m just gonna make things worse for myself.”

“Right. And what about the Lego set you spent half your life savings on?”

You pause, heart skipping a beat when you remember the gift sitting on your desk, wrapped securely and the purchase of which you could only justify with the words: Yoon Jeonghan.

“God, I must be insane. Why did I even buy that for him? He’s gonna think I’m genuinely weird. Does he even want gifts? He’s turning 25 for god’s sake.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond so you can hear yourself and eventually, you do. Jeonghan himself had told you to be on time to his party with the gift alongside. You’re going to cry.

“You really think I should tell him?” you ask quietly.

Your best friend nods eagerly, patting your arm through the mess of your bedsheets, “Please. It’s high time. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Weird promise to make, but fine. I’ll do it.”

–

The weight of your promise settles into your veins when you’ve arrived at Jeonghan’s place, self-consciously straightening out non-existent wrinkles in your dress when he comes over to greet you and Wonwoo. It doesn’t leave when he grins at you, wider than usual, and it definitely only gets worse when he accepts your gift with a low whisper that he’ll be sure to open yours first.

You’re thankful for Seungcheol when he shows up next to you, dimples out as he compliments you in your dress and you return it with a shy smile. Half because you need a distraction and more because Seungcheol’s presence is calming, you follow him to the bar.

“How’s your night going so far?”

“It could be better,” you mumble, eyes searching for Jeonghan and settling when he doesn’t seem to be anywhere close, “A little bit nervous.”

“Nervous?” he asks you, sliding you a drink and you smile as you take a sip: Scotch and Soda.

“Hmm, it’s nothing honestly. A lot of work piling up as we speak,” you joke. Seungcheol’s frown melts away, “Ah, of course. Senior year must be crazy.”

The night picks it pace up thereon, with your nerves finding some peace in the buzz from alcohol and your cheeks only hurting the longer you talk to Seungcheol.There’s some dancing of course, here and there, but you find yourself avoiding Jeonghan actively, retracting from the floor whenever he’s close.

It helps that Seungcheol stays close so that you have an excuse to appear occupied and somewhere along in the night, you tell the man with a smile, “You’re really charming, you know, Cheol?”

He breaks out into that giggle of his, “You think so? I haven’t even pulled out all the stops yet?”

“Really?” you find yourself stepping closer, encouraged by how quickly his hands are at your waist, “What haven’t you done yet?”

A breathy hum leaves his lips at your provoking and you’re close enough to brush lips against Seungcheol when suddenly, you’re being pulled away. For a moment, you let out an annoyed groan, certain that the iron hold on your bicep is Wonwoo being stubborn again. So when you tilt your head and catch sight of Jeonghan’s black hair falling into his eyes, a glare in place, all words leave your system.

You’re aware he’s dragging you away and also that Seungcheol’s following, reaching for your hand with words leaving his mouth, but you can’t make anything out. The blood’s in your ears and your heart is in your throat. You can feel Jeonghan saying something at Seungcheol, who glances at you in doubt, and leaves.

By the time you've calmed down, you find yourself in Jeonghan’s room, door half closed.

“Jeonghan?” you question a little weakly as he finally lets go of your arm and sits on the bed, his head in his hands. Is he okay? you wonder, standing helplessly near the door. You call out his name again, “Han? Are you okay?”

You step closer to him but stop when he looks up, startled by the lack of humor in his expression. “What were you doing back there?”

“Um, talking to Cheol.”

“Talking?”

“Are you annoyed at me, right now? Or jealous? I can’t tell.”

Jeonghan goes silent again, gaze dropping to his feet. You’re feeling annoyed by the minute.

“You’re acting like an idiot, Y/N. You don’t know Seungcheol. And you’re drunk.”

There it was: that strict tone of his, that always left you feeling conflicted and hurt. Today you actually tell him about it, “I’m not a kid, Jeonghan, I know what I’m doing.”

He looks up at you when you say that, eyes wide. “I never said that. I’m just saying that you should be more careful.”

“I am being careful,” you retort, a hostile edge to your voice, “I don’t know why you do this.”

“I thought you liked me.”

The words stun you into silence and your ears ring as you freeze. Your eyes don’t leave Jeonghan’s form though, watching him, waiting for him to disappear into nothingness as if this was just a dream. How you wish it was.

But Jeonghan’s on his feet when he notices the horrified look on his face and it’s only when he starts to come closer that you reach for the door.

“No, Y/N, please let’s talk about it–” he grabs hold of you and you feel your vision go blurry with tears, your back hitting the wall when Jeonghan shuts the door behind you.

“I knew it,” you mumble out through tears, “You knew about my feelings?”

Jeonghan’s eyes find yours in the dim lighting of his bedroom and you shiver when his hand tightens around your wrist, “I’ve known for a while. But then you went around flirting with Cheol like it was nobody’s business and I…” he trails off, “I was jealous. And confused.”

You force yourself to breathe out, heart going wild in your chest because of course, Jeonghan’s not addressing the elephant in the room. “Well, I was going to confess to you today and get it out of the way. But there’s no need anymore, I guess?” You cringe at the way you can hear the quiver in your own voice, “Just let me go now?”

“Why?” he asks, “You haven’t even asked me if I like you back?”

You scoff, “God, Jeonghan, you make it sound like we’re in high school or something, all this ‘liking’ talk.” You try to sound stable, only to be contradicted by the tears that leave your eyes, “And I figured you didn’t return my feelings. Or you would’ve done something about it.”

There’s a pause then. A shift. Jeonghan’s grip on you loosens ever so lightly and you fear you’ve understood him too well. For once, you wish you weren’t right.

“You’re right,” Jeonghan breathes out as if on cue, but his grip is still unyielding to your dismay, “Well, I thought I didn’t like you. I mean, you’re really pretty and funny and being around doesn’t tire me out like it does with others, but… I just liked you as a friend.”

Your heart’s shriveling up at his words with uncertainty because he might be talking about your love for him being one-sided but it is also in the past tense… right?

“What are you trying to say, Jeonghan?”

He flinches, “Um, I’m sorry. I just– I’m so confused about my feelings, right now. God, I thought I was more mature than this.”

You can’t help the disdainful laugh that leaves your lips as you push him away, brushing your tears away with the back of your hand. “Look, Jeonghan, I’m sorry I don’t have the time to sit down and help you untangle your feelings… about me. It really hurts to hear you go on about this, honestly. I think I’m just going to leave. Happy birthday, I hope you like your gift.”

–

The night outside is much more welcoming to you now, your shoulders more relaxed than ever now that your stupid crush on Jeonghan’s out in the open for him. You hadn’t expected it to go down like this but well, at least you were right about him already knowing, you know?

Lighter than before, the drinks you’d chugged before to gather courage catch up to you in the moment when you nearly run into a pole on the street. You would have run into it if Seungcheol hadn’t swerved you out the way with a, “Look out!”

“Fuck,” you mumble when you’re steady on your feet, Seungcheol’s hand firm around yours, “Sorry. I was in my head.”

“I know you were but you gotta watch where you’re going, kid,” he scolds, “I don’t want to have to carry your unconscious body to your room.”

You roll your eyes, “What is it with everyone and calling me a kid tonight? So much for keeping up a track record for being reliable and responsible.”

“It’s not that you’re not those things, Y/N,” Seungcheol says, hand still on yours reassuringly, “It’s just that sometimes you’re… dense. And maybe even something of an idiot.”

“Ah! Excuse me!” you protest, “I am not an idiot. Say that to my grades.”

“An idiot as in someone who doesn’t see what’s right in front of them.”

That shuts you for good, then, and you stop walking with a sigh. “I don’t even know about that, anymore.”

Seungcheol watches as you slow down, tears behind your eyes and his heart hurts for you, thanks to his problem. When he’d found you storming out of Jeonghan’s room with fists wiping your tears away, he’d wrapped an arm around you immediately, listening as you quietly told him you needed to leave. He’d offered to walk you home and you’d watched him for a moment before nodding.

“Why are you doing this, Cheol? Shouldn’t you be back there, comforting Jeonghan?”

“See, there it is. The idiot side of you.”

You go silent again, looking down at the hand that was clutched in his a few moments ago.

“...you like me?”

“Bingo. Plus, I don’t think Jeonghan wants to hear from me tonight. Not after I almost kissed you in front of him.”

You let out a surprised sound, hand flying to your mouth when you recall the near-kiss, ears turning impossibly pink under the streetlights. “Fuck, I forgot that happened. I’m sorry? Or you’re welcome?”

“Nah, I can’t thank you till we actually seal the deal,” Seungcheol teases, stepping closer to you and dramatically ducking his head as if going in for a kiss. You push his shoulder away, “Fuck you, Seungcheol.”

“I mean, sure, if you want to!”

“Ugh!” you start walking with a pout on your face, “I hate the guts of the men in this place!”

“That’s not what your face said thirty minutes ago at the bar!”

“Go away, Cheol, or I’m reporting you to the campus authorities.”

“Aww, you called me Cheol even when we’re fighting. Aren’t you the sweetest?”

–

When Monday rolls around, you think you’ve got a good hold on your head this time, especially after a few grueling hours at your shift at the cafe. That is until you spot Jeonghan walking in, hair tied back in a half-ponytail and hands crossed across his white cardigan. The sight of him sends you into a frenzy and you debate your options as being between: ducking behind the counter and switching positions with Joshua, or otherwise, manning up and facing the aftermath of your actions.

You glance at Joshua’s back, his hands busy cleaning the espresso equipment and before you have a minute to ask him to switch, Jeonghan’s at the counter (where’s a line of customers when you need it?), calling you out. “Hey, Y/N, do you think we could talk for a minute?”

You look at him blankly, not expecting him to take the direct route after everything. But you malfunction a little and cut his advances off, “Welcome to Moon Coffee! What can I get started for you?” you ask loudly and then add in a softer voice, “Conversation with me is not on the menu.”

“Hm?” Jeonghan looks devastated at your cold response but his eyes search the menu board frantically anyway, “Uh, I guess I could get just an iced americano, then, please?”

You note that down with a half-smile, and almost go on to ask for a name for the order but decide against it, not wanting to stretch your pettiness limit for the day. “Alright, thank you for your order! Please feel free to take a seat while you wait.”

You relax when he nods with a hesitant smile and takes a seat, close to the window but close enough to the counter to hear his name being called out. You feel the pit in your stomach burn a little at how deflated his shoulders are and you wonder if you ought to drop the act; you’d been into the man for two years now. Right?

But before you can pursue this heart-wrenching line of thought, you’re distracted by the sound of the door opening and– great, it’s Seungcheol. By the surprised look he shoots Jeonghan’s sat figure, they hadn’t planned this… ambush, but you reign in your usual cordiality anyway as Seungcheol approaches you.

“Hey there, morning. How’ve you been?”

What did you have to do to have one customer who came in here for coffee?

“Good afternoon,” you correct him, pleased at the reversal of your first meeting with Seungcheol, who chuckles a little. “Welcome, what can we get you today?”

He pauses, casting a glance to Jeonghan over his shoulder, whose attention is on this interaction, legs crossed and brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, didn’t know he was in here. I just wanted to check up on you.”

“What are you apologizing for?” The question slips before you can remember to be professional and also, a little bit quieter because almost certain that Jeonghan’s heard you by the way he averts his eyes. “Um, I mean, sorry. I can recommend you a drink for the day or do you want to get your usual?”

Seungcheol mulls it over, “Hm, I’m fine with anything you choose for me.”

You pause before punching in the order for a hazelnut mocha, without a double-shot this time. He can deal with the sweetness for a day, you reckon. You glance at Joshua who’s still cleaning up before getting started on the orders because well, it’s a slow day. Or it’s supposed to be.

As you thank Seungcheol for his order and he’s about to step aside to wait, you add in a quick, “And next time, if you want to check up on me, do it when I’m not working.” He does nothing to hide the grin of acknowledgment that takes over his face, a sight that only darkens the storm known as Yoon Jeonghan brewing in the cafe.

You walk over to Joshua, “Dude! Hurry up, we have customers waiting.”

He turns to you slowly, wiping his hands off ever so slowly, even the smile on his face slow. “Don’t worry, it’s just Jeonghan. We know these guys. We can take our time.”

You narrow your eyes at him, wondering if Jeonghan put him up to this act, but don’t question it because even that would be admitting defeat. “Whatever. I’ll make the drinks if you’re going to be annoying. Where’s the syrup for the mocha again?”

Joshua slaps the hand that you’re using to reach for the syrup with a firm, “Uh-uh! Hands off, young lady. That hazelnut mocha is all mine to make. You can work on the iced americano if you really want to help out.”

You groan, throwing your hands up, “So you were slowing things down on purpose, you little bitch.”

“Hello? Please be mindful of the language you use around here. I can report you–”

“Yes, yes, of course, I will just shut up and make that americano so I don’t have to listen to your voice again.”

A few minutes later, you’re scribbling Jeonghan’s name onto the cup, proud with the quick work you’ve made of the drink and also thankful nobody was coming in right now. “Han–” you stop yourself just as the nickname slips your tongue, flinching when you remember you’re supposed to be acting stuck up right now.

You turn, hoping that Jeonghan hadn’t heard you but nevermind that because he’s at your side, quicker than he ought to be really (any other scenario, he would be declaring all kinds of knee problems), that sly grin plastered on his face.

“Hi there,” he greets you, “Called for me, did you?”

“...I did. An iced americano for Jeonghan.” You try hard to make your sentences brief but Jeonghan’s chuckling as he takes the drink from you– using both his hands so that you’re brushing against his. Classic middle school boy behavior.

If anything, this ordeal was making you question if the man was as mature as you’d believed. Either way, he thanks you with a smile and leaves promptly, leaving a very affronted Seungcheol in his wake. “Hey, I thought you said you were gonna wait for me!” he calls out after Jeonghan, who doesn’t respond as he slides out.

“A hazelnut mocha for Seung…Cheol?”

You glare at Joshua who frowns at the name as that was the first he’d heard of it, and the guy just shrugs as he puts the drink down. “Sorry about that. Joshua’s feeling rebellious this afternoon,” you tell a frowny Seungcheol (you are a minute away from admitting how cute he is when he’s upset), “Anyway, here’s your drink, Seungcheol. Have a good day!”

“Cheol!” you call out when you spot the brown head of hair outside the cafe when your shift ends. He’d texted you a while after he’d walked off with his drink in hand, pouting because you insisted on calling him Seungcheol.

meet me after your shift? his text reads.

do u even know when my shift ends dude

no and thats why im asking u. when does your shift end?

… u are insufferable.

insufferable enough to fall 4 u i guess

when are u going to stop holding your feelings for me over my head?

when you do something about them.

meet me at 6 outside the cafe.

Yeah, so you wouldn’t say you’re being your wisest self right now. To begin with, you should probably seek out Jeonghan and find closure of some sort. But something tells you to wait on him, wait till he’s ready to seek you out (no, coming up to you during your work shift did not count). Instead, you choose to pursue the… spark that you have with Seungcheol, his feelings for you aside. The night after Jeonghan’s party he’d made it clear that he didn’t really want anything serious, just to get to know you more while you were still around.

A little fooling around never hurt anyone, right?

So when Seungcheol whines out, “Oh, so I’m back to being Cheol now, huh?” you finally let out the laugh that you’d held back at work at his antics.

“Nobody ever told me you were such a pouty baby,” you tell him, eyes shameless trained on his pink lips.

“I don’t pout for anyone, baby,” Seungcheol shoots back, hand on your back as he leads you somewhere. You look at him in question. “What? We’re getting dinner.”

“I was not aware,” you reply, “But all right. Let’s do it.”

Dinner is comfortable. Which is more than you ask for on a date these days.

“Your dates have really been that bad, huh?” Seungcheol asks you. You shake your head, fork scraping some tiramisu onto it, “You can’t even imagine it, Cheol, it’s hell out there. I’m lucky if the guy pays for the dinner so I don’t have to work an extra shift to make up for it.”

He laughs and you savor the sight, because hanging out with this often hadn’t meant you had become indifferent to his looks. If anything, it was the other way around.

“Thanks for dinner,” you tell him later as he sneaks his hand into yours. You allow yourself to feel guilty for indulging him like this but then he squeezes your hand, “Anything for you, m’lady.”

Later that night, you invite him to your room. “It’s not much,” you add to the invitation, “But you know, I do happen to have some wine in my fridge that Wonwoo forgot to pick up. And my bed’s pretty cozy to watch movies in.”

Seungcheol is breathless by the time you’re in your room, not only because of the trek up the stairs but also the fact that you’d held his hand in yours the whole way up. “Wow, it sure is cold in here,” he comments as you turn the lights. It is the textbook college room, albeit a little bigger since you’re in a single.

You cough, “Um, sorry about that. Let me turn on the heater. And you can sit on my bed…” you pause when you remember the mess you’d left on your mattress this morning, in a hurry to make it to your shift but nevertheless, insistent on putting together a fit.

You sweep up the pile of discarded clothes from your bed and onto an already burdened chair, making a show out of it. You dust your hands off with a smile at Seungcheol who’s been watching with a hand on his hip. “Change your mind about me yet?” you question, teasingly.

He rolls his eyes as he walks closer to you, effectively bumping you onto your bed, the new angle forcing you to look up at him. He kneels in front of you, his smile turning loving as he takes your face into his hands. “Not a chance,” and then he leans in until his warm lips are on yours, the heater whirring irrelevant now that heat’s rushing up to your temples instantly.

You taste him and then pull away, “Mhm. Not so fast, you sly little man. I promised you wine and a movie in my bed. And I,” you say as you crouch in front of your fridge, “am a woman of my word.” You shake the cold bottle of red wine at him and he grins.

An hour later, you’re curled around Seungcheol, glasses of wine long consumed and movie long forgotten in favor of cuddling. You stare at him and then when he smiles shyly, you finger one of his dimples, “Hey. You sure you’re not serious about me? Because I’m…” you hate the way you trail off, the very thought of Jeonghan derailing any sense of coherence you’ve ever had.

“I know,” Seungcheol’s hand comes to your wrist, “I knew I didn’t stand a chance against Jeonghan since I saw you guys fight at the cafe that day. You look at him like he has all the answers.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you brush off, not completely refuting him. “But if you knew, why’d you stick around and… I don’t know, flirt with me?”

Seungcheol laughs into your neck, “Call it a bad habit of mine.” His hands play with your hair now, brushing it away from your face, “I see a pretty girl and I have to charm her.”

You drop your head into his chest with a groan, “Stop! You sound so creepy. Like a predator.”

“Hey!” he protests, his chuckles vibrating through you, “You’re the one who called me charming the other day!”

“Hmm. I guess I did.”

His hands slowly pry you away from his chest and to his face, lips pressing against yours. You smile a little and then open up for him, shifting until you’re situated on top of him. You close your eyes, surrendering yourself to the kiss and – “Shit, you’re a good kisser.” The man underneath you moves you closer with a pleased smirk, voice smug when his lips trail down your neck, “That’s not the only thing I’m good at.”

–

“Sex with older men really is different, huh?”

You gasp at Wonwoo’s vulgar words, slapping his arm mercilessly making him jump away from you. “Dude! Mind keeping it down? We’re in the library, not your mom’s house.”

“Ha! Jokes on you, I wouldn’t be making dirty jokes in my mom’s house because Jeonghan is my mom away from home and he would really kick my ass if he heard me talk about you and Seungchel fucking–”

Another slap on the arm and Wonwoo shuts up, groaning in pain. You grimace when you notice a few heads turning your way at the commotion, and bow in apology. When they’re looking away, you glower at Wonwoo, “Seriously, man, what are you up to? Drop the horny teenager act for once so we can focus on the problem at hand.”

“Judging from the tone of your voice, I’m guessing that you’re not talking about the problem of calculus in front of us, but rather, the problem of… life?”

You stare at Wonwoo blankly, “I’m so glad you find this entertaining.” As you’re about to continue giving him a piece of your mind, your phone buzzes, cutting you off much to Wonwoo’s relief, who sneaks a look over your shoulder anyway.

cheol: rate last night on a scale of ‘okay’ to ‘let's meet up again tonight’?

You scoff at the audacity and Wonwoo’s already clinging onto this new piece of evidence. “Oh, so what was that about this being a one-time thing? Next thing I know you’re moving in with him when you graduate.”

You slam your phone face down, “Listen, I know you think this is a joke but it’s not. I’m not going to sleep with Cheol again because that’s obviously the right thing to do. But as for Jeonghan, well, it’s been radio silence from him all week.”

“And since when have you let Jeonghan take the lead on your relationship with him? You know he’s a working man so I’m not surprised he’s not texting you at noon on a Wednesday.”

You glare at Wonwoo, “Seungcheol is also very much a working man? I don’t see your point. And also, I don’t know when this became a competition between the two?”

“Since you confessed to one and then slept with the other?”

You exhale heavily, unable to shoot him down because he was at least a little bit correct. Instead you heave your head into your arms. “Maybe I should just fake my death and move away.”

“You’ll give up your dreams of graduation over a stupid love triangle, consisting purely of men?”

“Shit. You’re right. That’s not happening,” you look up, “Jeon Wonwoo, what would I do if you weren’t by my side bringing me to my senses? You’re the best friend I ever had.”

“Actually, your use of ‘friend’ is very offensive to me,” he complains, fisting his palm dramatically, “I consider myself one of the girls. Or even better, your guardian. Refer to me as Your Highness exclusively or I will not listen.”

You stand up with a screech of your chair, “Okay, that was the last of your reasonable thinking. I’m going to go to my shift and work until I can no longer think or pine.”

“Great plan, young one!”

“Touch grass while I’m gone and you might have hope yet.”

–

“Look, I really don’t think we should be doing this anymore.”

Seungcheol laughs, eyes searching your face for signs of humor. You flash him a grimace of seriousness and doom. He deflates. “I saw this coming. Should’ve known you would only ever ask me out to a fancy restaurant for dinner to break up with me.”

You flick his forehead, “Break up? Don’t call it that. It gives people the wrong idea.”

“Interesting, Y/N L/N admits to caring about whether or not people get the wrong idea about us. Very interesting,” he comments, not at all sneaky with the way his arm snakes around you, “Anyway, you want me to pay for dinner and what, drag my sorry ass back to Jeonghan’s place?”

You stiffen at the mention of Jeonghan and then sigh, the following conversation almost inevitable given your current situation. “So speaking of Jeonghan, has he been talking?”

“Um, yeah, he sure has been opening his mouth and saying words.”

“Fuck you, I meant as in, about me? Has he said anything?”

“Not in specific. Although he did inquire if I had slept over at your place two nights ago and when I said yes, he threw a slice of half-eaten apple in my face. Since then whenever I see him, I duck.”

“That’s very funny.”

“Don’t worry, I made sure to tell him how hopelessly in love with him you are–”

“That was not needed.”

“–And how you accidentally moaned his name on my cock.”

You glare at him, “What about those statements made you think they were okay to voice out loud, not only once but twice?”

As Seungcheol comes up with a witty defense for his lapse in judgment, your phone buzzes next to your thigh and the name that pops up has you zoning everything out instantly.

han: hey, can we talk?

You look away from the screen and breathe out, “And that makes two of us dragging our sorry asses to Jeonghan’s place.”

When you knock on his door, the last thing you expect to see is a red-eyed, very sniffly Jeonghan. Heck, you hadn’t ever even come close to imagining the heartbroken look on Jeonghan’s face, his eyes downcast when you visibly look taken aback at his state.

“Han?”

“Hey,” his voice is hoarse and good lord, you can’t stand this. “Let’s sit in the living room. I was going to go grab some water anyway.”

You follow him speechlessly, watching the way his hands disappear into the sleeves of the black sweatshirt that hangs loose around his frame. You keep watching when he reappears, and it’s when he sits down quietly, fingers whitening around the glass of iced water in hands that you lose it.

“Talk to me, Han. Are you okay?” you breathe deeply to contain the multitude of concerned questions that threaten to leave your system. For one, you didn't know how to interpret the crestfallen expression he held up when he met your eyes. While someone like Wonwoo (aka a naive little kid) would argue that the only reasonable explanation for it would be that he was devastated that you’d been avoiding him the past week. But knowing what you did about him, you couldn’t let go of the possibility that he was just mourning the impending loss of a friend, i.e. you, when he breaks it to you that he doesn’t like you back.

Jeonghan senses you’re in your head when you’ve been staring at him for a moment too long, mouth agape, so he moves closer, taking the water out of your hands and placing it next to his emptied glass.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Fuck. An apology?

You stammer, “S-Sorry? Why?”

“I’m sorry I called you an idiot the other day. You’re the farthest thing from an idiot– and you’re definitely not a kid. I’m so sorry that I made you feel like that. I just… I’ve been thinking about us, and I realized that somewhere along the way, I became really over-protective of you. I started treating you like you were fragile or something, and I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m listening,” you tell him, frown letting up now that he’s finally speaking up.

“And I’m sorry for being a cowardly little bitch about my feelings for you,” he mumbles, eyes dropping to your lap where your fingers play with the fabric of your shirt uneasily. He stops your fiddling, his hands coming to envelope both of yours. “I’m the idiot for thinking I could be anything other than in love with you.”

“Huh,” you exhale again, biting your lip to hold the smile that threatens to spill.

“And finally, I’m sorry for not doing anything about it when I knew your feelings were mutual. As you know, I’m getting old and–”

You stop any further stupidity from leaving his lips by – you guessed it – by pressing your lips against them. He lets out a surprised gasp and your smile finally turns into a giggle when his hands tighten around yours in your lap.

You pull away, only to detach your hands so you can bury them in his hair instead and Jeonghan smiles at you, his eyes crescents as they watch you lovingly and you think: the pain was worth it.

Jeonghan’s smile widens when he feels you thumb at his skin, tenderly tracing his eye-bags.

“You look terrible, Han, I’m sorry,” you mutter, kissing his cheeks and then his forehead. He’s already mellowing under your hold and he hums, low, “You should be. I went to hell and back when Seungcheol announced he slept with you. I mean, what were you thinking?”

You break, guiltily looking away. “That was not my smartest moment but I was also very distraught about my relationship with a certain someone who wouldn’t contact me outside of my working hours.”

“You and your stubborn need to remain professional. Y/N, it’s a campus cafe, I don’t think anyone’s going to care if you break your act once in a while. I don’t know, if I don’t get a kiss the next time I visit you– I might just rethink this.”

You scoff in disbelief, “You’re a real pain in the ass, Jeonghan. Maybe I’ll just go back to my room and cry myself to sleep.” But as soon as you make moves to stand up, Jeonghan’s bringing you back to sit, taking the chance to pull you closer into a hug. “You will do no such thing.”

You freeze when you feel his nose settle into your shoulder, warm breaths relaxing when your hands reclaim their place in his hair. “I love you, Y/N.”

A beat passes and with a kiss to his head, you return, “I probably love you more, old man.”

“If we’re going to date, that nickname has got to go!”

“What? You’re the one who was complaining about your knee problems last week. It’s fine, I can add this relationship to my list of community service activities.”

Jeonghan pulls away, standing up abruptly and jerking you upward as well. Your smile falters but then, he’s steering you to his bedroom, throwing the door shut with a grunt. You side-eye him, “What’s up–” He cuts you off, lips hot against yours.

A few minutes later, when his tongue finally lets up, he mutters, “I just remembered that you kissed Seungcheol with this mouth. I’ve gotta do everything I can to erase that memory.”

“I can’t tell if you want me to forget… or yourself.”

“Shh, I bet he couldn’t even– Wait, why aren’t you wearing a bra? Don’t tell me you were–!”

“You sure love asking questions, old man,” you whine and before Jeonghan can question you further, you take ahold of his hand, sliding it over your stomach and down the waistband of your jeans, the space tight and hot but not as hot as the groan Jeonghan lets out when he feels you. “Holy fuck, you’re wet.”

You grin when he falls to his knees, your jeans unbuttoned and pulled down in next to no time. “There’s more where that came from,” you mumble before he’s between your thighs, ripping out scream after scream from your throat.

–

Genuinely and honestly, if you’d foreseen waking up in Jeonghan’s bed, his hair a mess from last night but face comfortably snuggled in your arm– you would’ve been less mean to Wonwoo. Because it turns out that his voice (of reason? or of deviance? you would never figure it out) in your head had been right: Jeonghan did return your feelings all those times you thought he might.

He tells you all about it when you’ve collapsed later that night, replacing the curses on your lips with dampness in your eyes because of how vulnerable he is, pouring his heart out to you like this.

Propped up on an elbow, he played with your hand, “I remember when you first came over with Wonwoo. I thought I’d met myself, but younger and prettier and sillier.”

“I hate it when you combine insults with compliments so I can’t attack you.”

“I learnt that from you, silly,” he kisses your nose but continues, “But honestly, the more we talked, the more I realized how different you are from me. I mean, sure, are you tired out of your mind half the time like me? Yeah. But you were so observant and so keen on getting to know people. It’s hard to come across people who are invested in friendships for more than just small talk and someone to have meals with.”

But just as he’s getting deep on you, he adds, “Plus, you smell a whole lot better than anyone else. I’d go crazy sitting next to you, especially because you just love to throw yourself at people in laughter.”

“Not that I’m complaining–” he stops your protests quickly, “I swear my heart would skip a beat everytime you laughed at something I said. And then the time we were talking about ideal types and you got all flustered over everyone teasing you about me? Dude, I had to run to the kitchen before I could do something rash. Like kissing you in front of everyone. Or worse, bride-style carrying you into my room so I could enjoy the adorably lovesick look on your face.”

You groan into his pillow, “Stooop. This is just embarrassing for me. It’s not like I was trying to be obvious.”

“I know, baby,” he coos, gentle hands prying you away from the pillow, “But you know, you have the same look on your face right now.” He laughs, kissing the pout off your lips with a sweet, “For what it’s worth, I was yours for a long time. Just took a minute for me to realize it.”

You huff but smile despite it and pull him closer, “I’m glad. Now hold me to sleep or I’m gonna be sad.”

Another laugh reverberates through the two of you when he slides down, pulling the sheets closer over you, and pats your back as you settle into him with a satisfied sigh. “Sleep well, my love.”

–

“And when I’m gone, please don’t stop eating breakfast in the morning. I know you think that it’s consequential to your life completely,” Seungcheol pauses for dramatic effect, “but it’s important. It could be the difference between living 20 less years or 50 more.”

“How scientifically true is that?” you mumble to Jeonghan under your breath, who being the devious little brat he is voices your concern, earning you a look from Seungcheol.

“Whatever, I knew my words were undervalued in this household ever since you guys started dating and refused to keep it down at night. Like, it’s not that hard, right?”

You punch Jeonghan’s arm to both keep him from telling the dick joke he’s about to say and also, to show Seungcheol that you wanted no part in this. “I told this guy to keep you in mind but that just made him mad which in turn led to… screaming. Sorry.”

Seungcheol sighs as he glances at his watch, “Okay, okay. I have to get going now so bring in whatever last-minute reconciliations you two have for me.”

Jeonghan steps forward and hugs the man, surprising both the latter and you. But you watch with a pleased smile playing on your lips, relieved that their friendship still seemed to go strong, bumps and all. When it’s your turn to hug Seungcheol, you scoff at the hesitant look he casts at your boyfriend and wrap your arms around his middle.

“Thanks for everything, Cheol. Keep in touch. And do something about this second-lead syndrome of yours. I better catch you in a happily stable relationship of your own next time around.”

Seungcheol chuckles quietly, waiting for you to pull away to say, “If that’s an order from the main female lead, then I guess I have no choice, do I? Unless,” his eyes mischievously stray to Jeonghan who already knows what’s coming next, “the male lead fucks up and leaves a certain pretty girl single, huh?”

You don’t have time to decipher if that’s a threat wrapped up in a punchline because Jeonghan’s arm’s around your shoulder, moving you away and besides you, he says, “You’ll be waiting all your life if you wait on me to fuck this up. Bye, Cheol, I can see that your Uber just pulled up.”

“Ha! Good one. Alright, this is goodbye for now. See y’all on my feed. Or it might be better if I don’t. Anyway, bye and don’t kill anyone.”

With Seungcheol gone, you look up at Jeonghan with a smug smirk, “Oh, so you plan on sticking around with me forever? That’s a long time, you know.”

Your boyfriend chuckles, his eyes twinkling, “Please, if I had the patience to watch you hug Seungcheol right in front of my eyes, being with you forever will be a breeze in the park. So yes, I plan to stick to you forever, like superglue.”

“Gross, you couldn’t say something romantic like candy or syrup?”

“Sorry, babe, but I was just distracted by how all mine you are that I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“Never mind, I think it’s worse when you’re all cheesy. Go back to being gross?”

“I love you. Now, come here so I can kiss every single surface of your face. And then we can go on a walk and tell everyone who told me to give up to suck it.”

You lose balance when the laughter finally escapes your mouth but thankfully, Jeonghan’s arms are around you, promising and playful when you meet his eyes. “Ugh, whatever. I love you. So I guess we can do all the weird annoying stuff you want to do for now.”

Despite your banter though, the two of you are so happy together that you’re shocked by the picture of you with Jeonghan that Wonwoo Airdrops, after your walk. You have the dopiest smile on your face and Jeonghan’s looking at you with a cheesy grin. You hate to admit it but you do look like an “old married couple” like Wonwoo’s text teases. But for once, you give in, snuggling closer to Jeonghan’s body because well, yeah, you did plan to stick to him. Like superglue.

–

#once again apologizing #jeonghan x reader #seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt fluff #svt angst #svt x reader #yoon jeonghan #choi seungcheol #seventeen smut #jeonghan angst #seungcheol angst

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wheeboo · 1 year ago

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wilted | kim mingyu

SYNOPSIS. in which you've contracted hanahaki despite being in a relationship, and it makes you question everything. PAIRING. kim mingyu x gn!reader (ft. jeonghan) GENRE. angst, established relationship, hanahaki au WARNINGS. descriptions of illness (hanahaki disease), mentions of coughing and blood, mention of death, cursing, terms of endearment, miscommunication or honestly lack of communication, depictions of an argument, gyu is a little bit of an ass in this and i'm very sorry about that but it's for the plot, description of hospitals and surgery, unrequited love WORD COUNT. 6.1k

hanahaki disease ( 花吐き病 ) 𑁋 a disease in which the infected coughs up flowers due to unrequited love.

notes: this entire story was inspired from this post which i hoped i was able to stick to :)

A shift has never been this relaxing before.

Normally, you're used to the hectic hustle of weary students aiming to acquire their morning coffees before running to class and impatient corporate workers racing against the clock in the bustling jungle of the city. But today, the scene was drastically different.

The clear blue skies outside were barren of any existence of clouds, the sun rays pouring in through the café windows like warm honey and casting ornate patterns of light and shadow on the rustic wooden tables that filled the vast space. In the midst of this fresh and sunny afternoon, you find yourself standing idly behind the counter, fingers rhythmically tapping on your phone as you shoot a text message to your boyfriend.

[ 04:39pm | y/n ] gyu ! should i bring home something for us to eat tonight? been craving that gimbap from a while ago 💕

The message sends before your attention would be halted by the chime of the doors opening.

You've worked as a barista in this café for the past year while searching (or struggling, to be honest) to get a job in the field you sought for. It's easy to give yourself credit when it comes to plastering on the brightest smile on your face every time the bell above the doors would ring. You can be having the worst day of your life, yet you've mastered the skill of hiding your worries beneath that obnoxious apron and sage green logo-emblazoned hat sat on your head.

It's a bit different this time when the customer who walks in is someone you're beginning to consider a regular at your café.

"Ah, Mr. Yoon," You greet him with a shake of your head and a wide grin. "The usual today, I'm presuming?"

"That is, if you can stop putting down 'Mr. Yoon' on my cup than my first name," he responds teasingly, and it makes you lightly chuckle as you lower your gaze to start tapping in his order on the screen.

Mr. Yoon, as he preferred to be called initially as a running gag, had become a latest fixture in the café, like a light-hearted charm that captures the attention of both you and your co-workers. It's rare to see people like him walk in. His visits were characterised not just by his liking for the café's signature caramel macchiato, but also by the easy banter and warm camaraderie he shared each time he visited that makes your busy shifts a little more bearable.

"Okay, Jeonghan," You reply playfully, reading out his order even though you know it's correct. "One caramel macchiato with a pinch of wit, coming right up."

He lets out a chuckle as he hands you his card with a wink. "You're the best, you know that?"

You flash him one last smile before facing your back towards him to prepare his order. "Flattery will get you anywhere, Mr. Yoon."

You take your time in creating his order, looking up briefly to notice he had sat himself down at one of the tables in the corner of the café. You carefully pour the steamed milk over the espresso and caramel, and when you finish, you place the perfectly crafted caramel macchiato on a tray and carry it over to Jeonghan's table.

"Here you go, Mr. Yoon," You say with a smile, bringing the tray down and placing the cup in front of him. "One caramel macchiato, just the way you like it."

Jeonghan takes a moment to properly observe it, as if examining the crevices of each layer in the cup, before leaning back in chis hair and crossing his arms together. He lets out a relaxing sigh.

"Congratulations, you've earned yourself a perfect score this time." He turns the cup just slightly to show off that you've indeed put the order down under his first name.

You roll your eyes. "Well, I'm glad to have gotten it right."

"It's about time, don't you think?" Jeonghan queries, before taking a sip of the drink, eliciting a satisfied hum. "Mmh, but it was definitely worth the wait. Thank you, Y/N."

You grab the empty tray back in your hands. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

Jeonghan just shoots you one last playful smirk in your direction before you turn away to head back around the counter, pushing yourself through your next set of customers.

However, as time continues to pass so torturously slow, an unusual sensation begins to creep into the core of your chest.

It's like a subtle tickle, a slight tightness to your trachea that you merely dismiss just as fatigue from the dry air as you strap the lid on the order of a cup you're preparing. You take a moment to rub your chest absently, hoping the discomfort will pass, but it lingers.

Yet once you set the order down on the customer's table and dismiss yourself back behind the counter, you let out a small, involuntary cough into the palm of your hand. It's nothing, you tell yourself. You're probably just coming down with a minor cold.

But then, you see it𑁋a very small delicate, pale pink petal resting on your hand where you had covered your mouth, and that's when you feel your heart drop down to your feet.

This can't be happening, You think frantically. Not now. Not like this. You glance around nervously, hoping no one else was watching or waiting for you at the front. The café is still bustling with customers, and the regular chatter continues, completely oblivious to your growing panic.

As you stare at the petal, it begins to crumble, disintegrating into tiny flecks that drift away like dust in the wind down to the floor below. The feeling in your chest, however, remains, and it intensifies. It's like a weight, an ache that refuses to dissipate, and sets the adrenaline to your limbs as you dash towards the employee's only restroom, locking the door behind you.

You place your hands on either side of the sink, the coughs leaving your mouth now bouncing off the walls of the restroom. The coughs wrack your body. Each one doesn't bloom out a petal, but as you release one last cough, you watch as another petal slowly floats down in the sink below your gaze.

Then you look at your reflection in the mirror, and it reveals nothing out of the ordinary. No flowers sprouting from your mouth or bloodstained petals; it was purely only just... fresh petals.

Your mind runs circles. It physically hurts to even think, like twist and turns on an abandoned dirt road. If what you're suffering from is really what you think it is, then your thoughts dash back to him. To Mingyu, whom you've been with for the past two years, and the thought of him makes your heart race. Thinking about him helps just slightly, but not entirely, yet... what is causing this?

You're still in love with Mingyu𑁋you know you are.

You splash cold water on your face, trying to collect your thoughts and the pain wracking your chest. This can't be happening. It's impossible that you'd suddenly develop Hanahaki for someone else.

You quickly take out your phone from your back pocket, punching in your passcode and sliding to your text messages. Your fingers instinctively land on Mingyu's text thread, punching in words in a panic for some help. But when your eyes trail to the last message you sent to him, you notice that it was simply left on... seen.

That's when another cough racks your body, and you can't help but watch in horror as more petals, delicate and pink, fall into the sink, before wilting and crumbling down the drain. It felt like they were mocking you in shame.

Hanahaki disease. An illness described to be acquired from unrequited love.

The doctor explained the options to you: surgery to remove the flowers with the risk of losing your feelings for the person you love, medication to suppress the symptoms with the risk of some side effects, or the most common method𑁋reciprocated love. If the person you love returns your feelings, the disease will fade away on its own. However, if those feelings remain unrequited, the flowers will continue to grow, ultimately suffocating you.

And you would die.

Because that's exactly the kind of news you wanted to torment your life with. It's like a fucking parasite, a cruel insidious joke taking root in your chest. A fucking plant is growing in your fucking chest. Hanahaki disease was rare, but it had chosen you, and it had chosen to do so at the most inconvenient time.

You've heard the stories of the disease from the countless articles you searched on your phone the moment you got back into your car. You've also heard these stories growing up like an urban legend, even in its rarity, at some point becoming deathly afraid of it when you were younger, yet your own family had reassured you that no other person even down to your ancestors had ever been affected with the disease.

You're the first person. How fucking lucky are you.

You were lucky enough to catch it in its early stages, explaining to the doctor that you had never once had any other signs show other than today.

"It doesn't mean you have a lot of time to pick a treatment option," the doctor had said to you as you blankly listened. "I recommend getting it treated as soon as possible, no matter how early it may be, because waiting it out could be detrimental to your state. I'm going to prescribe you some medication to help reduce your symptoms. You can pick up at the pharmacy after this."

But you just... don't understand. None of this has been making sense in your head; it's just been buzzing painfully with confusion, and if anything, making you feel even worser than the actual disease plaguing your body itself. You've always been faithful to Mingyu; you've never harboured romantic feelings for anyone else other than him. You tell him that you love him, and he tells you that he loves you too.

Yet here you are, coughing up petals that seem to defy logic and the rules of this damn disease, trying to think of someone, anyone, who may have slipped past a crack in your heart somewhere.

But it all draws a blank, yet it's the only thing in mind that can be causing all this.

The doctor's words echo in your mind. Surgery came with the risk of losing your feelings for Mingyu, something that you couldn't bear to imagine. Medication can help suppress the symptoms temporarily, but it wouldn't cure the underlying cause. That left you with the most daunting option𑁋reciprocated love.

But how could you possibly explain this to Mingyu? How could you tell him that you were coughing up petals because of some inexplicable turmoil in your heart that had nothing to do with him?

You can't do this. Not right now. God, you need sleep.

"Gyu?" You call out, your voice echoing within the quietness of your shared apartment.

Stepping into your apartment, you're initially met with silence, but it wasn't until you hear a door shut that awakens your senses, and you see Mingyu stepping out of your shared bedroom. For a few moments, you let your eyes trail over him, seemingly dressed up like he was going to an outing, and you feel your lips twitch unconsciously.

"Babe?" You call out again, a bit louder this time, and it catches Mingyu's attention.

A faint smile crosses his face as he makes his way toward you, and for a second you can feel something catch in your throat once you can feel his warmth touch your skin.

"Hey," he greets you calmly, pushing away a strand of hair behind your ear. "How was work?"

"It was..." Tell him, Your mind urges. Tell him right now. "...fine. Nothing much today."

"That's good," he responds, locking the watch on his wrist in place.

"Are you going somewhere?" You ask him quickly, shifting your eyes up and down and over his form.

Mingyu's expression changes slightly, becoming almost tense, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before it changes back to that lazy smile he had on before. You swear that if you weren't so hyperfocused with every fibre of your being pulling you back, you wouldn't have noticed.

"Just some dinner with the guys. Haven't seen them in a while," he responds coolly, brushing past you for a moment to grab the keys hanging next to the door. "Do you want me to bring you something back?"

You watch Mingyu's every move, the unease and some discomfort from the disease in your chest growing by the unbearable minute, even with the increasing tension in the room that's absolutely suffocating you at the same time. This isn't the time to let your guard down, but you're torn between the fear of losing him and the need to protect him from this awful reality.

But... he's going out? And he didn't tell you? Nor even bother responding to the text you sent him earlier? He was probably just busy, You think. Like he always is.

"No, it's alright." You take a chance and step up to him, planting a brief kiss to his cheek. You feel a little bit better doing that. "I'll just heat up something from the fridge. Have a good time with your friends, okay? I love you."

Mingyu smiles softly at your gesture, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. And you swear you notice a distant look in his gaze, or maybe you were just imagining things and it's just another symptom of this stupid disease and your fervent overthinking. The dimness of your apartment didn't help either𑁋his eyes just looked drained of any colour. Maybe he was just tired.

"Thanks, Y/N." He offers one last smile, but there's something lacking in his tone that you can't quite place, and it's anything but comforting you at the moment. "Love you too."

Your heart quickens just a bit at that, the corners of your lips edging up just slightly as you watch him. He grabs his jacket and heads for the door, and you're left behind in nothing but the silence of your place.

And all at once, you feel all the discomfort you were trying to hide finally spill out from your lips, coughs leaving your mouth like a downpour, each one a bit more painful than the last. You double over with one of your arms wrapped around you and the other clutching at your chest as if trying to physically grasp the pain and pull it out of you.

"Shit, dammit," You murmur weakly, bringing your hand down from your mouth to see a few petals fluttering to the floor, feeling the tears brimming at the corner of your eyes.

You bring yourself back up, opening up your bag and taking out the medication you picked up from the pharmacy earlier. Trailing down to the bathroom, the medication bottle rattles loudly in your shaky hand as you fumble to open the cap. The pills inside are small and white, and the label on the bottle provides instructions for dosage. With shaking fingers, you fish out one pill and place it on your palm.

Then you take a deep breath, attempting to steady your nerves, and then swallow it down with a gulp of water from the bathroom sink.

You hope that it will provide some relief, even if it's just temporary.

You don't know what time Mingyu comes home that night. You heard him come in, but don't have the energy to properly acknowledge him. So you stay low to your sheets, feeling some residual discomfort crawl back into your throat when you hear him open the bedroom door.

You wish he can hold you𑁋it's all you want right now. His comfort, his large arms wrapping around you like how he used to do so before, how he would kiss the top of your head and your shoulder before holding you close in his embrace, the way it felt so right and safe being in his hold because you know it's enough to make all your worries disappear in an instant.

But he doesn't, only sliding into the empty space next to you, and you're afraid that if he does it just might make you feel even worse. You barely feel his warmth on you. Yet you miss him; you miss everything about him. And you still love him. You always have.

You always will.

...right?

It's not right to tell him right now.

You certainly wouldn't like it if someone was staring at you, but you can't help it, not when Mingyu is the only other thing in the room you could possibly look at.

It's been more than a week since you found out you have Hanahaki. Each day you would wake up in an absolute coughing fit, the petals coming in more frequent amounts than before. The medication has helped to lessen the symptoms, yet the side effects are taking a toll on your body. You're constantly fatigued, and your appetite has declined just slightly. You feel like a prisoner in your own body, all because something beautiful and deadly is growing within you.

Mingyu still doesn't know about it. And deep down, you can't shake the feeling that something is... different.

He used to be so attentive with you. Now, he often seems preoccupied, lost in his own thoughts. He no longer surprises you with sweet gestures or random acts of affection, and the warm, lingering kisses that he would leave to your lips have turned into quick pecks on the cheek, or simply, just nothing at all. You hardly wake up with him right next to you because of his work, and the shared laughter and late night conversations have nearly ceased to exist.

You remember the days when Mingyu used to look at you with such warmth, love, and adoration, but the spark that used to light up his eyes has dimmed. You barely feel it anymore. His replies to your questions asking about his day are kept brief. You would excuse it as him simply being exhausted, but there's a persistent feeling in your chest, and it's not just from your illness.

"Gyu?" You call out for him meekly from the kitchen, watching as he doesn't peel his eyes away from his laptop screen, only lifting a brow up slightly. "Are you busy later?"

"Yeah, I am. I got invited to a company dinner later this evening."

There's a visible downturn to your lips at his words, but he doesn't see it𑁋doesn't bother to see it, anyway.

"Oh." You feel it crawling up your throat again. "Okay. How about tomorrow?"

Mingyu finally looks away from his laptop, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he sighs. "Tomorrow's not good either. I have a meeting with a client, and it might go late."

"Maybe the day after tomorrow?" You suggest, some desperation creeping into your voice.

Mingyu seems to hesitate for a moment, and you hold your breath, hoping for a glimmer of hope, something. But then he shakes his head. "I can't promise anything, Y/N. I'm sorry. I'll be sure to make up to you, okay?"

That's what you always say.

Will you ever make time for me again someday?

You swallow hard, feeling a lump in your throat. The realisation stings, more painful than the illness taking form in your lungs.

"Okay," You mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand. It's okay. I love you."

A brief, long, pause. "Love you too."

But it's okay, because you still love me.

Then you find yourself swiftly retreating into your bathroom, heart heavy as you grab a tissue and let out a few coughs into the tissue. More petals fall from your mouth, before you crumple the tissue and toss it into the bin next to the sink, then splash some water on your face to hide the tears that threaten to escape.

You don't know what to do.

You can't even bother to see how much pills you have left because you feel like you're taking ten of them every damn day. You have yet to tell a soul, and you know that you should before it's too late, but who you can turn to? You have no one𑁋you can't even figure out yourself why this is even happening to you without feeling like you're going absolutely manic.

It's been hard trying to hide the fallen petals away from Mingyu, or away from anyone, in fact, and you find yourself coughing up more petals even when you're just in the same room as him. You always have to discreetly spit them into a tissue or rush to the bathroom to dispose of them, hoping he doesn't notice.

You hardly even see Mingyu anymore. It's either he's always called into work, has something important to do with the guys, or you feel it snaking up your throat painful enough for you to not make a move. The words stick in your throat, and the fear of losing him freezes you up. You can't help but blame yourself for being so distant around him.

If you've really fallen out of love out of him, if you did supposedly fall for someone else, wouldn't that mean that... you're leading him on? It's a thought at the back of your mind, but the guilt gnaws at you day by day like the ever-growing branches piercing through your lungs.

It's frustrating. All of this frustrating, and it's obviously spilled into your work performance as well. You can hardly perfect orders without making mistakes, and your once bright smile has faded into a forced, weary expression. Your manager and co-workers have given you concerned looks, but you've brushed them off, simply claiming it as stress or lack of sleep.

But it doesn't hit hard until today, because it happens so fast𑁋the metal tray you're holding loudly suddenly crashing down to the floor. One moment you can't breathe, and the next you're letting out hacking coughs into your hands, knees dropped to the floor with the spilled coffee staining your pants and shoes.

The café erupts into chaos as some customers quickly rush to your side, a hand still covering your face. You can hardly respond to anyone from the intense heaviness to your chest and dry pain to your throat.

You feel the petals tickling the skin of your hand, quickly crumpling them up in a fist and stuffing them inside the pocket of your apron.

"Y/N, are you okay?" a familiar voice asks worriedly, Jeonghan's voice, who you served earlier, and you catch a glimpse of him kneeling down beside you.

You can't look at him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you blink them back, doing your best to keep whatever you had left of your composure. You force a weak smile as you bring your hand down to the side.

"Yeah," You croak out, voice raspy and barely audible. "I'm fine, just a little dizzy."

Jeonghan doesn't seem convinced, his eyes trailing over you carefully. You only look past him and keep your gaze low, but it wasn't until you catch sight of a fallen petal resting by your shoes.

And he also sees it as well. Jeonghan's gaze flickers downward, his eyes narrowing as he spots the pale pink petal, and something in his expression changes.

Then he looks back up at you, giving a faint smile, yet serious look.

"Let me take you to the doctor," he urges.

"What? Jeonghan, I can't𑁋"

"I'm taking them to the doctor," he tells one of your co-workers passing by with a broom to clean up the mess you brought to the floor, completely cutting off your words.

You can hardly believe your eyes and ears right now. Your co-worker only nods and quickly takes over your duties while Jeonghan helps you to your feet. Despite your protests, he guides you outside the café, keeping a loose grip on your arm before you get yourself to separate from him in a brief panic.

"Jeonghan, you can't just𑁋just take me out of work like this."

He shoots you a bewildered look. "You're sick, Y/N. It's obvious."

"I know, and I'm fine. It's just stress and bad sleep. Please, just take me back to the café𑁋"

"You have Hanahaki," he says flatly and outright. "I've seen you cough them up. You don't have to hide it from me."

Jeonghan's words hang in the air like an anchor sinking in the ocean. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest, and your mind races to find some way to deny it, to deflect the truth. But deep down, you know he's right.

Jeonghan, however, doesn't press you for an explanation. Instead, he takes you by the wrist gently and drags you to his car parked nearby.

"Jeonghan𑁋"

"I've had it, Y/N. I've had Hanahaki before," he confesses, a solemn look to his face as his words sink inside you.

You're quiet for a few moments as his words hang suspended in the air, a heavy silence between you two. Hearing that kind of news is from him is oddly... both surprising and comforting, knowing how how rare the illness is. But maybe just maybe, he might understand what you're going through, even if you can't seem to understand yourself.

Once you finally slide into the passenger seat of his car, you manage to get your voice back.

"You've... had it? I mean, just... what happened... how did you get rid of it?"

Once the car engine roars to life, Jeonghan just releases a small chuckle.

"It's the usual story: you fall in love with someone who doesn't love you back. It was terrifying, you know, seeing bits of your feelings turn into something physical like that. I waited too long, so I ended up getting the surgery." There's a shadow of some passing tree branches that cast on his face for a moment. "They never told me the surgery would also mean that my feelings would completely disappear, but it was the only way to save my life."

His face remains calm as he continues to drive, keeping his eyes on the road while your own thoughts were juggling together like a tangled mess of strings.

For a moment, Mingyu's face flashes in your mind, and you wish he were here with you. But you're torn. You don't want to burden him with this.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," You finally say, keeping your voice low. It was all you can say at the moment.

Once the car stops at a red light, he turns to you with a small, sad smile. "Don't be. It was a long time ago, and it taught me a lot of lessons, you could say. I survived, and you will too."

Another round of silence passes through the car, but this one feels less heavy, more contemplative. You watch the passing scenery outside the window as your thoughts continue to whirl like a storm within your mind. Knowing that Jeonghan survived offers a glimmer of hope, but it also deepens your sense of isolation𑁋that you can't lean on Mingyu for support in the same way.

You don't want to lose your feelings for him. You've already built this start of a future with him, and you can't bear the thought of basically removing him from your life for no solid reason.

"I-I have a boyfriend, you know," You blurt out, interrupting the silence, hearing Jeonghan let out an acknowledging hum for you to go on. "We've been together for the past two years, and whenever the... coughing, petals, all this started happening, it confused me."

"The heart is a complicated place," Jeonghan assures you.

You faintly smile at that. "I still love him, I'm sure of that. I know I do. I've never had feelings for anyone else. I just... I can't figure out why this is happening, why I'm coughing up these stupid petals in the first place, and it's been eating me up inside. It hurts."

Jeonghan listens intently as you pour your heart out, his eyes fixed on the road ahead but his attention fully on you. When you finish speaking, he clears his throat.

"You haven't... told him yet, haven't you?" he asks softly, breaking the silence.

You shake your head. "No, I haven't. I-I've just been... scared that I've been pushing him away, leading him on and I don't know about it. What if... if my heart is just betraying me? And now, with this... I don't know what to do."

Jeonghan's lips purse together thoughtfully.

"I think... If you know you love someone, you do," he says. "But... what makes you certain that he loves you back in the same way?"

Jeonghan's question hits you like a ton of bricks. It's a question you've been dying to avoid for this entire time, a fear that's been lurking in the shadows of your heart and the deepest corners of your mind.

What if... Mingyu didn't love you back?

The thought startles a cough out of you and you hastily bring your hand to your mouth, suppressing it as much as you can, the fragile petals fluttering out and settling on your lap. Squinting your eyes just slightly, you notice how they appear more redder than the usual pink you were used to seeing. You clench your hand around them, knuckles white from the tension, and swallow hard. Jeonghan shoots a quick glance of worry in your direction.

"I... I don't know," You utter out shakily. And what if I don't want to know?

The rest of the car ride is relatively quiet with the occasional taps of Jeonghan's fingers on the steering wheel, but not uncomfortably so. You can sense the concern radiating off Jeonghan, but he doesn't push you to talk further.

"You need to talk to him, Y/N," is all he says after turning into the parking lot of the doctor's office.

Once you get out of his car, you turn back to Jeonghan and give him a light wave.

I know, You tell yourself in your head. I know I do.

You stare blankly at the dark red petal in your hand, its edges slightly crumpled from where it had been caught between your trembling fingers. You can hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall itching at your skin, a constant reminder that time is passing, and you're running out of it.

Balling the petal in your hand, you stand up from where you sat on the bed and march out the bedroom. For a second, you felt like you weren't in control of your legs, yet you know you have to take advantage of the chance to muster up the courage to finally tell Mingyu everything.

Not just about the Hanahaki, but about... everything that has been suffocating you inside. It's all you've been thinking about for the past few weeks. When you step into the living room, you spot him sitting at your small dining set, focused on his work as ever with the laptop screen in front of him casting a glow to his face. He doesn't even look up when you announce your presence near him, and your heart clenches at that.

Taking a deep breath, you speak up, "Mingyu, we need to talk."

Mingyu doesn't look up, his focus still on his work, brows furrowing together. "Can it wait, Y/N? I'm in the middle of something important."

You hesitate for a moment, feeling something inside you wince at his words. "No, it can't wait. It's about us."

"Y/N, it's one in the morning right now𑁋"

"Do you even still love me anymore?" The question leaves your mouth all at once, and you swear it even freezes this exact moment that you are in.

The room falls into a suffocating silence. Mingyu finally tears his gaze away from the laptop, his eyes meeting yours. In that moment, you see a complex mix of emotions in his eyes: surprise, guilt, and something else you can't quite place.

"I..." he starts, voice shaky. "Y/N, you can't just𑁋"

"Just answer the fucking question, Kim Mingyu." You clench the petal in your hand, feeling its dry, sharp edges dig into your skin. Then you realise the harshness to your words, softening your eyes and lowering your voice. "Please."

The room seems to close in around you as you wait for Mingyu's response. His hesitation hangs in the air, and you see the way his shoulders slump and the way his face contorts as he struggles to find the right words to say to just a simple question.

"I... I don't know, Y/N."

His words stab your heart. It's getting hard to breathe, but you can't let yourself cough now. Not in this moment. The petal in your hand crumples into dust as you clench it tighter.

"What the hell do you mean, you don't know?" Your voice trembles as you ask, searching his eyes for any sign of reassurance. "You either love me or you don't, just tell me, for God's sake."

Your frustration is evident, tone catching him off-guard. Mingyu's gaze drops to the table, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"...I'm sorry, Y/N. I-I'm so so sorry."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. This is what you've been afraid of, what you've been trying to avoid. But now that it's out in the open, it feels like a heavy weight has been lifted, even if it's crushing you at the same time.

And then, you feel it𑁋a sharp pain to your lungs that makes you gasp as if you've been stabbed by a searing blade. The room spins as you struggle to catch your breath, your hands trembling as you clutch your chest, letting out harrowing coughs after coughs. Mingyu jumps up from his seat, immediately racing to your side.

"Y/N?! Shit, Y/N, you're bleeding𑁋"

You can't respond, the pain in your chest and the taste of blood in your mouth overwhelming your senses. You hold onto him for support as another bout of coughing consumes you. This isn't how you wanted to reveal your condition to him, but there's no hiding it now.

You feel the way Mingyu scoops you into his arms, the blood from your mouth and the petals staining his shirt as he reaches for his phone to dial emergency services. His voice is helpless and frantic, and within seconds, minutes, maybe even whole hour, you hear the distant wail of approaching sirens.

The soft hum of machines echo through the air as you stir awake, eyes fluttering open and the blinding white lights above blurring your vision. The first sensation that you register was the overwhelming scent of disinfectant filling your nose, sharp and pungent. Then came the dull ache in your chest that makes your breath quietly hitch.

Blinking your eyes open, you realise you're in a hospital room, the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. The sight of white walls and strange medical equipment, an IV line running into your arm, makes your heart race anxiously. You try to take a deep breath, but then you feel that ache in your chest again, and it makes you groan.

Just then at that moment, a young looking nurse enters the room, her eyes widening when she catches sight of you awake and distressed.

"Easy now," she says, rushing to your side and gently pushing you back down onto the bed. "You've just had surgery. You need to rest."

Surgery...?

You could only nod weakly, your throat too dry to speak. You watch as the nurse adjusts some of the monitors and checks your vitals, making sure everything was in place.

"Everything went well during the surgery," she reassures you. "But the hanahaki flowers had grown more aggressively than expected and showed signs of piercing through your lungs. It's a good thing we performed the emergency surgery when we did."

Hanahaki... The word lingers in your mind as you try to make sense of it all. Memories began to resurface: the petals mixing with your blood, the coughing fits, and... Mingyu. It all seemed so distant now, as if it had happened to someone else.

"You were lucky that we caught in time before the growth would have overtaken your lungs," the nurse says sympathetically while writing down your vitals on a chart.

Lucky. How ironic. You were alive, yes, but at what cost? You couldn't help but wonder if the surgery had taken more from you than just the hanahaki flowers.

And then it hits you.

There's no trace of the pain that had clawed at your chest for so long, except for the skin atop your heart where you can feel the incisions. The hanahaki flowers are gone, removed during the emergency surgery, but there's something else missing too𑁋your feelings, your love, for Mingyu.

You feel nothing. No pining, no longing, no aching heart. It's as if a weight has been lifted from your chest, but the emptiness is... disquieting, unnerving, just a void, a hole in place of where your warmth resided in.

You're no longer in love with Mingyu, just like he is for you.

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fearmaiden · 1 day ago

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|| Five Year Plan || A Reader X Jonathan Crane, slow burn fic ||

Synopsis: Every so often, the city of Gotham will randomly select one person to have a really, really bad day. This time, that lucky person is you!

Aka: Your stupid ass accidentally signs up to be a goon at a “Goon Hiring” Agency after your landlord increases the rent. Oops!

Word Count: 11,059

TW: General violence, drug use, coercion, and swearing.

Note: So, uhh. Still working on this concept that has gripped me by the throat. There’s a lot of little references scattered in this chapter to Arkham!Verse, Reeves!Verse & other DCU works. The Gotham this x Reader takes place in is sort of an eclectic jumble with it’s own unique timeline. For previous chapter, click here. Enjoy the second installment of “Please don’t tell my psychiatrist!”. ♡ And let me know what you think in my asks if you want~

Banner art made by: @skxtchyghost

Song: “Are You Satisfied?” by Marina & The Diamonds

It wasn't a bad job. As far as employment went in Gotham, it was okay. Ish. The pay wasn't horrible and the location was a quick, 15 minute, monorail ride away from home. And sometimes, when the manager wasn't there, you got control over what songs the radio played. All this considering, you really couldn't complain. There were worse ways to get a paycheck... However, today's shift at the Cadmus Bar had you wondering if that was true or if it was another lie you were telling yourself to cope?

Your questions began with the first wave of early morning customers who'd exploded through the door, eager for their (keto) protein shake to start off the day. Several complained that their drinks were made wrong even though they'd gotten the exact things that they'd ordered. One of them, a woman sporting a bob cut, screamed at you for making her gluten-free veggie wrap gluten-free. Another demanded that they use the bathrooms before ordering anything. You were forced to tell them that it was against company policy to allow "non-paying individuals" access to the restrooms unless they bought something first. This ignited a vitriol-fueled tirade where you (eventually) had to ask the person to leave. On their way out, they kicked over the store sign and damaged it. You'd tried fixing the frame but to no avail. It remained slightly crooked.

Shit snowballed in the afternoon, just before the lunch rush, when the new trainee spilled a whole tray of smoothies on a customer, then managed to lock their cashier register out of the system. A mistake that spelled doom for everyone else who was working front of house. Specifically, you. It'd taken HOURS to figure out what they'd done and by that time, the trainee had already clocked out. To top it all off, your (least favorite) manager had decided to pop in unexpectedly which meant the radio was now honed onto 95.6 The Outlaw Star, a station that only played country music. Really bad country music. The kind that grated on your ears as it repeated the same insipid chorus lines again and again and again...

You're almost certain crap like this violated parts of The Geneva Conventions. But, what could you honestly expect from a restaurant chain that was owned by Lex Luthor?

Well...

At least you weren't unemployed.

"I'd fuck him."

Whatever worries you had about your job totally vanished in an instant when Zen, your co-worker, made this off-handed remark while cleaning the lobby with you in-between customer flows. She gave no additional context after that, leaving you baffled.

Glancing around first to see if your manager was lurking nearby and not finding him, you ask Zen-

"What?"

-with a deadpan tone that distinctly conveys just how excited you are about the subject matter of this conversation and where you believe it's most likely headed.

"I think he's hot," she reiterates, "I mean, the suit is weird but I'd still fuck him."

You stop wiping off the sticky, juice residue from a tabletop to stare at Zen. "Care to, uh, elaborate a bit more?" You question her, "Because I'm lost here."

Your co-worker waved over at the TV perched in the lobby corner. It was set to the Gotham News Network. Displayed on screen, lead anchorman, Jack Ryder, was interviewing several Gothamites at the scene of a burnt-down brewery. A chyron banner underneath stated: "Ten People Saved in Joker Attack by The Batman, Grand Re-opening Postponed Indefinitely."

"Batman!" Zen announced as if it were obvious, "I think he's sexy. I mean, he's got those incredible pecs and that delicious jawline! I'd absolutely be down to fuck. But, he's gotta lose the suit in bed. Or wait! No, scratch that. He should leave it on..."

A giggle escaped from her. You continue to stare at your co-worker like she's suddenly grown two heads. Eventually, though, you clear your throat and go back to scrubbing the table. Zen scowled at this.

"Oh, c'mon!" She exclaimed, "Tell me you haven't thought about it. Not even once?"

You roll your eyes.

"Literally, not even once," you reply, voice devoid of enthusiasm while you continue to do your job. A bit of orange gunk had crusted onto the table and was being difficult against the force of your washcloth.

Zen didn't believe you.

"Liar," she said.

"It's the truth," you shoot back at her, applying a bit more pressure into your scrubbing. Still, that infuriating splotch remained.

A wicked grin curved along your co-worker's lips. Zen hopped onto the table. She leaned in toward you, invading your personal space and stopping you from cleaning. You glare at her sourly. It only encourages her to scoot even closer near you.

"Let's play a game of Fuck, Bang, Kill," she said, not waiting for your response either way before launching into her proposal, "I'll pick the options and you say 'fuck', 'bang', or 'kill'. Simple enough, right?"

"No."

"Okay!"

"Ugh, you're really gonna make me do this, aren't you?"

"Yup! No mercy!"

One brief moment passed where your co-worker tapped her finger against her chin. She looked to be deep in thought while considering the choices for the game. Knowing Zen, however, you figure she had probably come up with it weeks ago...

"Clayface," she said first, squinting (narrowly) at you for signs of a hidden monsterfucking fetish.

This one is a no-brainer.

"Kill," you automatically reply, wasting zero time to deliberate.

"Killer Croc," she says next.

Frowning, you answer: "Kill."

"Firefly," Zen states, "But, you gotta let him move into your apartment."

"He'd set too many things on fire. Kill."

"Two Face."

"Double Kill."

"Scarface."

"I'm not into puppets, kill."

She tossed her hands in the air, "Oh my god, you can't just keep choosing kill! That's not how this game works!"

"Well," you shrug, "You said it was my choice. So, I'm just playing according to your rules."

"Joker and Harley Quinn."

"Kill them."

“Catwoman.”

“Eh, kill.”

"Poison Ivy."

"Ask why my succulent is dying, then kill."

"Mad Hatter."

"Do I look like an Alice? Kill.”

With the slightest hint of satisfaction, you watch as Zen's face betrayed her own frustration. There was practically (black) smoke billowing from her ears while she tried to guess which Rogue you'd be most likely to marry. Or fuck. You wonder how long it would take until she called it quits?? After all, the two of you still had a lobby to clean. If the manager caught you both slacking off, you'd get written up for sure.

Suddenly, your co-worker's face brightened.

"THE RIDDLER!" She exclaimed like she'd solved a crime, jabbing her index finger up into the air. "I bet you'd break for the Riddler."

You blink.

Something flickered in the back of your mind. An old memory that you thought you'd forgotten.

"Uh, kill?" You answer, although you sound a hint uncertain, "I don't know, you can't really see him behind that mask and I'm not sure I could handle his followers. Plus, those riddles..."

Zen pouted. You could tell she was getting close to admitting defeat. It was only a matter of time now. You give the stubborn splotch another hard scrub with your rag, really putting your arm into it. The tiniest portion was beginning to come off. However, you pause when you hear Zen suggest a name that you'd never heard of before:

"Well, how about that new one? The one that the news is calling the Scarecrow?"

You open your mouth to speak but find yourself interrupted by a rush of customers. Moms with their kids in soccer uniforms and teenagers who were just getting out of school. Zen lets loose a sigh, knowing that you'd been spared from her torture by fate or chance. At least, for now. She quickly rushed over to the cash register, putting on her "customer service" smile while she began taking orders, leaving you to finish up the lobby alone. You caught Zen glance over at you once as if to warn you that this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Unfortunately, she wasn't someone who gave up easily…

Minutes before you were scheduled to take your ten, the manager calls you into his office. With a lazy wave, he gestures for you to sit down in the chair across from his own while he riffles through a filing cabinet behind his desk. You happened to sneak a peak and see that what your manager is picking through are employee folders. An unease settles over you when he yanks out a file labeled "[your name]," then places it down between you both as he takes a seat. He looks at you for just a moment, eyebrow raised.

"Where you do see yourself in five years??" He asks you.

Your mind is racing in all possible avenues at this question.

"E-Excuse me?" You stammer out finally, though it sounded as if your voice was just a squeak, "I don't understand what you're-"

"Back in March, when you filled out your resume, you said you were planning to go back to college next semester. Is that still true?"

Your manager cuts you off. He cracks open your file, selecting the job application that you'd filled out a year ago when you decided that you needed an extra source of income. Despite this city being a trash fire, Gotham was still an expensive place to live. And college wasn't cheap! Buying textbooks for all the psychology courses that you were going to take in September would cost you. Even with the grants you were on! You watch nervously as your manager thumbs through your application idly, waiting for you to speak. He seems annoyed.

"Uhm," you mumble at first, but recover yourself enough to ground the uncertainty fluttering inside your stomach as you attempt a reply, "Yeah, that's the plan."

Your manager sighs.

"Look," he says, skepticism dripping from his tone like leaded water in an old pipe, "I didn't want to be the one who had to point it out to you but upper management has been cracking down on us lately. Our customer reviews have been too low for the past couple of months. You came up during our team meeting last Wednesday as a topic of interest. Several times, actually."

You blink, confused.

"Wait, what?"

You knew you weren't the best employee that the Cadmus Bar had. But, you knew that you weren't the worst either! Certainly, this had to be a huge misunderstanding. You ask for some clarification and your manager (with all the energy of a mildly disappointed father) begins to list off a series of ridiculous infractions, accusations, and "witness reports" that pegs you as the person who keeps breaking the smoothie blenders. Something that you, yourself, have been reporting (complaining) to management about since the very first day of your employment here.

"Annnd, we don't feel like you're smiling enough," your manager adds, placing the cherry on top of his corporate-talk cake, "You don't really portray the warm, friendly disposition that the Cadmus Bar is known for in its employees. Uh, one report we recently received about you seems to call you 'weird and off-putting'. Another one claims you're 'unhelpful' and 'have a rude attitude'. So, uh, you understand how none of this looks good, right?"

You scrambled for a reasonable explanation. Any explanation. However, what slipped out was half cooked mumblings that didn't sound convincing when spoken aloud: "I'll try harder. It's just been a rough couple of weeks and-"

Your manager holds up an authoritative hand.

"No, it's been a rough couple of months," he says, correcting you immediately with the slight bite of annoyance heard from every word that he spoke, "And look, we were willing to grant you a brief period after your accident so you could get reorientated again. But, this behavior has turned into a pattern."

He levels an accusatory stare at you.

"I..."

The world darkens for a moment as you process his words. Images flash before your eyes in quick succession: rain on the windshield, a blind corner of a lonely road, high beams and screeching tires that tore through the air alongside screams, fire, blood staining wet pavement... Your mouth goes dry. You feel numb inside. Somehow, it's like you are there, reliving that awful night all over again. Your manager brings you back to reality when he clears his throat, appearing uncomfortable with how you were handling this talk. He tries shifting your focus by telling you "the good news" about your predicament...

"The silver lining is we're not firing you yet. We've got that new trainee, though, so you might want to start seriously thinking about the future. All those college fees are going to be expensive. Maybe you can put some work into that smile in the meantime, yeah? Start wearing some pretty buttons on your vest to show our customers the real Cadmus Bar spirit."

You wished you had said anything other than the quiet, mumbled agreement that had slipped out of you. For some reason, the words you could've chosen just ran through your fingers like sand at a beach. With no refutes available, your manager sends you away, satisfaction on his bloated face that advertised (quite obviously) the pleasure he took in crushing your spirit and making you feel small in this moment. He tosses your file into the trash as you leave the office. The knowledge that your days working here were numbered became suddenly clear.

You decide to take your ten.

"They can't fire you!"

Inhaling a deep lung full of smoke from her joint, Zen medicated the rage she felt, then released it with a mighty exhale and a walloping cough. She passes the burning joint onto you, who partakes from it less aggressively, and continues her rant despite wheezing in between (her sharp-spoken) words.

"You and I keep this shit together!! If it wasn't for us, nothing would get done right. They think the evening prep gets done by Terry and his shift?! I can't count the times they've fucked the freezer up!"

You exhale a small stream of pungent marijuana into the air. Then, cough. Even though your chest seized, the relaxation you felt afterward was just enough to persuade you to take a second toke. It had been a stressful day for you already. And the day still wasn't over yet...

"I know," you agreed, grumbling at the hand your job was dealing you, "But, I don't "smile enough" for fucking Terry, apparently. I'm too 'weird and off-putting' and 'unhelpful with a rude attitude'."

"Well, that last one is true. You are pretty fucking rude sometimes," Zen replies, reaching out to take the joint you were offering back, "But, it's still bullshit! That trainee can't replace you. She's barely handling the dishwasher right now. A few weeks won't make a difference if she's that dumb and incompetent!"

"I know, right?"

"Like, who am I supposed to talk to about stupid shit all day?"

A sobering kind of silence fell upon Zen and you. Despite the city noise that pounded at your ears, the only thing you could hear was the emptiness that was forming in the slots of your daily routine and the dreadful monotony that would take your co-worker's place. While you knew Zen wouldn't totally disappear from your life, things would be different enough that you cringed just imagining it. You don't think you'd be able to stand working around anyone else. Sighing, you lean your head against the brick wall behind you and gaze up at the thin sliver of (overcast) sky above. This might be the last time you smoke with Zen in this shitty alleyway. You try to savor the moment but all you can do is frown as if you'd tasted something that had spoiled.

"You got me still, man."

Roach breaks the awkward silence. You turn your head to look at the homeless stoner that Zen and you had befriended (adopted) months ago when he'd first shown up in this alley, asking for a light, and rolling papers. With a frown, you realize that you'd miss him. Even if he did bum way, way too many cigarettes. Roach, in some weird way, was also a fixture of your daily life that you'd become attached to...

"Oh, sweetie. We love you but that's not the point being made here," Zen says, taking a quick hit of the joint before passing it along to Roach, "Point is-"

"The point is I'm screwed," you interject, "WE are screwed. Hell, I watched Terry throw my file into the trash! I'm getting fired."

Roach inhaled half the joint as he listened to you speak. Coughing, nearly choking on the cloud he made with his exhale, he summarizes today's ten minute break in three simple words-

"This sucks, man!"

-then, takes another generous toke. The cloud of smoke he made this time was (somehow) bigger than the last. Roach shook his head. Ran a hand through his matted, tangled hair and sighed. He looked genuinely upset. Your heart turned over a little seeing how much these people cared about you.

"Like, who am I gonna bum smokes from now?"

Nevermind.

A laugh rumbles deep from Roach's chest as Zen (and you) just squint at him. "Oh, c'mon! You had to know that was a joke. I'm kidding, I'm kidding! This is a huge bummer, though. I liked smoking with you guys. You aren't weird about how I look. You treat me like I'm normal..." He says this with a heavy frown that collapses very suddenly upon his face.

"Well, you're as normal as the rest of us!"

"Careful guys, they might send us to Arkham."

"Oh my god, I bet they'd put us in cells right next to each other! We could pass along little notes in between the bars or something, haha!"

You all laugh as a group...but it feels bittersweet.

Zen and Roach give you the last hits off the joint, now merely a blackened nub. You were reminded of the time and realized that your ten was almost over. Zen must've been on the same wavelength as you because she groaned (loudly) when she'd checked her phone. She pouted for a second like a kid who'd just been told to go clean their room. You follow suit in your own subdued way, feeling the weight of each second that counted down to your inevitable unemployment.

Flicking the spent remainders of the joint into an ashtray, you take a breath, and mentally prepare yourself for the last hours of your shift.

"Ugh, time to clock back in."

"Same. I'll take care of the trash?"

"Thanks. I fucking hate doing the trash."

You spend about fifteen minutes lugging stuffed, Hefty bags out to the dumpsters. One split open in the middle of transport. Another was leaking a sticky, warm liquid that got all over your uniform, making your clothes smell like rancid candy and crap. On the last round of trash, Roach helps you toss an extra heavy one that you were struggling with throwing away. You try to thank him. He just shakes his head, though, insisting that no thanks were necessary among friends...

"You've been decent to a bum like me. This is the least I can do for you."

Still, you find yourself thanking him again. Then, turn to slouch back into the Cadmus Bar (where a new wave of customers were surely crowding at the cash register by now) but are stopped by Roach, who wants to give you something. From his stained jeans pocket, he pulled out an onyx black card. He hands it to you with a rare, serious look on his face as he explains:

"Look, I hate to see them fuck you over so here's the number to my cousin, Frankie C. He's a good guy when he's not drunk. He runs a temp agency in Otisburg. If you need some quick cash to get you by while you figure shit out, call him. He can set you up with a small gig just like that. It won't be enough to break even, usually. Sometimes, an opportunity comes in, though. Depending on the season and all that."

You shake your head while telling him that you'll be fine, that you already had a plan (even if you absolutely didn't and were panicking about the next few months of your life). Roach seemed to know you were lying because he refused to take the card back from you. He just kept redirecting the topic onto his cousin. Eventually, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets so he couldn't use them. You're forced to keep the card after that. Roach smiled when you finally slid the thin paper into your vest pocket.

"Just, uhhh, keep the Frankie stuff between you and me, okay? Don't wanna ruin a sweet deal like this on everyone!"

He winks, nudging your side with an elbow. You end up laughing despite your mood. It was hard to be sad around Roach. And you wish you could do more for him than just share your smokes on the days you were working here. You could keep his secret, however. Now, it was your secret, too. You pat your vest pocket and salute Roach as if he were the captain of a ship.

"My lips are sealed!" You exclaim, making a show of pursing your lips and sealing them shut.

Your shift flew by relatively fast. Before you knew it, you were riding the D-line back to Rosserie St. where the peace of your apartment awaited you. The trip was smooth, almost TOO smooth for an average Gotham evening. It had you gripping the canister of the pepper spray you kept hidden in your purse out of suspicion. But, the minute you made it to your neighborhood, you relaxed a little bit. With the GCPD so close to your home, crime here was more tame. The worst it usually had to offer came in the forms of muggings by average thugs. Or break-ins. It was partly the reason your parents had been willing to pay the deposit when you'd moved out. Through some miracle, you'd convinced them it was safe. It'd helped when you mentioned that the police station was just a few blocks away. You knew they regularly donated to the GCPD and their fundraising galas every year.

You spent the rest of your night filling out online applications and re-writing your resume, despite knowing that any place that would hire you likely wouldn't read it.

At 5 am, a loud banging on your apartment door startles you awake. An angry voice accompanies it. By the Pennsylvania Dutch accent, it was your landlord. Reluctantly, you peeled yourself off the couch and stumbled lifelessly through the living room to go figure out what he wanted. Because it wasn't the first of the month and you'd already taken care of the bills so there was nothing that sour old man could (possibly) want from you. A breath is taken before you open the door. A little prayer is said to whatever God was listening up there. You steel yourself, plaster a smile on your face, then open the door to greet your landlord. Your stomach drops when you see he's holding a bunch of envelopes that were addressed to each resident of the building.

"The rent's just increased," he says while handing you your envelope from his pile, "I'm gonna need the difference you owe by Monday, alright?"

Your landlord shoots this new information at you with such casualness that it makes you feel sick. He's staring at you as if you were an idiot for not knowing (or expecting) that this would probably happen. Fortunately, you recover from the shock quick enough to form what you hope is a protest. It doesn't go well.

"I...already paid my rent, though."

"Yeah? Well, now the new payment is due."

"You can't raise the rent until next month!"

"Look, I don't know what to tell you. It's that "gentrification" stuff all those woke hipsters talk about on the social medias. Prices going up? The rent goes up. Pretty open shut case, alright? Not a lot of mumbo jumbo to it."

"This apartment is rent controlled. I made sure it was when I moved in!"

"Okay, then take it up with the housing authority and wait for them to call you back about it. In the meantime? I'm gonna need that money from you on Monday. 5 am sharp. Or you can move out of here and I'll rent this apartment to someone who would pay triple the new price!!"

Your landlord's threat ripped the argument from your lips. He seems pleased when you fall silent and appear to crumple internally. You mask it by putting on a brave face...but your attempt isn't a convincing show of strength. Just as he's about to continue speaking, a (LOUD) meow interrupts him. Both you and your landlord stop what you're doing, pressing a momentary pause on your talk, to look towards the source of the noise that was growing more obnoxious by the second. You see that an orange cat was pacing back and forth on your balcony patio. Like it was waiting for you to let it in. Like this was a routine thing you did and not the very first time you'd ever seen it here. As you make the innocent mistake of giving it direct eye contact, it reacts by reaching up and eagerly paws at the sliding glass door.

Your landlord scowls.

"So, you got a pet?" He spits, raising an eyebrow at you, "That'll be an extra 200 for pet insurance. Cats piss and shit everywhere, ya know? Dirty lil' bastards. They'll fuck up my nice, clean carpets."

The carpets in your apartment were neither nice nor clean. Actually, they'd been stained and dirty since day one. The only reason they were decent now was all the steam cleaning you did to keep it tenable! Even then, your carpets were only a few more accidental messes away from being trash...

"That's not my cat," you state firmly, putting your foot down, "I don't have a pet. I don't owe you for a cat that isn't mine!"

Your landlord jabs his finger in the cat's direction and says, "If it's sitting on your fucking patio, it's your fucking cat! End of discussion. Don't need a brain to understand that, do ya?"

He smirks (again) when he sees frustration twist anew upon your face. It made the short-statured man happy whenever he could provoke this kind of conflict in someone. But, you were convinced it meant more to him when that person was you; which filled you with such impotent anger that it nearly blinded you. Dark thoughts about ripping the smirk off his lips and grinding it into the dirty carpets that he seemed so proud of swirled and spiraled around inside your head. You held back, however, because you also wanted to keep a roof over your head. Fall was just around the corner in Gotham. It was about to get cold. Really fast. It'd be iced-over mornings and winter storms before you knew it...

So, you bit your tongue and said nothing.

"You have to think about your future. No one is gonna do it for you," your landlord drives home the point he wanted to make even further, gently patting the frame of your apartment door with a faux concern, "Think about where you wanna be. You got until Monday to decide if it's here like an adult or out on the street in a cardboard box."

That was the second time your "future" had been mentioned. The sound of twisting steel hits your ears. Breaking glass shatters all around you as a tire, engulfed in fire, rolls past your mental vision. Someone is crying out for help. A scream crawls from your throat and takes the form of three tiny words that you speak in a defeated whisper:

"This isn't legal."

Your landlord laughs loudly and shrugs when he hears you, "This is Gotham, toots!"

He walks away before you can say anything else. You're left holding the envelope he gave you with the cat you now, apparently, owned. Who hadn't stopped meowing, by the way. You could hear it practically yowling, clawing down the tempered glass of your patio door, trying its hardest to get your attention. Sighing, you shut the front door. Lock it tight. Then, turn to face the mess of your apartment. Was paying the rent increase worth it considering what a dump house this place was?? The question nagged you while you crossed your living room (stepping over piled books and dirty laundry that you'd forgotten about a week or two ago) to open the patio door. Immediately, the cat stopped crying once it'd been let in. You watch it make itself at home on your couch and begin to purr.

Nope, you were never getting rid of that cat. You could see 200 dollars literally flying away in this moment as you relented and sat down next to it on your couch. Your fingers ran through the cat's soft, pumpkin-colored fur. Maybe you'd buy it a collar the next time you got paid? Maybe one of those cute, themed ones that you'd (sometimes) see at Petco. If you still had a job by then...

Your head falls back against the couch as a slow and exasperated groan unfurls out of you. With a desperate eye, you search the cobweb cracks in the ceiling for clues on what you should do. Their answer is silence. You were screwed.

So, you decided that breakfast was the answer!

There was a greasy spoon diner down the street that served a (passable) eggs and hash. Despite knowing your wallet couldn't handle it, you found yourself sitting in your usual spot fifteen minutes after opening the envelope, hoping that a simple, hot meal would ease your turmoil. 1,500 dollars plus 200 extra for the cat that wasn't yours and an additional increase on utilities that you didn't use. Like parking. Or the community gym. That's what you owed your landlord by Monday. It was money you just didn't have! Even thinking about it made your eyes bigger than your stomach. You end up ordering way too much food, then regret it almost instantly. Today, the eggs are bland and unseasoned. The hashbrowns are burnt black at the edges. These flavors settled on your tongue, as disappointing as the debt you had to pay, and lingered there with the stress that hung over you like a storm cloud.

Technically, you had the money...but, it was your college fund.

You couldn't touch that.

When you had moved out of your parents' house, blessedly away from Metropolis, you'd promised yourself something; that one day, you'd get your bachelor's degree in psychology, start a practice of your own and finally prove to your family that you were a capable, independent adult. However, more than that bit, you felt a certain gravitational pull towards learning about how the mind works. Even at a young age, you were always absorbed in observations about the people (and the world) around you. You'd scribble them upon sheets of paper with crayons or colored marker or pen and pencil. Sticking them on your bedroom walls. It'd driven your parents absolutely insane. They had dreams (delusions) of you becoming a grammar school teacher. A "safe profession for a girl" that wasn't too ambitious and established your role in the family legacy. All Wrenns were educators. No deviations from the antiquated mold. Unsatisfied with this as you grew older, you tried arguing to your parents that psychology and teaching were similar fields. That they were (for all intents and purposes) practically the same thing! The result had been a disaster. And sometimes, they'd still laugh at the notion over holiday dinner, throwing salt on the wound by mentioning with a mocking scrutiny-

'Except you're not around crazy people!'

-to end the conversation. Not surprisingly, they'd been unsupportive of you the day you'd received your acceptance letter to GSU. They also weren't proud of the grants you'd earned to, in their own words, throw your future away on a crack career like head shrinking. And they didn't help you with anything other than the deposit on this shit hole you now hated renting in the city they hated you living in. Sometimes, your parents would call you to ask if you'd consider coming back home. They would suggest you enroll in the "nice community college" just a few blocks down from their house. Or they'd sneak details into the dialogue about a new position at the elementary school your Mom worked in when they were feeling extra unhappy by your choices. You'd always say patiently: 'No, I can't. I'm staying in Gotham,' and they'd end the chat on a sour note. Lately, they seemed to really enjoy using how well your brother, Braydon, was doing in Metropolis.

Your college fund was the only thing standing in between you and returning back to your parents, crushed and defeated. You couldn't dip into it to solve your money problem. Doing so would only cement the quaint, milquetoast future that they determined for you. It would set you on a course of compromises until you became less an actual person and more a thing they felt entitled to "set right again." You knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that asking your parents for help in your current predicament would only result in a battle where they'd make you admit that you couldn't handle living on your own. They'd probably drive all the way to Gotham to come pick you up and take you back home. You'd wake up ten years in the future after that; a passionless, grade school teacher just like your mother. Probably married to a man you (barely) tolerated with a handful of kids you'd push into being an educator as you'd been pushed. Insisting they give up their dreams for your vision instead. For the only vision that a Wrenn was allowed. What a nightmare concept.

And yet, you found yourself texting your Dad. He had always been the more reasonable parent...

You: Hey, Dad. Can I ask you a favor?

You: Dad, I really need to borrow

You: So, something came up this month

You: Hey, how're you? How's Mom? [5:55 am]

The response came a half an hour later.

Dad: Isn't it a little too early for you? 😜 We're doing fine. Haven't heard from you in a while. How're things in Gotham? We heard there was a new madman running around the city on the news. [6:25 am]

By that time, you were already back home.

You: 🤷‍♀️ There's always a new madman running around Gotham. Dad, can I ask you Dad, I've run into troub I'm doing fine, tho. Just busy. [6:27 am]

Dad: That's good. Remember to put the GCPD on speed dial in case anything does happen, ok? [6:28 am]

You: I've got them on speed dial already. Don't worry. Hey, could we talk about something [6:30 am]

Dad: That's good, sweetie. Just want you to be safe. How's college been? Have you decided on when you'll be transferring over to St. Mary's? [6:35 am]

You stared at the message for a long time after it was sent and realized, with a sinking feeling, just how futile asking your parents for help was. They didn't want you to study at the GSU. They didn't want you to be a psychologist. Hell, they weren't even cool with you living in Gotham! Here they were, already pushing you to leave the city (and your dreams) behind. No, this had been a stupid mistake. If you had a problem, you were going to have to solve it yourself. Like an adult.

You: I'm staying at GSU, Dad. Classes are going really well. My teachers love me. [6:44 am]

The reply from your father came too quick to be anything good. It simply said-

Dad: Ok. [6:44 am]

-and nothing else. You don't text him back. You'd just be wasting time at this point. Instead, you fill out more online job applications. Even the listing you found for a janitor position at Arkham. Right now, you weren't being picky. When you'd milked all of Linked In, Craigslist, GothHires, and several local group forums, you funneled your anxiety in other ways; you began washing the dirty dishes that'd sat in your sink since...you forget, you pick up the books off the floor (putting them together on your shelf), and start sorting through the old laundry piles too.

When you grab your clothes from yesterday, you notice that something falls out of your work vest. It lands on the floor at your feet. You bend down to pick the thing up and peer at it (kinda baffled) and clueless before suddenly remembering what it was. This little black card was the contacts for the temp agency run by Roach's cousin. As you flip it over to see: "Frankie Cee, hiring agent. He'll see the potential in you!" printed on it with black ink and metallic foil, an idea strikes you. A genius idea...

What harm could a phone call do?

You begin dialing the number on the card.

"Hello, Frankie? Hi, uh. My friend Roach said that you hire people for temp jobs. Could I possibly set up an interview with you soon? My call back number is..."

Sandwiched between the glamour of the Bowrey and the government offices of the West End was a dump called Otisburg where all the dirt, sweat, and grime in Gotham collected itself. Comprised of crumbling brick and dark alleyways that were always littered with trash, it stood out against its wealthy neighbors, reminding everyone that just beneath the (gilded) surface was a festering sore left untreated within the city. And that year after year, Mayor Hill neglected it stubbornly despite his many "sincere" promises to do otherwise. It's inside this wound that you find yourself a couple of hours past noon, wondering (worrying) if you had gotten the address right?? Or if Frankie Cee had sent you the wrong pin on WayneMaps...

Because the place your pin had sent you to was a dive bar.

Brows furrowed in confusion, you quickly check WayneMaps again. Nope! This was it. 4580 45th St (South). Right next to a bus stop and a row of condemned apartments that'd seen better days. Stashing your phone away, you peer at the neon sign that said "Stacked Deck" in mustard yellow and scarlet red with apprehension twisting your gut. Unless this (particular) hiring manager ran a bar or worked at an incredibly progressive, super chill, non-profit, having your interview here didn't make sense. Things like that were typically done in an office. You were starting to realize, albeit a touch late, that this whole situation was sketchy and your genius idea had been stupid! While you knew Roach was only trying to help, he'd set you upon a fool's errand, anyways. Should've stayed home and done job applications. You turn around to leave but surprise yourself when you walk into the bar instead as if a gravitational pull held your feet for ransom.

Suspicious stares fix themselves upon you when you enter the Stacked Deck. Some patrons even leer and throw lascivious comments out, hoping to rattle loose a reaction from you. One guy asks how much your hourly rates are? Another seems way too curious about why "a tiny little thing like you" has come to a place like this? Ignoring each prod and jab these bar-dwellers throw, you wade through the sea of cigarette smoke that hung in the air, focused solely on the long counter where drinks were being served. Unfortunately, you tug your hoodie strings while you do this, advertising the discomfort you felt to everyone regardless of the stiff upper lip you were trying (and failing) to portray. RIP you. After waiting a couple seconds, the next available bartender slides up to you and asks what you want to order with narrowed eyes full of skepticism. She's probably wondering the same thing everybody else is; what're you doing here?

In the back of your mind, you're questioning that too...

"Oh, uhh, no. No, I'm here for Frankie?" You reply, sounding uncertain, your statement forming into a question at the very end, "Frankie Cee? Do you know if he's around?"

Wordlessly, the bartender stares at you. When it was beginning to get super uncomfortable, you tried clarifying. Somehow, this makes you sound less confident than if you'd kept quiet: "I have an interview with him at 3."

The bartender continues staring. Her expression morphs from skepticism to abject disbelief. "You have an interview with Frankie Cee? You?? At this bar?"

"Yes," you say, a bit frustrated now.

She raises an eyebrow, "Are you positive?"

You absolutely weren't.

"Yeah," you repeat, firmer this time, "he gave me this address to meet up. I just didn't know it was gonna be at a bar. Uh, his text said to talk to the bartenders first."

Judging off pure mood alone, you could tell that the bartender was done talking with you. Before she could show you the door, though, you reach into your pockets and pull out the onyx card that Roach had given you. You hold it up so the lady could see it, like it was an ID, hoping this would be enough to convince her to help you out or at least point you in the right direction. If you'd been thinking with your head on straight, if you'd only paid attention to the red flags, you might've realized how weird all this was. How wrong it felt in the pit of your stomach. But, the specter of lost college funds, homelessness, and your (almost certain) unemployment was blinding your sight to the bad omens surrounding you. You wanted money now more than anything else. Even the possibility of it seemed worth the potential risk.

The bartender sighed when she saw the card. It was obvious she was annoyed by the sight of it. "Well, fuck! Here I was thinking you were a lying bitch I could 86. No happy endings in Gotham. Yeah, Frankie's here. Give me a minute. I'll go snag him for ya. In the meantime, be a paying customer, buy yourself something, and go sit at those seats in the back. Or else I'll have to kick you out, anyway. Alright? So, what's your poison?"

You decide on beer. Something light, something without a high alcohol percentage. After all, you didn't want to get fucked up before the interview. The bartender sighs at your choice. With disgust in her tone, she grumbles 'of course' underneath her breath, then turns around to make your order after you'd handed her 15 crinkled dollars. Soon, with drink in hand, you hurry past the pool tables and the cue rack and the glowing neon sign that said: "Keep Gotham Weird". You slip into the end booth closest to the restrooms where a poster of Zephyrs of the Holy hung. Zen had once told you that the band was magical, so you'd thought it'd be a good place to wait. Maybe their luck would rub off on you?

You were half a beer in when Frankie Cee arrived. The man was not what you were expecting! Bald and beefy with black tattoos blazed up his arms, Frankie was the polar opposite of his cousin. He looked suspiciously like if Mr. Clean had joined a biker gang. The man glances at you (and your drink) once, chuckles to himself, then joins you in the booth. You swear you heard him whisper 'of course,' but you pretend not to hear it. Which was probably the best thing you could do in this scenario for more than one reason.

"So! My piece of shit, good for nothing, bum of a cousin sent you my way, huh?" Frankie asks you, grin on his face. Despite the twinkle in his eye, it was hard to tell if he was joking or being serious. That edge of uncertainty has you sweating bullets. You gape at him; frozen cold in the headlights by his question. You weren't sure how to answer him and Frankie seemed amused that you didn't quite know what to say. He continues speaking, taking a casual sip of the Tennessee Rye that was clutched in his hand while doing so, "You know, that fucker still owes me for the last favor I did. You wanna pay his tab for him?"

"Uhhh."

This interview was going great already! You were going to kill Roach when you saw him next. Your face twists up momentarily as you contemplate the logistics of murder...

The man must've sensed what you were thinking because he erupted with laughter. Wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye, Frankie switches gears and decides to stop panicking you. "Nahh, I'm just playing' with ya! My cousin's decent when he's not on the drops. But he does owe me a pack of cigs the next time I see him."

"You and me both," you replied, a weaker chuckle than his escaping from your throat, still shaky on whether (or not) this was truly a joke. You try reminding yourself that if everything went wrong for some reason, you had pepper spray handy in your pockets. It was a weak reassurance but the only one you had at the moment.

"Right. Well, enough chit-chat. Let's get down to business." Frankie says, that merry twinkle in his eye becoming much sharper than before.

The man retrieves a folded paper from his pant's pocket, opens it up flat, then slides it over to you. It's a job application. Emblazoned on top was the logo for the temp agency (an eyeball wreathed in flames) with the company name orbiting around it. A small sentence follows underneath: "We can SEE the potential in you!". This agency definitely had their brand figured out, you thought, as the slogan hooked onto your brain like a Super Bowl commercial. Scanning through the rest of it, you find that everything seems pretty normal (about four sections dedicated to general info, medical history, driving record, and previous employers), but when you flipped the paper over...things got a little weird. 13 questions greet you, each more confusing than the last.

You squint at them.

Frankie senses your bewilderment and chuckles. "Just fill the questionnaire out to the best of your abilities, girly. Some of them are a little out there due to our clientele, but answering them all helps me figure out what gigs you'll best be suited for, you dig?? We wanna match our employees' skills to the needs of our clients."

You nod, then ask him a question. But he ignores this completely and asks you one instead. Which nags you in an insistent way. Something was off. Something wasn't right here. Something tugged on your gut for you to leave this place.

"Are you thirsty? I'm gonna snag something from the bar. I'll be back in a moment. Try getting that thing done, alright?? Just don't think about it too much."

Frankie drains the rest of his Tennessee Rye with a single gulp. An impressive feat considering his glass was practically full. He uses your stunned silence to make his getaway. You watch the man saunter towards the bar counter, greeting some new faces that'd just entered the Stacked Deck from the alleyside door. After a second, you turn your attention onto the paper. Blinking, still lost, you search for a pen inside your purse and begin to tackle the easiest parts on the front. That tug in your gut yanked harder. Finally, you arrived at the back page of the application. By that time, it felt like your whole, damn stomach was twisted into knots.

You poise your pen over the first question. Your hand is shaking slightly as you do...

1. How flexible are you willing to be with work hours?

Answer: All weekends and holidays.

That one was normal and simple to answer. You jot your response down without much hesitation.

2. Do you have any physical disabilities that would prevent you from finishing a task?

Answer: No.

This question was also pretty common. You have to have seen it printed on a hundred different job applications before.

3. Do you have any familial connections to law enforcement?

Answer: No.

Another inquiry that didn't appear abnormal. But you wondered, albeit briefly, why a temp agency would want to know that? You figure it was likely a conflict of interest deal for some of the clients. After all, you weren't a fan of the GCPD, either.

4. Do you own a firearm?

Answer: No.

Not an odd question to ask in Gotham. Everyone and their mothers kept some kind of weapon on them. The most efficient option being a gun. You had thought about owning one, back when you'd been planning to move to this city. Instead, your parents convinced you (wore you down) to buy a can of pepper spray. They were mortified by the idea of you shooting a pistol. Luckily, a year into GSU, your dormmate had shown you how to use one.

5. How do you feel about dressing in uniform?

Answer: I'm okay with it.

You supposed this one made sense? Every job in retail that you'd had made you wear a uniform or at least a company T-shirt. You hated the cheesy outfits of some places (like BatBurger), but right now, you weren't really in a position to turn down a paycheck. So, you lie on the application with a bold flourish of your pen.

The next question was where things got strange.

6. If you had a catchphrase, what would it be?

Answer: Ready for anything!

What?? You stare at the words until they seem to bleed off the paper. This HAD to be some sort of attempt at a psychology quiz! One of those lame passes a business would use to gauge your level of agreeability. You roll your eyes, jotting down a phrase that meant nothing to you...but sounded like something that a hiring manager would want to hear. You cringe at the dishonesty. Yet another wave of anxiety rolls over you. Perhaps this beer wasn't agreeing with your stomach?

7. Do you have any physical skills or talents?? Example: Could you scale a wall or jump over a fence? If you had to, could you run for longer than 20 minutes? Are you proficient in martial arts?

Answer: N/A

You blink. Again, the word "what" re-emerged as a question within your brain. You tap your pen on the side of your cheek, chewed it's cap anxiously for a moment while squinting at the query. What in the world kind of business would need martial arts skills?! Was this temp agency hiring people for a dojo? But then, your brain clicks into place, recalling a chat you'd had with Roach about the time he'd been a security guard. He'd quit the job after the first night when a league of black-clad ninjas stormed the vault he was supposed to be protecting. Looking at number seven again, you supposed that it made sense. This was Gotham and insane, crazy shit like that happened all the time.

8. If the police or any legal figures of authority were to ask you to give up the name/s of your fellow employees, would you?

Answer: _________.

How were you even supposed to answer that? Of course, you would have to comply with any legal authorities! What other choice was there? Unless this temp agency was working alongside villains or criminals, a question like this was just strange. You take a gulp of your beer to steady yourself in an almost instinctual reaction, feeling once more a tug at your soul that screamed: LEAVE NOW!!! Five minutes later, you'd drained the whole glass, but those twists in your gut had only grown into a briar patch of knots. You couldn't bail from this opportunity, you reason with the panic. A worse fate awaited you on Monday if you couldn't find another source of income. That fate freezes you to your booth. You decide to leave number eight blank and come back to it. There were five other inquiries to fill.

9. Do you have any medical conditions to your knowledge that may be triggered or worsened by unknown chemical gas?

Answer: I don't know, I've never been exposed before.

Chemical plants. This temp agency must hire for chemical plants and dojos. That had to be it! You mentally pat your own back, proud of your logic, and flawless sensibility. Gotham City retained a high demand for factory workers, chemists, and also...ninjas? Your hand darts out to take another gulp of your beer only to wrap around an empty glass. As you stare at it, the scream inside your head grows louder, evolving into a shriek. Leave now. Leave now! LEAVE NOW! Instead, through clenched teeth, you write the truth in the answer slot. A heavy weight, like you'd signed your death warrant, settled upon your shoulders. Your heart began to pound in your chest. You push on to the next question...

10. Theoretically, if you were thrown into a pit of acid, how would you react?

Answer: ____________.

LEAVE. LEAVE. LEAVE. LEAVE-

"Almost done with that?"

A gravelly voice interrupts your panic attack. You glance up to see Frankie has returned; two beers in his hands and looking a little drunker. He gives you a wink, then sets your glass down in front of you. It wasn't the brand you'd bought before. The beer was darker, almost orange, and foamed up so thickly at the rim that it threatened to spill out onto the table. Thanking the man, you move the application away from the glass just in case. You hear Frankie laugh. It sounds almost sinister. You weren't sure what was so funny, but you restrain yourself from asking. There were more pressing matters on your mind like these 13 questions on the page before you.

Frankie seems to sense your apprehension as he seats himself in your booth. "Ya know, if you have anything confusing you at all, just ask. That part on the back can really stump the newbies."

Running a hand through your hair, you decide to take the man up on his offer. Perhaps, maybe, it was only a misunderstanding and you were just being stupid.

"Uhm, okay. So, I am a bit, uh...unclear here about some of these questions. Cause they sound a bit-"

Weird.

Strange.

Fucking out there.

"-unconventional," you say cautiously, choosing the adjective with care, "I've honestly never seen anything like this asked on an application before and I've worked a lot of places in Gotham."

Frankie nods lightly, appearing receptive to your concerns. He stays silent. Allows you to continue rambling with an attentive focus stationed upon you.

"Like number 10. W-what am I even supposed to say to that?? Is this a legitimate concern I should be having on the job? What about number 11. Uh, heads or tails??? Why does your agency need to know that? Okay. And let's just take a moment to appreciate number 13, because. I'm just...lost on that one! 'Thoughts on tea and scones? How do you brew a proper Earl Grey?? What are your full thoughts on cerebral manipulation via electrode and have you read Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll?'. Just what kind of clients do you have?!"

Frankie answers without skipping a beat, "We're a grassroots cooperative business catering to a high class, criminal clientele and providing them with necessary services."

Silence settles over you. For a few moments, you simply stare at the man, robbed of words to say, and devoid of thoughts to think. Frankie doesn't react, carrying on as if waiting patiently for your next questions. That twinkle gleaming in his eye got just a touch brighter and sharper. It doesn't catch your notice.

"What?" You ask, your mind finally rebooting and turning back on.

The man replies in a similar way as before:

"We're a traditionally-run recruiting agency that connects the criminal element to those in need of quick gigs or temporary employment. Usually, that first one, though, since our clients can be a little hazardous. But only if you're an idiot."

Frankie laughs while you gawk at him.

Swallowing thickly and with a hushed voice, you rephrase your last question again. You just want to hear the man say it another time in case you'd misheard him. Everyone deserved the benefit of a doubt. Frankie's laugh died down, immediately, when you asked him to repeat his simple answer for a third round. Now he was staring at you. You see a frown pull at his beer-stained lips. Another shift in gears brought a more serious tone to the man as he says, "We're a "Goon Hiring" agency."

...

Frankie Cee sneered, "What, my cousin didn't tell ya?"

"No."

"Well, that's just classic Roach, isn't it?"

...

Instantly, you stand up (ramrod straight) and get out of the booth. Plastering your best "customer service" smile upon your face, you thank Frankie for his time, collect your purse, and turn to leave. As you do, the sound of a gun clicking into place hits your eardrums. It's followed by a growl that commands you to sit back down. Trembling, you obediently comply and return to your seat facing Frankie who now has a Glock trained on you. You peer down the barrel of the pistol, eyes watering, heart pounding fast, and internally screaming at yourself for how dumb you were, how you hadn't listened to the red flags. If you were this fucking stupid, maybe it was a good thing you'd never go back to GSU? You could just die (right now) with the knowledge that it would've never worked out.

Still, your dream of being a psychologist spurred you forward...

"P-please don't k-kill me," you whimper, lower lip trembling like an autumn leaf.

"I won't as long as we can finish up this interview, girly. Now stop crying and drink your beer, we're almost through the paperwork portion."

With a shaking hand, you lift the perspiring glass up to your lips. Frankie lowers his gun as you do. The orange-hued booze that he bought you isn't to your liking. It's too strong, too bitter. It had an astringent aftertaste that clung your tongue and lingered there. Stubbornly. But, you couldn't risk being picky at the moment. Frantic, you wonder if anyone would step in to save you? Was anyone aware of this? Were they calling the cops already or rolling up their sleeves to give teach this man a lesson? At least with this question, the answer was obvious; nope. Everyone inside the Stacked Deck was ignoring you as if somebody pulling a gun out on someone else was normal. A tad late, you remember that you were in Otisburg. To this place, it WAS normal.

And nobody was going to come save you...

Frankie rests the gun on the tabletop in between you but still clutches it close, a warning (for you) not misinterpret his relaxed mood with allowing you a chance to escape. He heaves a sigh, looks at you wearily, and shakes his head. "Look, girly, you either leave because you aced this interview or leave with Tommy and Benny in a rug. Totally your choice-"

Was it really, though?

You gulp.

"-but save me the rug, okay? Those cost money. I can't keep buying more rugs this week. Plus, let's be honest: if you didn't really need this job, didn't reeeally need the money, you wouldn't have even called me. I can tell you need the dough, girl. You got that hunger just like me when I was your age. I promise if you come work with me, I'll feed that good. My temp agency ain't fucking Underworld Talent. We don't use algorithms but we're damn fucking good at what we do. You can't do better than me."

You couldn't do better.

He's right.

You feel like the walls were closing in on you.

Frankie continues his pitch, oblivious to your fear or simply uncaring. "You stick with me? Now, you got something good. Something that'll pay good. I've been doing this shit for years and I can see a future henchmen from miles away. And you? You got henchmen written all over ya, girly. Embrace that. Now, what'll it be...? A damn good job-"

He taps the end of his Glock upon your half-filled application. The sound, impatient, and urging.

"-or Tommy and Benny? And before you choose, think HARD about where you want your future to go. Who do you see yourself being in five years?"

Dead.

There was that question again. You swear, it was haunting you. The instant you heard it said, your mind floods with unbidden images. Bloody flesh on slick pavement. Twisted metal feeding flames and smoke. A cry into the night, soon becoming a wail for help that would go unheard, drowned out by the roll and crack of thunder as it rattled the earth. Lightning flashing across the sky as if God himself was angry. And you, in the middle of it all, crawling along the ground like a worm...

Did you even have a future to imagine after that?

Did you even have a future?

Despair opened its mouth wide to consume you. Yet, before it could, another vision snatches you away from it. Inside the empty hall of an old and dusty classroom, a friend smiles warmly at you. They're patting you on the back as you dab your eyes with a tissue. 'Don't stress out! It's just one bad score. You're gonna make a great therapist someday, trust me.' They say this with absolute confidence. Suddenly, you snap back to reality. A feeling far stronger than despair sparks within you.

Hope.

"I-I want the job!" You exclaim, stammering, but raising your chin to portray enough confidence nonetheless.

Frankie laughs in reaction. He seems pleased by your final decision. "Now that's what I like to hear from newbies! I knew you were a smart cookie-"

The man smiles coldly with a sharp gleam in his eye. Unlike the times prior, you knew that Frankie wasn't joking now. He was being dead serious.

"-so, let's fill out that application, yeah? I got shit to do later."

Steeling yourself, you reach for the ballpoint pen that you'd abandoned on the table and pick it up (determinedly) in your hand. With renewed spirit, you begin tackling the application. You answered every question as best you could. Even the ones that terrified you and made no sense. At the end of the back page, beneath number thirteen, you finally get to the point where your signature was needed. You poise the pen tip over the blank line, take a deep breath, then chew the inside of your lip. After this, there was no turning back. But, it wasn't as if you could turn the ship around now, either. Not if you wanted to keep your roof or go to college next semester...or live long enough to see tomorrow.

Upon the document line, you sign your name. It's a messy scribble of a signature. But, it'll do.

Frankie takes the application from you moments afterward. The ink hasn't even dried on the paper and he's already folding it into his pocket for safe keeping. The man assures you that this was the best choice you could've made; that you weren't going to regret it so long as you did exactly what you were told and followed the rules. Fear seized your heart again. You tried to ignore it. The deed had already been done. The future depended on you making some peace with it...

Because hell or high water, you were going to be a psychologist!

"Well, now that we got that squirt away, let's talk about your first job. A great one just came in an hour or two ago, perfect for a beginner goon like you," Frankie says, not giving you a second more to ruminate before throwing you into the fire, "It won't be dangerous. Just a simple D-List task. If you ask me, it might as well be free money! You'll be cleaning out a warehouse, you feel me? You're in, you're out. Badda-bing, badda-boom! Easy as mother's pie."

"But, I-"

He talks over you, waving away your words with an imperious flick of his hand, "Don't worry, girly, I won't be sending you in alone. This time. You'll be working with a team of my other employees. All experienced with this kind of job. Just listen to whatever they say and you should be golden. They're my go-to squad. So, you're in excellent hands. Trust me."

Frankie snaps his fingers, calling for Tommy and Benny with a voice that pierces through the bar's ambient noise. You're soon joined by two brolic, rough-looking men who tower over you. Frankie asks them to bring him the 'Halloween crap from last year'. A few minutes later, which feels like a lifetime to you, they return, carrying with them a cardboard box full of gimmick masks. Stuff you would buy at a Spirit Halloween store for twenty bucks. Frankie instructs you to pick out one that you liked. Without giving it thought, your hands plunge into the box and pull out a mask at pure random. You blink when you process what you've chosen.

It's a red axolotl mask.

"Take it. Wear it on the job tonight," Frankie says, explaining the purpose of his gift, "Consider it a part of your uniform from now on, alright?? And congratulations, you're officially hired! Welcome to the family-"

He grins at you. His smile has icy shivers racing down your spine.

"-I think you're gonna fit right in."

#please don't tell #ptd!verse #fearmaiden fics

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virtie333 · 5 months ago

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Back to Night Shift Blogging!

I work night shift the next 4 nights. In fact, on Sunday, I work a double shift, though the first part is only 2 hours. One of my co-workers just graduated from High School, and her church is having a party for new grads on Sunday. Since she is scheduled to work that morning and I am scheduled for that night, she wanted to switch, but I go to church and have brunch with my brother every Sunday morning (and even when I don't, I refuse to give up my Sunday mornings). So, we made an arrangement where I would come in at 11, do reception until we close at 1, go feed Chester lunch and get some lunch of my own, and be back by 3 for the late shift (we are closed from 1 to 4). Since my boss has gotten so touchy on our hours, this will allow me some extra approved time.

The weather is unsettled today. I guess there's a chance for severe weather later, but even now it just feels... raw. I got Chester out this morning after Adoration, so all I had to do was feed him lunch this afternoon, but it wasn't comfortable outside, and it had nothing to do with the wind and clouds. Sometimes I hate being super sensitive to my surroundings.

I'm going to try and write before I head to work!

#liveblogging #personal #work #chester the ottb #weather #sensory sensitivity

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ausetkmt · 9 months ago

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It’s Mardi Gras. Welcome to The King Cake Drive-Thru.

A tire shop parking lot has become a popular destination for those craving the beloved treat. The only problem: Which variety to choose?

By Rick Rojas

Reporting from Metairie, La., and the kitchen of Joyce’s Sweets in Ponchatoula, where he sampled a praline-filled cake fresh from the oven.

Of course Mardi Gras is about boundless revelry: the weeks of balls and the parades that shower the streets of New Orleans with beads. But beneath all that, it is also a period of metamorphosis.

A midwinter Tuesday transforms from the most mundane of days into a festival of frivolity and vice. People shed the cocoons of their regular lives and emerge plumed in feathers and sequins.

And this year, just outside New Orleans, a tire shop that for as long as anyone can remember sold only car parts has become a bustling marketplace offering king cakes, the delicacy of the Carnival season, in just about any conceivable flavor.

All you have to do is drive up.

“Any idea of what you want?” Tiffany Langlinais asked a customer who pulled up on a Friday afternoon.

It is a daunting question at the King Cake Drive-Thru. Flaky or fluffy? Filled with cream cheese? What about strawberries, ice cream, even crawfish — or nothing more than the traditional plastic baby? Cakes from more than a dozen bakeries are on offer.

Others have had the idea to sell king cakes culled from various local bakeries, at one location, like King Cake Hub in the Mid-City neighborhood of New Orleans. But the innovation of the King Cake Drive-Thru, which Ms. Langlinais opened in January with her fiancé, Mike Graves, is the added convenience of accessing that bounty of options without even needing to get out of the car.

The drive-through has drawn nurses headed to morning hospital shifts, parents with cars full of children, tourists on road trips and people with limited mobility or weakened immune systems keeping them from easily browsing bakeries. Even the food writer for the city’s main newspaper, The Times-Picayune, passed through.

“I’m surprised nobody thought of it before you, Mike,” David Scripter told Mr. Graves as he dropped off an order of dozens of cakes from Bittersweet Confections, a bakery started by his wife.

“Sometimes,” Mr. Graves said, “the best ideas are right in front of you.”

The drive-through, which takes over the parking lot of Duckworth Tires in the suburb of Metairie three days a week, often has a line of cars waiting when it opens at 7 a.m., and has sold out its inventory well before 7 p.m., its listed closing time.

King cakes have always been a staple of the Carnival season along the Gulf Coast, a crown of pastry served during a burst of gluttony and good times before the austerity and fish fries of Lent. (King cake season begins on Jan. 6 — known as Twelfth Night, Epiphany or Three Kings Day — and ends with Fat Tuesday, or Feb. 13 this year.)

A king cake, in what many consider its purest form, is a ring of brioche-like dough with a dash of vanilla, a crunchy coating of purple, green and gold sugar and a small trinket known as a fève — usually a plastic baby — baked inside.

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“It’s almost blasphemous to get cream cheese in it,” Pam Carr said the other day as she placed an order a staunch traditionalist never would: a pair of cream cheese and chocolate cakes to share with her co-workers at a warehouse store. “Those are the ones I like!”

King cakes are another front in a familiar New Orleans divide. There are those who believe that adhering to tradition means refusing to budge from how things have always been done, and those who maintain that experimentation and interpretation are not an insult to the past, but a tribute.

“Anyone can put anything in a king cake now,” Bridgett Saylor Meinke said as she surveyed the drive-through’s selection.

She grew up on old-school king cake but has been cautiously open to trying some newfangled varieties, like the bananas foster from Brennan’s (“Absolutely delicious,” was her take) and the strawberry cream cheese from Joe’s Cafe.

“That’s the one I’m on the hunt for today,” she said.

The drive-through’s menu varies some week to week, written on a white board by Ms. Langlinais. The couple buys the cakes from bakeries at a wholesale rate and sells them at a markup, with prices ranging from $17 to about $50 per cake. (They come in a range of sizes, too.)

On a recent weekend, there were plenty of traditional options, as well as the Bavarian cream from Caluda’s, an almond cake from District Donuts, boudin or crawfish varieties from Clesi’s Seafood, and lemon curd and vanilla bean cakes from Paw Paw’s Donuts.

The one with Vietnamese coffee filling from Dough Nguyener’s Bakery sold out quickly, as did the cinnamon cream cheese option from Tartine.

Ms. Langlinais wanted to lure customers with their favorite offerings from well-known spots but also nudge them toward cakes they may not know. Those from Joyce’s Sweets, a bakery in Ponchatoula, almost an hour away, are a prime example.

Joyce Galmon is known for her pralines, but she has made king cakes for 25 years, stuffing them with a filling made from broken pralines she could not sell.

“Miss Joyce has no social media,” Ms. Langlinais said. “You can only call her. She has no website.”

In past years, Ms. Galmon would sell as many as 90 cakes in a season. With the King Cake Drive-Thru, she has sold more than that in a single weekend.

Hers is a labor-intensive process, teasing out the dough, lathering on the praline filling, and then letting the cakes rest and rise for several hours. The result: a gooey, crunchy eruption of cinnamon and sugar.

“It’s got me on my toes,” Ms. Galmon said after delivering a fresh batch to the tire lot. “It was a hobby for me, but they’ve made it bigger.”

For all the excitement the drive-through has caused, it is a simple operation. From the street, it almost looks like a Covid testing site.

“No frills, as you can see,” Ms. Langlinais said, “with our tent and tables and Mike’s van.” She was referring to a raggedy but reliable 2007 Kia Sedona missing its middle seat.

Jimmy Duckworth, the owner of Duckworth Tires, gave them a pretty good deal on rent: a king cake a week. Last week, he got his favorite, the cinnamon cream cheese kind from Tartine.

“I’ve been very lucky in life,” he said. “Give them a break — why not?”

He nodded at Mr. Graves, who was busy helping customers.

“Look at him,” Mr. Duckworth said. “He’s all happy.”

A few years ago, Mr. Graves, 35, had been a lawyer in Manhattan, working in finance. Then he moved to New Orleans and started a novelty ice cream business called Bof Bars. He had no ties to New Orleans — he grew up in Chicago — but now he cannot imagine leaving. He and Ms. Langlinais are planning to get married in March.

Ms. Langlinais, who also owns a marketing business, grew up in a shrimping family in Biloxi, Miss., immersed in the elaborate world of Mardi Gras.

She became something of a king cake connoisseur. She has tried more than 100 varieties. She keeps a spreadsheet with detailed notes. (“Enjoyed the light filling but would want x3 for me to be truly happy,” she wrote of one encounter.)

“I know that it’s not a super refined operation,” Ms. Langlinais, 33, said, “but we want it to feel like us.”

There have been setbacks. One day last month, Mr. Graves woke up at 3 a.m. to find someone had busted a window on the minivan and stolen 100 cakes.

The whole endeavor has been exhausting: The excruciatingly early mornings hustling to collect the cakes at bakeries or rendezvous points in random parking lots. The 12-hour days on their feet at the drive-through. And there have been the urgent after-hours calls and texts.

“My kid didn’t tell me she got the baby!” said one friend desperate for a last-minute cake. (According to tradition, the one who finds the baby is responsible for supplying the next cake.)

The drive-through is usually open on Fridays through Sundays, but customers have asked if the couple would be selling cakes on Fat Tuesday.

Not a chance.

Duckworth Tires will be a tire shop again.

“I’ll be partying,” Mr. Graves said.

#It’s Mardi Gras. Welcome to The King Cake Drive-Thru.#King Cake #New Orleans #Joyce Galmon #Lassiez Le Bontemps Roullier #Mardi Gras #Mardi Gras Food #Mardi Gras Traditions #louisiana #Black Kitchens #Black Food Matters #Let The Good Times Roll

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kazoosandfannypacks · 2 years ago

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"Open to Interpretation" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 9/16: Blue Skin Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: General Word Count: (1.7K/24K) Summary: Emma Swan is appalled at works by modern artist Killian Jones- until a handsome stranger convinces her otherwise- and after introducing himself as the artist in question, he invites her out on a date. As their relationship develops, they find that they might not be as different from each other as originally though. Chapter Summary: Emma talks about Killian with her coworkers. Emma and Killian drive to the graduation the next day Tags: au, fluff, captain swan, modern au Author's notes: n/a Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

Thursday night's shift had gone pretty well for Emma- she was only blatantly objectified by three of the customers at the truck stop, and it was a slow night. She was also particularly proud of herself- she'd managed to pack for her weekend with Killian's family, clean up a little so she wouldn't come back to a messy apartment, and even get the dishes done that morning- and that afternoon she'd finally had the time and motivation to finish the painting she was working on- so she went into work with a sense of accomplishment. On top of all that, her two favorite co-workers were working the same shift as her.

"I still can't believe you're meeting his parents tomorrow," Ruby said, during the lull after their dinner rush.

"I almost don't believe it either," Emma said.

"Don't you think you're moving too fast?" Lily asked.

"I'm going to his step-brother's highschool graduation," Emma said. "It's not like we're getting married and starting a new life in Oklahoma or something cliché like that."

Lily shook her head, "I just want you to take care of yourself, Em. You're just getting off a rough breakup, and…."

"And what?"

"All I'm saying is," Lily said, "you've been running from one bad relationship right into another since we were seventeen."

"This is different," Emma said, "Killian's a really great guy."

"Okay," Ruby said, "besides the fact that he's a professional artist and, in your own words, 'equal parts emotional and intellectual' and 'hotter than Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribbean,' what exactly makes him different from the last one?"

Emma rolled her eyes, but she still smiled at the thought of the great catch she'd landed.

"For one, he actually has a soul," Emma said, "and he appreciates my music taste."

"That's what you said two exes ago," Lily said.

"Okay," Emma said, and leaned a little closer so no one else around would overhear, "but when all he got from me was a good night kiss, he took 'no' for an answer, and didn't push me any further."

"Really?" Ruby asked, both herself and Lily seeming a bit taken aback.

"I can't say that about any of the last ones," Emma said.

"Or half our customers, for that matter." Ruby rolled her eyes as a trucker across the room whistled for her. She grabbed a nearby pot of coffee and brought it to him for a refill.

"Okay, so he's got that going for him," Lily said, "just watch yourself."

"I will," Emma said.

After all, she'd always been good at that.

Fourteen hours later, Emma and Killian were driving down backroads, blasting country music on the radio and singing along.

"You really don't have to do this," Killian said.

"What, sing along to the radio?" Emma asked.

"No, love," he said, "you don't have to come to this with me."

"I want to," Emma said, "I like getting to know you."

"You may not like it so much after today," Killian said, "though now that I think about it, it's hardly fair."

"What?" Emma asked.

"On our last date I revealed much about myself," he said, "but I've still yet to learn much at all about the mystery that is Emma Swan."

"Oh?" Emma looked at him, "what's there to know?"

"Everything," he said, "where did you grow up? What do you do for a living? What do you do for fun?"

"Do I tell him I grew up in the system?" Emma thought, "and I work at a truck stop? And do I tell the greatest artist I've ever met that I paint too and risk the shame of showing my art to him?"

"I moved around a lot as a kid," Emma said, "I'm a waitress, and when I'm not doing that- or finding a date at the art museum- I hang out with friends sometimes, I guess."

"A waitress?" Killian asked, "what restaurant?"

"I'd be hard pressed to call it that," Emma rolled her eyes and sighed.

"More of a dive than a diner or a drive in?"

"Try truck stop," Emma said, instantly regretting her words.

"Truck stop?" he asked, "that's pretty cool."

"Cool?" Emma asked. There was nothing cool about being a waitress at a truck stop.

"Truckers are important people," Killian said, "they spend days away from their families so other families can go to the store and buy groceries."

"Spoken like someone who's never met a trucker," Emma said.

He didn't respond, and instead he glanced over at her, a split second's eye contact as he said, "My older brother was a trucker."

Emma shrunk down in her seat, knowing what had happened to his brother and how deeply he respected him.

"I'm so sorry, Killian," she said, "I…."

"No, that's alright," Killian laughed, "he didn't hold the other truckers in high esteem either."

"I don't blame him," Emma said.

She didn't want to talk any more about the truck stop, and Killian seemed to notice, switching the conversation to something else.

"So, you moved around a lot as a kid?"

"Yeah," Emma shrugged, unsure how to bring this topic up either.

"Did your dad travel a lot for work or something?"

"Which one?" she rolled her eyes.

He turned to look at her, a bit confused, hoping for further explanation.

Emma leaned closer to him and spoke quieter, despite the fact that they were the only ones around.

"I grew up in the foster system," she said.

He turned back to her again, this time smiling a little.

"Small world after all," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"My younger brother, Liam," Killian shook his head, "my step mom adopted him out of the foster system before she met my dad."

"Really?" Emma asked.

"Yeah. Do you honestly think I'd lie to you about something that important?" Killian asked.

"I don't know," Emma teased, "are you the kind of person who'd 'forget' to tell me you painted the art we're debating, or who'd 'forget' to mention you're promoting the benefit dinner you're taking me to?"

"That's hardly the same thing, Swan," he said.

"I know," Emma smiled, "and I do appreciate you sharing that."

Her workplace and her family- or, her lack of the latter- were two of the things she was most scared to admit to- and if Killian could accept them so casually, maybe he'd be just as accepting of any other skeletons in her closet.

Killian turned the radio off.

"Hey, Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember at the banquet when you said I can talk about what happened when I'm ready?"

She turned back to look at him, to make sure he was still serious.

"About your late wife?"

"I think I'm ready to talk now," he said, "if you want to listen."

"Of course," Emma said.

He sighed, "I guess there's not too much to tell," he shrugged, "other than everything."

Emma put a hand on his arm and smiled. He looked down at her, gave half a serious chuckle, then smiled sadly.

"Milah and I were highschool sweethearts," he began, his smile shifting to a happy one as he recalled the memories, "just two kids whose parents said we'd never make it. Her parents didn't think an art major could support her, and my dad, well, he didn't think anything I did was good enough. But we proved them all wrong.

"Shortly after I graduated from art school, Milah and I got married. We didn't have much, but we had each other, and I was the happiest I've ever been."

He glanced over at Emma, and she nodded for him to continue.

"Her diagnosis came out of the blue," he said, "she'd been showing a few symptoms, but assured me it was no big deal. It was just a routine check-up. And then my world shattered again."

"Again?"

"When I lost my mother, I still had my brother, Lee. When I lost Lee, I still had Milah. When I lost Milah," he shook his head, "I lost everything. The only family I had left was my dad, who had a shiny new family of his own. My friends were few, and far between- all I had left was my art, and I lost myself in it. I painted more in that first year without her than I ever had in my life."

Emma nodded, unsure what to even say to all that.

"As you might've figured, that's why the benefit dinner last week mattered so much to me," he said, "at risk of sounding self righteous, a lot of the commission I earn for most of my art goes to the Humbert fund, working to end that terrible disease. I'd go as far as to say I'd give my own life if it meant ridding this world of endocarditis."

Emma tried to put herself in Killian's shoes for a moment, tried to consider the pain of losing everything, taken unfairly from you in just a moment.

"How do you even live after that?" Emma thought. She'd had her fair share of breakups, but she'd never lost someone she loved who actually loved her in return.

"Those paintings," Emma said, "Sad Song, Grief. You painted them that year."

"You're quite perceptive," he bit his lip.

"I'm so sorry about all that you went through," Emma said.

"It's alright," he shook his head, "I wouldn't be where I am in my career if I hadn't lost her. Still, I'd trade everything I've done for one more moment with her."

Emma nodded, and they both sat in silence a moment longer. She let go of his arm and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you for sharing that," Emma said.

"Thank you for listening."

Emma let go of his shoulder and slumped back in her seat. He'd just been so vulnerable with her- he let her see clear through to his heart.

"What was that poem you quoted at the museum?" Emma asked.

"Masks?" Killian asked.

"That's the one."

"'She had blue skin, and so did he." Killian said, "He kept it hid, and so did she. They searched for blue their whole lives through- then passed right by…" he paused to look at Emma, "and never knew.' Why were you asking?"

"I think you just took off your mask," Emma said, shaking her head, "and you're not the only one with blue skin."

#captain swan #once upon a time #killian jones #emma swan #ouat #cs ff #cs fanfiction #cs au #once upon a time season 6 #lily ouat #ruby lucas #kazzy writes open to interpretation

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defiantlords · 2 years ago

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Wiping sweat and grime from a morning at the electrical plant, Mako stepped out into the noon heat. He had been working from before sunrise until the early afternoon for the last few weeks, so getting out early was a rarity. Constantly bending had him absolutely wiped and his stomach had been practically roaring for the last hour. While Mako would have loved to return home to wash off in the arena's showers, he couldn't help jump at the opportunity given. Ha-won would also be ending her shift at the tea shop soon and he knew for sure she would be just as hungry.

Even though his body protested, Mako started up a light jog along the sidewalk. Running through Republic City was nothing new for him and the tea shop wasn't far. Furthermore, other employees were also getting off work or taking their own lunch. He could see a group already approaching a preferred food stall. Naturally, they were too slow and Mako arrived first even as a new sheet of sweat crossed his brow.

“Hey there, Iha,” Mako addressed the middle aged woman as she looked at him with a cocked eye.

“You're early.” He agreed. The food stall was fuller than when he typically arrived. “Look to be in a rush too. What can I get you?” Mako wasn't the only one. A line was already forming right behind him.

Browsing the selection, Mako had to avoid drooling liker his brother did over a bowl of noodles. “Two cups of sesame-dried sticks, four skewers of komodo sausage, and six spicy bean cakes. Wouldn't have any cherry-berry lemonade, would you?” Mako was hopeful on the last bit, but she had been out last time.

Laughing gently as Iha prepared the food in an earthen pot, she asked, “Bolin back home starving, huh? Sorry, but just have the watermelon juice like last time.” If Bolin was starving, even everything Mako ordered wouldn't be enough. Instead, Mako just gave a light chuckle as he handed over his yuans for the food and drinks.

From there, he continued his stroll at a more leisurely pace. The tea shop was only a few streets ahead and he had no intention of dropping the meal. By the time he neared the curtained door, the last of the patrons had already departed. Mako peeked his head through the entrance and found Ha-won. Her co-worker was finishing sweeping the last of carried in dust or dirt. Discarding his shoes at the front door to avoid carrying in more grime, Mako quietly walked up to the studying Ha-won.

If she was already off her feet, that meant her manager had since left. A little bit of privacy and shade indoors was much preferred than sitting outside in the sun. Besides, whatever mess they made could be quickly cleaned up before locking the doors. As such, Mako set down the clay pot full of their food with a grin on his face. She had some of the shop's sweets left over in front of her, but he knew she could eat more than that.

#enchantedcastle #high house flare #mako and ha-won

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timeoverload · 7 months ago

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I tried writing last night but I was way too tired and pissed off to do that. I didn't even want to eat dinner last night. I was angry yesterday about a lot of things.

I got to work and the morning team lead was there but he got sent home again by the health nurse. It's good that he left because he sounded horrible. I should have went in early but I was told that he was going to be there so it wasn't necessary. I had to scramble to finish opening decontam and get my stuff set up. My boss was in the department for a little while but then she disappeared when my other co-worker came in. She was not helpful at all while she was there either. I do care about my boss but I am very irritated with her right now. She told me she was going to take instruments down for sharpening and she had to go see how things were going in the basement. She said she wasn't going to be gone very long but she lied. I didn't see her again for hours. She disappears all the time and usually she doesn't communicate. She just tells us to call her if we need something but we still can't always rely on her to show up or do what she says she will do. One of the girls that works in sterile processing in the basement came up to ask if she could have a couple biological packs and some controls. She had been waiting on our boss to bring her some but she didn't hear anything for hours so she came to talk to me. Apparently the boss told her she was going to go help upstairs while she told me that she was going to be in the basement. I was so pissed because she lied to both of us and we were both drowning. I understand that she can't be everywhere at once but she was probably somewhere chatting with someone and drinking coffee because that's usually what she's doing when we can't find her. It wouldn't have been such a big deal if she hadn't told both of us that she was going to help us and then do nothing. I told her how many cases I had and she didn't really care whether I got breakfast or not. She had brought scotcheroos for my other co-workers birthday and she basically said that I would have to eat those if I got hungry. She didn't use those exact words but I think it's fucked up that she couldn't cover for me for 15 minutes so I could go eat. It was nice of her to bring some sweets but I just wanted some real food because I haven't been able to eat breakfast since Monday. She was the only person there that could help me and she knew that. Around noon she came in and asked if I wanted to eat lunch and of course I said yes. She asked my co-worker who comes in at noon to cover for me so that was helpful I guess. I was so hangry all morning. I was so hungry that I bought a sandwich even though I hate their sandwiches. My boss also changed the decontam shift schedule and she put herself in there from 11-12:30 but she didn't come back to the department until noon. My co-worker had been in decontam for 3 hours at that point because she didn't show up to relieve him and I felt bad for him. He was pissed when she finally popped her head through the window to ask him if he wanted her to come back there. He said he didn't want her back there and someone else came in to take over. She shouldn't have put herself on the schedule if she knew she wasn't going to be able to do it. I know she has been sick for a while and it sucks. I do feel bad for her and I want her to be healthy. I really think it's time for her to retire though. I don't think she can handle it anymore and I can tell her heart isn't in it because she used to be very passionate. She doesn't care like she used to. She has definitely changed a lot in 8 years. My whole morning was very chaotic yesterday. I got 23 pans done by myself before noon. They also opened a lot of other sets. It was a lot of work. I was wishing that I could clone myself. I feel like a robot because I do the same shit over and over again. I didn't cry but I wanted to. The afternoon was a little better because I didn't have to move as fast but the last case didn't get done until 4. I had so much stuff to do at the end of the day but I managed to get it done before 5 so that's good.

I left work feeling disgusted and nauseated due to all of the negative energy around me all day. I just wish that I felt like I could fit in. Some people are just so cold and unfriendly. I'm tired of people giving me dirty looks. I have never felt like I belonged there. It is a nightmare and I'm stressed out. I never thought I could develop PTSD from a job and I think it will haunt me even after I leave. I don't want to think about it anymore because I don't want to dwell on it all weekend. I had nightmares about it last night. I'm definitely not looking forward to next week.

I still feel like trash today and I am having horrible cramps too. I managed to get out of bed and get a couple groceries this morning so at least I have something to eat. I don't want to get up now and it sucks because I have so much shit to do. I slept a lot last night but I am still tired. I guess I woke up several times in a panic so that probably didn't help. I think I need to take a nap sometime and maybe I will feel better. I am very happy to be at home and I need to try to enjoy my day.

I hope everyone else is having a good day so far. :) 💖💖💖

#personal

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eating-fires · 3 years ago

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emergency

Dabi x Fem!Reader

♡ Rating: 18+ ♡ Word count: 4.5k ✎Summary: He’d expressly written to only call him if there was an emergency. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t specify what kind of emergency was viable. ✎Prompt: none. ⚠ Content: implied smut, body dysmorphia (brief), Y/N is a bartender, Y/N has a vampiric quirk, blood sucking. ♬Music: This acoustic cover of “Bad Habits” goes along quite nicely.

⚠ Minors DNI please ⚠

Paper crinkled between your fingers. A simply written letter, words hastily scrawled that are half-scratched out and difficult to decipher; numerous attempts to write something of substance before the writer finally settled on “sorry I’m a coward”.

And even with Dabi’s claims that he was a coward, he’d still etched his number onto the page. You could barely make out a scribbled “call me if there’s an emergency”.

There was nothing between the two of you. He wasn’t yours. You weren’t his. Dabi lived a life on the wild side, and while you only dipped your toes into the vast inky water of villainy he was submerged up to his chest.

He kept going deeper, dark water creeping into his veins and staining his body more than the scars on his skin ever could.

It had been your witty banter, you think. Dabi had come to frequent the place you worked, a little cafe that turned into a bar in the later hours. Usually you worked the afternoon shift, preferring to spend your nights focusing on yourself, putting hours into your hobby, and then sleeping in the next morning before work. It was the simple joys for you, during the simpler times.

He’d met you during a rare graveyard shift that you had agreed to. A full-figured woman like you, wearing clothes that hugged those curves was a sight the darker patrons had apparently always wanted to see.

Mostly villains at this time of day. You kept yourself relegated behind the bar, unless on the odd occasion that one of your co-workers needed you. You’d been affectionately nicknamed ‘Mama Bull’ because you would storm over to physically force the offending party away. Dabi had walked in, trailed by someone else from the League of Villains - not that you had known who they were - and his striking eyes caught yours.

Witty banter, after you had told another man at the bar to clear his seat and fuck off before you did it for him. He’d been getting handsy with one of your shier co-workers, and you wouldn’t stand for that. When he arrogantly refused to move, you spat in his face and bared your teeth, snarling, “my bar, my rules. Get out.”

Dabi had grabbed the man by the back of his collar and yanked him forcefully out of his seat. Blue fire danced over his broad shoulders, startling more people away from the bar, and sending the dog on the floor running with his tail between his legs.

“Hey big boy,” you’d greeted when he sat down, azure eyes gazing evenly at you.

“Hey big girl.”

You’d laughed, and he’d smiled, “didn’t know they had class around here.”

“You’d know all about class, wouldn’t you?” you’d leaned against the bar, taking a moment to come down from the rush of confrontation.

“You think so, baby girl?”

“I think a lot of things,” you purred, pushing away from the bar, fingers dancing over the glasses at your disposal, “no one ever sits down to listen though.”

“Busy night for talking,” he mused, eyes flicking to all the people sitting at the bar. Some were slowly growing agitated, but no one wanted to run the risk of setting Dabi off at the time; and at the time, you hadn’t known who he was either.

“Good thing too, because I could bore you with how much I talk. A drink for your name?”

“And for a name?” that’s what he had asked. You eyed him suspiciously. There had been expectation in his features, like you were supposed to know who he was the night you’d met him.

“I guess I could do that,” you agreed, nonchalantly preparing other drinks for other people. You were prized for your efficiency. By the time you’d finished serving everyone else you already had a shot of whiskey for this fiery stranger.

“Call me D.”

“Big D, or Little D?”

He’d laughed, loud and raspy and tipped his drink to you.

“Maybe you’ll find out sometime,” he’d joked after the amber liquid had slipped into his mouth, “then you can decide from there.”

At the time, you hadn’t thought he was serious. You’d brushed off the subtle flirt, and the evening had proceeded from there.

Presently, you slid to the floor, staring at the piece of paper. It was raining outside, pattering against the window, casting the room in a gloomy hue of gray-blue. You noticed the edges of the note were singed. He singed things when it wasn’t something he wanted to do, whether it be leaving in the morning, or answering his phone. On more than one occasion you had sat yourself on his lap to stop him from setting something on fire, because the only thing he didn’t want to singe was you.

It hurt too much to think about how things currently were, with him having disappeared sometime last night, so you shut your eyes tight and returned to your memories of the first time you had met him, and the subsequent meetings afterward that had led to whatever it was that you both had, and didn’t have.

“What about a pretty drink for a pretty boy?” you had teased as patrons dwindled, dancing a mixer along your shoulders before catching it in your hand and popping it apart to pour out the drink. A little dash of vodka topped it off, and you held it out for him, “light ‘em up, hot shot.”

He had been enjoying himself, making a show of flicking up his middle finger, a lone blue flame dancing at the tip. He touched it to the alcohol before blowing it out. You’d tipped your head at him, smirking.

“Thanks, wildfire. This’ll keep me warm all night~”

You blew it out, tapped it down, and threw it back.

Ever since then, you had started to come in for night shifts more frequently: one week on, one week off. Dabi learned your schedule rather quickly, and for every night you were there, so was he. You had been quick to learn that he liked the sound of your voice, especially when you got excited about whatever it was you were showing him on your phone, usually the latest project you were working on. You had begun to get so much more done too, because Dabi always asked you for updates. Anything to keep you talking.

He had surprised you when one night he came in, during the last call. He hadn’t wanted anything, just stood menacingly at the end of the bar, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes stood out vibrantly beneath the shadow his hair cast over them; beneath the shadow he stood in, only half of him lit by one of the brilliant bar lights. Your co-manager had asked you to go home early after the tips were divvied up. You had realized very quickly it was because Dabi - who again, you had only ever known as “Big D” at this point - was making your co-manager nervous, and you were the only one who he seemed to really like.

“Scary tonight, Big D,” you’d said. His eyes traced slowly over your form, and you’d narrowed your eyes at him; unusual. He wasn’t really acting like himself, but he followed you out of the building nonetheless.

For most of the walk, you had done the talking, and he had done the listening. You had led him up the stairway to your apartment. Not upscale, not downscale, but nestled nicely in the middle. Safe for the most part. Out of the way of hero and villain blow ups. Not high class enough to cause a scene, and not low class enough that villains could get away with more violent crimes. Comfortably in mediocrity.

“You don’t seem to care that I know where you live.”

You had shrugged, and instead of opening your door you had turned around to lean against it, “are you implying you’re gonna’ come back, D?”

“Maybe.”

“Hm,” and this had been where you had let your guard down, just enough to let him see the perpetual exhaustion you felt, “and maybe I would like that.”

So he had startled you for once when he braced one hand against the door, just above your head, and leaned down. His fiery gaze was intense, and you had to look askance. You had focused on the space behind him instead, in the open hall-way of this particular apartment complex.

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

You’d scoffed, giving him an incredulous look, “am I supposed to?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the news,” though his eyes had narrowed at you.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what a TV is,” you had said dryly.

All he had done was hum - but then he had stayed. Like he was waiting for you to open the door, and while you were confident in the bar, confident with how you carried yourself, and unafraid of confrontation, here where you would be considered alone with him your confidence wavered.

“Maybe it wasn’t obvious,” you’d continued talking to mask your growing anxiousness, “but I don’t really care for the news. Unless it happens directly to me, I don’t have much energy to spare on compassion or sympathy for others.”

His smile at the time should have been unsettling. You had ignored it in favor of continuing to ramble. Perhaps Dabi had known at the time that you had found him attractive. The shaggy cut of his black hair somehow perfectly framed his face. Smooth skin contrasted so beautifully with his purple scarring that at times it had been all you could do not to reach out and touch him. His distinct smell was something that had brought you to relax on more stressful nights: smoke, mint, and metal.

And yet on this night, this particular, ill-fated night, you could smell a hint of sandalwood. Mixed with the rest of him, it reminded you of a campfire.

Comforting.

Your eyes had finally taken the moment to drink in the sight of him: clean clothes that fit him well enough to show off some of his shape but were loose enough to not pull at the piercings that decorated his body. Some necklaces that couldn’t have been cheap when it came to having the quirk he had. Rings decorated his fingers; those couldn’t have been cheap either. The same boots he always wore, but they fit with what he was going for.

You remembered clearly how your eyes had widened, how your cheeks had burned, how your heart had started pounding and how butterflies erupted in your belly when you realized that he’d been waiting for you. That he wanted something.

The way you had looked at him, really looked at him that night was all he had needed. Long, warm fingers had curled around your chin, mismatched lips sending shivers down your spine when he’d leaned in and kissed you. You’d been frozen at the time, eyes shut tight. You were both experienced, and inexperienced. You had never let anyone close enough to actually share your bed, but you had always been told you were a good kisser.

“Dabi,” he’d whispered the name into your mouth, letting it slip between the seam of your lips. His mouth was warm. His tongue was warm.

He was warm.

Your trembling fingers had slid into his hair as he had pressed himself closer to you. The night air coiled around your bodies.

His name slipped from you on quick breaths - and yours, from his. So foreign. So strange. You had felt him straining his hips into you, sending a current of unexpected heat to your core. You’d pressed your hands to his collar and pushed him back.

You had been afraid.

“It doesn’t bother you?” the question had left you before you could stop it. He’d been confused when you looked up at him, and so you felt the need to elaborate as you gestured to yourself, “my body. It doesn’t bother you?”

Dabi had scoffed in offense, and that little tiny wall that you were desperately trying to build for fear that he would be disgusted by what disgusted you every time you looked in the mirror, he had gestured to himself and asked, “it doesn’t bother you?”

You had decided that was a fair assessment. You had decided that your view of yourself didn’t matter as much as his view of you. You had pressed your keys into his hand and let him open the door, and he had wasted no time in shoving you up against the nearest wall before the door had a chance to swing shut behind him. His wiry limbs were deceptive in their strength.

Strong enough to pick you up. Strong enough to carry your weight.

After that he had been a frequent presence in your bed. Sometimes for his comfort. Sometimes for yours. Sometimes for both of you.

A couple months later - as you recalled, because you were still sitting on the floor of your suddenly overbearingly lonely apartment, staring blindly up at the ceiling - that had been the first time you’d used your quirk on him. End of your shift at the bar, taking home an almost empty bottle of vodka. A bottle that you’d swung without thinking across the back of a villain. You hadn’t been used to seeing Dabi on the receiving end of violence before. You’d acted out of instinct to protect him.

Presently, you barely managed a laugh, tracing your tongue over sharp canines. Perfect for tearing through flesh, and even bone if it was necessary.

At that time, Dabi hadn’t let you kill anyone. You baring your teeth and releasing a low, open-mouthed hiss bought him the two seconds he needed to ignite the people that had been attacking him. That was the first time Dabi had smelled so haunting. The touch of his hand had been hot enough that you had thought he was burning you as you raced with him through the alleys to get away from his attackers.

You’d never told him about your quirk, even when he had asked. The sight of him bleeding against your table had almost been too much. He’d noted how you breathed through your mouth, like a panting dog. You had made him sit at your table, and stunned him when you raked a sharp tooth over your wrist. Just a little, that’s all he would need.

“Drink up,” you’d told him, holding your wrist out for him. He’d stared at you like you were crazy. So you’d scowled, brought your wrist to your mouth and took a long sip. Then you’d fisted your hand tightly in his hair, pulled his head back, and smothered his mouth with yours. Dabi had tried to resist, body tense, wrapping a hand around your neck. You’d reached up to stroke your fingers along his throat until he finally swallowed. You’d felt him grimace at the taste.

“My blood heals,” you’d muttered against his lips. He’d made a sound.

“Coulda’ told me that, baby girl.”

You’d laughed, and supposed you could have. After an hour of cuddling on your couch, he’d refused to let you move until you told him the rest of the ins and outs of your quirk. Sanguisuge: a vampiric quirk. If you had gone through proper training, you would have been able to do a great deal more with it than you could do now.

That night had been the most you had ever heard him talk. His natural curiosity had him asking so, so many questions: could you turn into a bat? Could you turn into mist? Would you dissolve in running water? What else could your blood do? Could you manipulate it? Were you immune to the sun or could you go outside in it?

You’d answered him as best you could: yes, yes, no, only heal, no, yes and yes. You had a vampiric quirk, you weren’t literally a vampire.

“Did you want to suck my blood?” he’d finally asked. You’d laughed nervously, turning your head to the side, running your tongue anxiously over your lips. “That’s why you’d been breathing through your mouth, right, princess~?”

For the next three weeks after that, Dabi had intentionally exposed his neck to you, and not only when the two of you were alone. The throb of his pulse had made your teeth ache on all occasions. You’d finally given in when he’d enticed you to go to a bar with him, an impromptu date as he had called it. You’d shoved him up against the wall in a dark corner, sinking your teeth into his neck. He’d thrust his hand into your hair, long fingers coiling in your locks, little gasps brushing your ear.

Your name falling unbidden and desperate from his lips, a foreign tone for a man like him.

You’d brought a fierce blush to his unscarred skin when purple-blue flames danced beneath the palm you slid up his chest.

“You didn’t tell me that would happen,” Dabi had whispered, his breath hitching as you let your hand dance lower; down his chest, down his stomach, along the jut of his hip bone. You’d smiled at him.

“I don’t kiss and tell, D.”

The months had dragged on. You were more aware of what the League was all about now, having forced yourself to look into things. You cared about Dabi and more than anything, you desperately wanted to keep him safe.

And in the realm of his safety, you did a damn good job at keeping him safe on your own. Many nights you had laid together with him, sharing in his warmth, skin to skin while he smoked a cigarette and you drew love over his skin, listening to the steady beat of his heart. You had told him that he could just stay with you, and he had told you that he couldn’t abandon the League, or his desires.

“And that means you won’t abandon me, doesn’t it?”

He’d looked at you quizzically, and you’d laughed softly, pushing yourself up on your arms to press a line of kisses from his forehead to his lips.

“Because I’m one of your desires, D.”

“That you are, princess,” he’d said it on a half-laugh, a smirk spreading over his lips as he tangled his fingers in your hair, “that you are.”

A few weeks later, Dabi had tried.

He’d been especially rough that night, searing his hands into your thighs. Pressing you into the bed, sinking his teeth into your neck - you’d returned the favor, biting him back, drawing a moan from his lips as his body stuttered against you. Every part of you had fluttered around him, your arms pulling him close, legs hooked over his hips.

Like him, you were deceptively strong. You could tell at that time that he had been withdrawing, but you weren’t going to let him.

“Talk to me,” you had said, holding him fiercely to you after your bodies had been spent, “I know when something’s bothering you, Dabi.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, princess.”

“Liar,” you pressed your lips to his cheek, “liar, liar, pants on fire.”

At the time, it had drawn a snort of laughter out of him. He’d relaxed against you. Silence was a comfortable blanket coupled with your soft breaths.

“This is dangerous. I’m dangerous - to you, to me, to everything around me,” he admitted, “I should stop this. Whatever this is.”

“Dabi, giving up on his desires?” you gasped mockingly, “outrageous!!”

His fingers dug into your sides, and he finally looked at you. You could see the fear in his expression. Real fear. Dabi truly worried about your well-being, and what knowing him could mean for you.

“You don’t give up,” you had told him, cupping his face in your hands.

“I don’t.”

“So don’t give up.”

“I won’t.”

But here you were. Sitting alone on the floor of your apartment, numb and lonely as reality came rushing back to you. A desire that Dabi had chosen to abandon.

There was a lot of truth in the saying that every time you slept with someone, you gave them a piece of yourself. The only comfort you took in that was that for every piece of yourself you had given to Dabi, he had given a piece of himself to you.

For now, you let yourself accept it. There was no real emergency. You called your co-manager and told them that you needed to take the day to yourself, and that they should put you back on the afternoon shift while they were at it.

If you went in at night now, you’d be expecting Dabi. You didn’t want to expect him, and while you had come to enjoy the entertainment that came with the night shift regardless of Dabi’s presence, you would miss him. You knew yourself well enough to know that you needed to give yourself a little time to process that Dabi had decided to give up.

But after a week, you had enough. No more wallowing in whatever self-pity you had relegated yourself to. You weren’t pleased to admit that you had shed a few tears over a man that had made you feel like you finally meant something to someone.

Heavy steps led you storming to your room.

“You don’t get to run away from me,” you hissed to no one, grabbing your phone off the bedside table. For all the time that you and Dabi had spent together, you had never once exchanged numbers. It was too dangerous for you - and you had understood that.

You understood why he was giving you his number now: so that if you were in danger, or if there was an emergency as he had not so clearly written on his note a week ago, you could call him, and he could come rescue you. Maybe it was a ditch attempt of his to prop himself up as some kind of hero.

Dabi didn’t need to be a hero for you.

He didn’t need to be anything for you.

You put the number in your phone and hit dial, determination making your brows narrow in a way that anyone else would consider fury.

Dabi answered after the second ring, as if knowing it was you.

“Yeah?” he was walking down a hall, away from other voices.

“Hey,” you greeted, and immediately your throat tried to close up as tears fought bitterly to fall from your eyes. You kept your voice as level as you could, aggravated that your body would decide that now of all times was a great time to consider crying again, “this is an emergency.”

“What’s wrong, princess?” Dabi’s voice was a feeble whisper. He was somewhere he shouldn’t be talking to you. As much as he claimed he was a coward, here he was, taking risks.

Because it was you.

“You see, my heart’s been broken,” you began, and it was easier to say than greeting him had been, “and the only person who can fix it decided he was gonna’ leave me all by myself.”

“Don’t, don’t…”

You were unrelenting, even as tears slid down your cheeks and your voice wavered, “and the other problem is, he’s also the one that broke it.”

“C’mon, princess, don’t do this to me--” he rasped, “don’t fucking do this to me.”

Part of you wanted to be snarky. You wanted to snap back, point out to him that he couldn’t hide behind his mask of indifference or anger anymore, and especially not when it came to you. Because you knew him better than he wanted you to.

You took a steadying breath instead, brushing at your cheeks as you regained your composure:

“Could you come back and fix it?”

The silence on his end was broken by voices calling out to him - and then by the sound of his movement again as his quick footfalls implied that he still desired you enough to listen to the rest of what you had to say. You heard him open a door, and close it. The shift of fabric informed you he’d slid down the door.

“It’s okay if you’re a coward. I’m a coward too. I’m not asking you to come back right this second, because I know that’s not feasible. I know you’re busy, and that’s fine,” you took another shuddering breath, “but don’t run away from me. Don’t give up on us, even if all us ends up being is best friends who occasionally give each other orgasms.”

“Fine,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “you win. You fucking win, princess.”

“I didn’t realize we were playing a game,” you laughed wetly, having expected him to put up more of a fight about it than that, “I’m just being me.”

“But you know what you’re askin’ right, baby? You know what you’re askin’?”

“For you to come home, yes - at least every now and then. To let me take care of your hurts, because my quirk does a good job at that.”

“Goddamn it.”

“You don’t get to run away from me, Dabi. Coward or not. Dabi doesn’t abandon his desires,” you paused, “neither do I.”

“Stop using my own fucking words against me,” he growled, but you could hear the chuckle under it.

“Then stop giving me words to use against you,” you retorted, smiling, “now, go finish doing whatever it is that nasty villains like you get up to in your spare time.”

“After all this time, and you’re still gonna’ tell me you don’t know?”

“I mean I know you get up in me during some of your spare time, so there is that.”

“Fuck you,” he rasped. A door creaked. You could hear the heavy footfalls as he went on his way back to where he had been before you called him.

“I’ll be waiting.”

You left the conversation there.

Four days passed, Friday bleeding into Saturday. Clouds hung low in the sky, gray and plump with rain. You stared out over the city from your balcony, cup of coconut water in your hand.

There was an unexpected rap at your door. You narrowed your eyes at it, because very few people had your address… couldn’t be. Your feet led you to the door after you slide the one to your balcony shut.

You’d barely gotten it open before you were overwhelmed by Dabi’s familiar scent. He’d enveloped you completely in his arms, pulling you flush against him. You wrapped your arms tightly around him mere seconds later; picked him up, and made him chuckle endlessly as you spun on your heels and carried him down the hall.

You lay into him after flopping onto the bed with him, eager to do nothing more than savor his warmth.

“Were you waiting long?” he muttered, dancing his fingers along your spine. You nuzzled your nose against his neck if only to hear his breath shudder in anticipation. Your fangs ached to sink into his skin.

“I was waiting so long,” you sighed dramatically, “how dare you.”

Dabi’s hand crept into your hair, pressing your mouth against his neck, “missed this. Missed you.”

“And yet you still tried to run away from me.”

“Can’t blame me for getting cold feet, can you?” a cute whine escaped him as you grazed your canines along his pulse, “please, princess?”

You sunk your teeth into his neck, savoring his strangled gasp.

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #dabi #mha #bnha #I'm really bad at tags okay idk what i'm doing HAHAHA #i think i can put this under my blushing tag tho so #BLUSHING #or maybe i should change that to #tw: BLUSHING #so people know it's kinda smutty #YEAH OKAY #Bloody YN

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leossmoonn · 4 years ago

Text

One Day at A Time

masterlist

pairing - lip gallagher x fem!reader

type - angst, fluff

note / request - “Hi, I love your Shameless imagines! And I was wondering if you could write something for Lip Gallagher x Reader having a baby and struggling with their new life ❤️” alright so i named the baby fred bc thats lip’s baby’s name already lol also you and lip live in the house that lip wanted to buy for tammy. enjoy!

summary - you and lip struggle to raise a baby and survive

warning / includes - language, fighting, alcohol, smoking, but fluffy ending

————

*gif isn’t mine*

“Lip!” You shouted.

Your boyfriend ran into the room frantically. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to get me more baby wipes. Freddy took a big shit,” you instructed.

Lip nodded, going to the table where you kept the baby wipes. He gave you the whole packet only for you to yell at him.

“Hand me them! I have to hold Freddy down so we doesn’t roll off,” you said.

“Sorry, Jesus,” Lip muttered, handing you baby wipes each time you put your hand out.

You successfully cleaned your baby’s bottom and but on a new, fresh diaper. You picked Freddy and went downstairs with him. You set Freddy down in his high-chair, going over to the cabinet to get Freddy’s baby food.

“Are you um, are you going into work today?” Lip asked.

“Yeah, are you?” You asked.

“Yeah, I am,” Lip said.

You frowned, turning around and putting a hand on your hip. “You can’t. Someone has to watch Freddy.”

“Debbie can watch Freddy,” Lip said.

You scoffed, “She's never here. And before you say V and Kev, they’ve already helped us enough the past few months. They’re busy with their own kids.”

“Well, I need to go into work. We need the money,” Lip said.

“Yeah, and I need to go to work or I’m gonna get fired!” You exclaimed. You began feeding Freddy, your mood lightening a little once you saw the little guy’s face.

“What about working tomorrow? I thought that was our schedule,” Lip asked.

“It was, but one, I’m well overdue on maternity leave and two, my boss doesn’t care about my personal life. She doesn’t care that we are struggling to raise a child,” you explained.

Lip opened his mouth to suggest something, but nothing came out. He looked at you helplessly.

“Here, why don’t you work for a few hours and I’ll watch Freddy in the morning, then you come back home at lunch and I’ll go and work for the afternoon,” you said.

Lip nodded. “Yeah, that works.”

“Alright, good,” you said. You turned your attention back to the baby, feeding him the rest of his breakfast. Meanwhile, Lip went to shower and get ready to go to work. He came downstairs, coming over to bid you and Freddy goodbye.

“I’ll see you later. I love you,” Lip said, giving you a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

Even though you were mad at him earlier, you melted into his arms immediately. You hugged him back tightly, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

“Hm, I love you, too,” you said, breathing in his scent.

Lip couldn’t help but smile at your actions. He pulled away after a few moments, walking over to Freddy.

“I love you, too, buddy,” Lip cooed, kissing Freddy on the cheek, making the baby giggle.

You smiled at the scene, enjoying seeing Lip interact with Freddy.

“Bye,” Lip called out before leaving.

“Bye!” You exclaimed, watching him leave.

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the fridge. You looked at Freddy, who was clapping his hands on his high-chair table. You laughed a little.

“You’re so silly,” you said, going over to him and picking him up.

“Do you want to go to the store with me?” You talked to Freddy, bouncing him up and down while walking across the room.

Freddy make a little squeak and you smiled. “Yeah, I know you want go to the store with me. I’m gonna shower and get ready, you stay in the crib, okay? I’ll be out in 10 minutes,” you said, going up to the nursery and setting Freddy down gently.

You went into the bathroom, taking a quick shower and brushing your teeth. You went back in your room and got dressed into a pair of mom jeans, a dark-purple, buttoned-up shirt and put a grey sweater over it, taking the collar of your shirt and folding it on the collar of your sweater. You then returned to Freddy’s room. You saw him on his back, sucking in his thumb. You smiled and picked him up, quietly going down the stairs. You set him in his high-chair again, getting your coat, purse, and your shoes. You also got Freddy’s little coat and hat to keep him warm in the cold winter of Chicago.

You went out to your car, buckling Freddy into his carseat. You then went to the supermarket, putting Freddy in the front of the cart. You picked out fruit, vegetables, and salad mix. You got 2 gallons of milk, new coffee creamer, and cereal. You bought a few warm-up dinner packs and hamburger meat, going to the freezer isle and getting ice cream. You then went to the snack isle.

“What should we get, Freddy?” You asked, looking at the pop tarts.

Freddy pointed to the birthday cake-flavoured pop tarts.

“Good choice, baby,” you smiled, grabbing the pop tarts. You then grabbed a few packs of chips and gum, going over to check out.

“Cute baby,” the girl at the register said.

You looked up from putting the groceries on the table. You looked at her name tag and smiled.

“Thank you, Stacy,” you said. “How old is he?” Stacy asked.

“Almost 2 months,” you said.

“Awe, so cute. I just found out I’m pregnant,” Stacy said.

“Oh, really. Congrats,” you smiled. “Yeah, my boyfriend and I are happy,” Stacy smiled, putting her hand on her stomach.

She rang your groceries up. “It’ll be $103.98.”

You nodded and took your card out and a few coupons you and Lip had collected in the past month.

“Alright, with these coupons, your total is $80.56,” Stacey said.

“Great,” you smiled. You paid with your card, gathering the grocery bags.

“Have a good day!” Stacy smiled.

“Thank you, you too. Congrats again with the baby,” you gave her a kind smile.

She thanked you as you walked out. You loaded the groceries into the car and put Freddy back in his carseat. You then drove back home, putting away the groceries while Freddy watched you in his high-chair.

“Are you tired, baby? I’m tired,” you yawned. Freddy yawned right after you, making you chuckle.

“Why don’t you take a nap and let Mommy clean the house, okay? It’s a fucking mess,” you muttered the curse words, looking around the house. Clothes and toys were everywhere. Plates were stacked in the sink and on the coffee table. The house needed to be vacuumed and wiped down very badly

You put Freddy down in his crib, turning on the baby monitor. You changed into a tank top and shorts and put your hair in a ponytail, going back downstairs to clean.

You started with the dishes, washing and drying them off, putting them back in their cupboards. You then wiped down the kitchen counter, stove top, kitchen table, and coffee table. Next you decided to clean up all of the baby stuff that was on the floor. You put Freddy’s toys in the play bins you and Lip had bought and put Freddy’s clothes in the washing machine. You then vacuumed the living room carpet and swept the kitchen tiles, making yourself another cup of coffee. You were done in an hour and a half, taking a look at your work, smiling in satisfaction. Your house hadn’t been this clean since you and Lip had bought it.

It was lunch time and you knew Lip would be coming home soon. You decided to make you and him lunch. You made chilli and salad, knowing that it would last you two for a few days. You changed back into your work uniform before grabbing yourself a bowl and sitting down, eating your lunch quickly before you had to go to work.

15 minutes later, Lip had walked through the door. You got up to greet him.

“Hey, babe. This smells good, what did you make?” Lip asked. “Chilli and salad for lunch. You can have some,” you said.

“Ah, nice,” Lip said. He gave you a kiss on the cheek, going over to the kitchen. You frowned. He usually wasn’t this detached.

“How was work?” You asked.

“Good,” Lip said, grabbing himself a bowl of chilli. “How was your day?”

“Good,” you said. “ I um… I cleaned the house and got groceries.”

“Oh, nice,” Lip said, sitting down.

"Are you okay?” You asked.

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” Lip said.

“Um, okay,” you said. “Well, Freddy is upstairs taking a nap. He’s been asleep for about two hours, so he will probably wake up soon. The baby monitor is here. When he wakes up can you give him a bath? He’s a little stinky.”

“Sure,” Lip nodded.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out why he was acting so off.

“I gotta go to work. I'll see you later, okay?” You said.

“Okay. Have fun,” Lip said.

You slammed the front door shut and walked to your car, letting out a long sigh. You wanted to ask why Lip was acting so distant, but you knew you had to go to work. You worked as a waitress at a local diner. You had been working there for the past 3 years. You hoped to be moving jobs to what you really wanted to do, which was cosmetics, but having a baby set you back a little. You were so thankful for Freddy, though, you didn’t regret having him one bit. It just sucked a lot. But you were good at your job. you were friendly to customers and co-workers, got the most tips, and never played around. You were your boss’s best waitress, despite you always having to change your shifts.

You worked from 1 pm to 9, going back home tired, but happy you at least got a shift in. You drove home, looking forward to seeing Lip and Freddy, but once you got in the door, your excitement immediately diminished.

Freddy was in his play pen and the person who was watching him wasn’t Lip. It was Carl.

“Um, hey, Carl,” you frowned, setting your coat in the closet.

Carl turned to you, a nervous smile on his face. “Hey, Y/n. How’re you?”

“Good, thanks. Where is Lip?” You asked, putting your hands on your hips.

“He went out,” Carl answered.

“To where?” You asked, your temper rising. “Um…. to the Alibi,” Carl said nervously.

Your eyes blew wide. “What?! He went to the Alibi and left you to take care of our baby? No offense, Carl.”

“None taken,” Carl shrugged.

“I…” you started to say. You put your fingers on your temples, rubbing in circles to try and ease the headache you were beginning to have. You were able to calm down a little.

“Thank you for taking care of Freddy,” you said to Carl.

“No problem. I love the little guy,” Carl smiled.

You smiled back, grabbing your purse. “Here, let me pay you for watching him.”

“I would usually say yes to money, but I’ll say no this time. I like spending time with Freddy, he's my nephew, I like watching him,” Carl shrugged.

“Are you sure?” You asked, holding a 20 dollar bill.

“Yeah, I am,” Carl smiled kindly.

“Alright. Thank you. I’m going to find Lip. Do you mind staying until I come back?” You asked.

“Nope. Can I have some of the chilli?” Carl asked.

“Yeah, of course. Do you know how to change diapers and feed Freddy?” You asked.

“Yeah, of course. I took care of Liam and Franny for Debbie sometimes,” Carl said.

“Right, of course,” you chuckled. “Thanks, again. I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” Carl waved.

You didn’t bother grabbing your coat, rushing out of the house to find Lip. You drove to the Alibi, parking haphazardly. You went in, anger surging through you as you saw Lip smoking and drinking his liver and lungs out. He was talking with Kermit and Tommy.

“Lip!” You screamed, the whole room turning going quiet.

“Oh, hey, Y/n!” Kev smiled.

“Hey, Kev. Can I see Lip for a second?” You asked, clenching your jaw.

Lip looked at you, his eyes dropping. “Hey, baby.” He walked up to you, a stoned smile on his face.

You grabbed his hand, yanking him out to the alley behind the Alibi.

“What's up?” Lip asked.

“You! That’s what’s up!” You exclaimed.

“What do you mean?” Lip asked.

“You fucking left Freddy alone!” You shouted. “I left him with Carl. He’s fine,” Lip shrugged.

“Yeah, but you didn’t call me to say you were going to leave Freddy!”

Lip glared at you. “I don’t need to call you. He’s my son.”

“He’s my son, too! I’m his mother. I need to know who he is with! What if Carl brought over Kelly and they started having sex on the couch where Freddy could see, huh? I don’t fucking want that!”

Lip chuckled. “They wouldn’t do that. Carl and Kelly are broken up or whatever.”

You groaned. “That’s not the point! I’m tired and super stressed out. You could have let me know!”

“I’m tired and stressed out, too!” Lip exclaimed.

“Oh, yeah, I bet you are. Getting fucking drunk and stoned,” you laughed sourly.

“I’m not drunk, I had 2 sips of beer, and I worked!” Lip exclaimed.

“Yeah? Well I worked, too! I worked until 9 at night. I should be home by then! And I was the one who cleaned the house and did the dishes and got the groceries, which by the way, you are fucking welcome!” You shouted.

“I never asked you to do that,” Lip said.

“i know, but I did it because we needed it. All I wanted was a thank you!” “Well I was tired and hungry when I got home,” Lip shrugged.

You glared at him, tears clouding your vision. “You’re so full of shit, Lip. So full of fucking shit!” You screamed, pushing him back. He stumbled backwards and hit the brick wall gently.

“What the fuck, Y/n?!” Lip yelled.

“Don’t do that! You don’t have the right to question me!” You screamed back.

Lip opened his mouth to yell back, but Veronica and Kevin came out.

“Hey, you two stop it!” Veronica yelled.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Kevin asked.

“She is yelling at me!” Lip pointed to you.

“Yeah, cause you’re a fucking asshole!” You screamed, your voice hoarse and tears running down your face.

“Oh, no,” Veronica muttered. She went over to you, wrapping her arms around you gently. “Let’s go inside and get you some tea, okay?”

You started to sob, leaning in to Veronica. Lip looked at you, his heart breaking at the sight of you so upset.

“Kev, you take Lip home and get him cleaned up, okay? Make sure Freddy is fed and changed and put to bed, too,” Veronica instructed.

Kevin nodded, putting his arm around Lip and went to Lip’s car. Veronica walked you inside, taking you to the back of the bar. She got you a beer and a hot cup of tea, placing them in front of you.

“T-Thanks,” you sniffled.

“Talk to me, baby,” Veronica said, sitting down next to you.

“Lip left Freddy home alone with Carl. I’ve been so busy and tired today. I cleaned the whole house, got the groceries. I worked for fucking 8 hours. I just wanted a little ‘thank you’ from Lip. That’s all I wanted,” you cried. “God, I’m such a fucking crybaby.”

Veronica put her hand on your arm comfortingly. “No, honey, you’re not. I understand, don’t worry, and Lip should, too. Maybe you should calm down a little and then go back home and talk to him. Really talk, no shouting and pushing.”

You took a big sip of your beer and nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”

Veronica smiled. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“No, I’m fine,” you said.

“You sure? We have some chocolate chip cookies,” Veronica smiled.

“Hm, okay. I'll have a few,” you smiled.

“Great!” Veronica squealed. She went away for a few moments, coming back with a container full of cookies.

You sat and talked with Veronica for two hours. You soon were about to pass out and decided to drive you and Veronica home since Kevin had taken their car.

“Thanks for the fun night, V,” you smiled at Veronica as you dropped her back to her house.

“No problem! Drive home safe! Call if you need anything,” Veronica said.

“Will do,” you said and drove back home, which was thankfully only 5 minutes away.

You got home, going in and seeing the living room empty. You took off your shoes, groaning in relief as your heels had been aching the whole day. You trudged up the stairs and into your bedroom. You heard the shower going but didn’t bother to go and see Lip.

You changed out of your work clothes and into a pair of shorts and a tank top. You put your hair in a messy bun, flinging yourself on your bed.

Lip came into the room with Freddy a few moments later. You noticed his presence.

“What?” You snapped.

“I just… do you want Freddy and I to lay down with you?” Lip asked.

You looked to them, seeing Freddy smiling at you. You couldn’t help but smile back. “Sure.”

You scooted over, Lip setting Freddy down next to you and climbing into bed with you. You gave Freddy a big kiss.

“Hi, baby. I’ve missed you,” you cooed.

Freddy chortled, clapping his hands. You giggled with the baby, ignoring Lip until he spoke.

“So uh… how was your day?” Lip asked nervously.

“Fine. How was yours?” You asked, not looking at him.

“Mine was uh… good,” Lip said.

“Good,” you said shortly.

There was an awkward silence between you two before Lip spoke again.

“I wanted to apologise for my actions today,” Lip started to say.

This was the first time you felt like looking at him. You stared in his blue eyes, waiting for his apology.

“I’m sorry about ignoring the work you did around the house and I’m sorry for not letting you know I was having Carl take care of Freddy. And I’m sorry for going to the Alibi and getting stoned. I really appreciate you cleaning the house. It really needed to be cleaned and to keep it clean, I promise to try and not leave dishes out and pick up Freddy’s toys,” Lip said.

You smiled at his apology, scooting up on the bed so you could put your forehead on his without crushing Freddy.

“Thank you. And the house being messy isn’t totally your fault. I need to learn to clean up after myself more, too,” you said.

Lip chuckled, “That’s something we can both work on then.”

“Totally,” you smiled.

“I’m also sorry for yelling at you at the Alibi. I’ve just been so stressed with work and Freddy. I’ve never had to take care of a baby that was my own before. I’ve always had help from Fiona and Ian,” Lip said.

You put your hand on his cheek. “I know, baby. This is all new for me, too. And I’m sorry for yelling at you, too, you didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s alright. I kinda did,” Lip chuckled.

You rolled your eyes with a smile “Well anyways, we’ll get through this together, okay? I love you. So, so, so much. And I love Freddy, probably a little too much,” you joked. “Let’s just take this one day at a time okay?”

Lip nodded and pressed his lips against yours softly. You kissed him back before pulling away, making sure Freddy was okay.

Lip smiled. “I love you, too, you know.”

You looked back up to Lip with a big smile. “Yeah, I know.”

————

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#lip gallagher #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher imagine #lip gallagher x fem reader #lip gallagher fluff #lip gallagher angst #shameless #shameless x reader

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andysbubba · 3 years ago

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Loving you

Andy Barber x Gender neutral (?) reader

-> the one where you’re tired of andy’s igorance towards himself

Note: Angst diffusing into fluff, the typical andy-kitchen scene i used in my candlelight loving fic— except there’s no smut, ++ feedbacks welcomed as always! and reblogs and likes are more than appreciated <33

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Andy, baby. Will you please take a break?” You exasperatedly sigh when you see Andy still hovering over his desk in his study after the fifth time you told him to take some time to rest.

“I know, I know. Just a little more, honey. I’ll join you in bed in a bit, okay?” He only looked up at you for barely a second to reply before his eyes were back on the stacks of case studies and folders on his desk.

Truth be told, you were completely done with his bullshit.

You huff in frustration, rolling your eyes the slightest bit and muttering to yourself as you distanced yourself from Andy’s home office with full annoyance. “Fucking lawyers.”

Andy’s been fully hung up on work ever since one of his co-workers took a vacation off work just last week. Meaning that his already-extensive workload just got an upgrade. Also meaning that he’d drag his workload home and continue working his ass off in his study. Which really- there’s nothing wrong with your boyfriend being all diligent and assiduous.

But it really doesn’t seem all that glorifying when you’re the one having to deal with all his crap. You could’ve probably list down all the times he put fucking paperwork above you, and the list would probably have been as long as Article 1.

Unbeknownst to you, Andy caught onto what you said right before you left his study. He felt guilty, alright. All he’s done is to be a complete work-addict while you’re out there being the best lover one can ever ask for. And all he wants to do is to chase after you and apologize and stay in bed and order in pizza with you. But the never ending workload on his desk was the one thing keeping him away from having you all snug in his chest.

He shakes his head, eyes glancing back down at his work. He was beyond exhausted, the pot of coffee you made him and the hope that the earlier he wraps his work up, the earlier he can shower you with all the love you deserved, was his only motivation to keep reading though the files and trying to get as much work done.

You groggily rubbed your eyes as you tried to feel around the sheets for Andy. And honestly? You weren’t even surprised that he wasn’t there. It was 7 in the morning, and it was too early for Andy to be up if he actually went to sleep last night. You could only assume that he never even went to bed, no matter how much you wished otherwise.

You head out to his study, the door’s still opened as it was yesterday and the faint noise of keyboard clicking tells you that Andy’s still working inside.

“Babe?” You knocked on the wooden door, trying to get his attention.

Andy’s hunched in his seat, eyes switching between his laptop and the files from time to time as he typed. He glances up at you, just a little surprised.

“Did you get some sleep, honey?” You asked, even though you knew you’d only receive the answer you dreaded so much.

He glances at the digital clock on the wall, only realising that it’s been 6 hours since you last came in to check on him. He scratches the back of his neck as he shook his head and mentally cursed himself. “I—”

He considered lying, but he already felt as bad for leaving you to sleep alone the whole night and breaking his promise on joining you in bed. And knowing you, you’d probably see right through his lies anyway.

You sigh, shaking your head and disappointedly rubbing your face. “I swear to god, Andrew—” You turned away before you could allow yourself to get even more pissed at him. Which most probably would’ve been impossible.

Caffeine. God— caffeine sounds fucking amazing right now.

Andy’s beyond guilty. So much more than what he felt yesterday. And his heart burns when he sees you so disappointed and pissed at him. The kind of pain where it feels like it’s being crushed and squashed.

He didn’t even realise that he went a whole night of work without sleep. Nor did he realise the time. Or that he forgot to keep his promise to join you in bed. Or the fact that he never paid attention to you for more than 5 minutes in the last 10 hours. Or that he didn’t join you for dinner. Or— okay, the list is long alright. And Andy knows he’s hurt you- the one person who’s patient enough to deal with him and the one person he loves above anything else in the goddamn world.

He ditched his laptop and stood up. Stretching his legs and working out the kinks in his muscles.

Andy trailed behind your footsteps, leaving his study for the first time in almost a day. It really took you to be angry at him just to get him out of the study. Andy knows his sorry isn’t enough. And you truly deserved every right to be pissed at him.

You were sorting your morning tea out when he came into the kitchen. Andy couldn’t help but smile fondly at you- or rather, your back really. For goodness sake, Andy’s head over heels in love with you. With every inch of you from head to toe. It is truly indescribable.

He steps up behind you, arms wrapping around your shoulders, and his chin resting on the tiny area joining your shoulder and your neck.

“Hi, baby,” He pressed a soft kiss on where his chin was before.

He wasn’t surprised that you stayed silent and continued doing your own thing. He knows damn well he deserves the silent treatment, alright.

“Honey,” He trails off as his thumbs rubbed circles on both sides of your shoulder. “Talk to me please, baby.”

You let out a heavy sigh, unwilling to turn and look at him, but you knew stirring tea wasn’t enough to occupy the next 3 minutes of your life, let alone the next few hours.

Andy turns you around by your shoulders, one hand shifting your mug to the side so he doesn’t accidentally mess up more and end up spilling hot tea all over you. He picks you up by your sides and sets you down softly on the counter.

His head was around your chest level now. As much as Andy wanted to bury his head in your chest and stay there forever, he knows he has to say something because you definitely won’t say it first. He takes your hands in his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing your knuckles, his pretty blue eyes staring up at you the whole time.

One look and you know he’s sorry. His watery eyes bring you to that conclusion.

“I’m sorry, honey.” He sighs, guiltily holding your palm up to the side of his face. “I know I hurt you. I was just so focused on the case that I didn’t even realise I hurt you, baby. You deserve all the right to be mad at me and ignore me and- fuck. I really messed up, Y/n.”

Andy shakes his head, “I just thought that if I wrapped up all my work, I’d have more time with you.” He chuckles humourlessly. “I know what I did was wrong, baby. You gave me more than enough chances yesterday but I messed up every one and I left you.”

He glances into your eyes desperately, his hand gripping onto your palm on his cheek tightly. You know it’s a silent plea for you to respond and do that thing he loves about your touch.

You find yourself surrendering to his silent plea, and your thumb brushed the side of his face. Soft and repeatedly. The comfort it brought Andy was beyond words. He leaned into your palm, seeking more of your touch.

“You’ve been nothing but understanding and caring and I just kept on taking advantage of that.” Andy was grateful he had someone as amazing as you. “ I’m so sorry I hurt you, honey. I know I j- just completely left you alone— and shit, you don’t deserve that, my love.” The crack in his voice broke your resolve.

You breathed deeply, bringing your other palm up to the other side of his face. “Baby, you really don’t get it, do you?” You paused, searching his eyes before realising that Andy didn’t truly understand why you were upset in the first place. “Andy, everytime I came up to check on you— that was for you. I wanted you to get some rest, honey. You looked exhausted every single time I came in, and I hated that you just ignored your own health.”

“You skipped dinner, bub.” Your hands shifts down to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. “All this overworking and sleepless nights— I just wish you’d take care of yourself more, Andy.”

Andy sighs, hands shifting down to your hips and he leans in, burying his head in the middle of your chest.

You felt his lips moving against your his shirt as he murmured. “I know, ‘m sorry.” Andy inhaled deeply, your natural, comforting scent piercing through his nose. “I missed you, bubba,”

You run a hand through his hair. “I missed you too, love.” You lean down and kissed the top of his head. “You wanna go wash up or get some rest while I heat up yesterday’s dinner?”

“Wanna stay just like this.” He mumbled into the fabric of your his shirt.

You laughed heartily, “Go nap on the couch, Barbie.” He pulls away from your chest. “Or at least, please go brush your teeth. I’ll fix up somethin’ for you.”

“And sleep with me after?” He arched a brow, and you took the time to scan over Andy’s face. He looks so fucking exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes and the barely noticeable strands of gray hair among the luscious black is a simple message that he was stressed. And god, you wanted nothing more than to take care of him and make sure he’s all healthy and— lord.

“Anything you want, baby. As long as you don’t step foot in the study till tomorrow afternoon.” You pressed your forehead against his, lips touching into an easy kiss.

You were both exhausted— Andy with his lack of sleep and you having to worry over him almost every 45 minutes. You both needed the rest. And some time together where it’s just the two of you and no one else exists.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #cevans #cevans x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers angst #steve rogers smut #andy barber #andy barber angst #andy barber fluff #andy barber x reader #andy barber x male reader #chris evans x male reader #gay andy barber

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yuzukult · 3 years ago

Text

adore you. || lc & reader

title: adore you pairing: lee chan x reader genre: fluff (eugh, what a challenge) word count: 2.9k warnings: disgustingly cute or whatever idk, otherwise no real warnings :) maybe a bit of profanity thrown here and there! prompt: he explains how these pale orange asiatic lilies can represent new beginnings. a/n: two fics in the span of two days? crazy. you wildin’. anyways, enjoy. :) also, i am using another line from the dialogue prompt event for @/ficscafe, #12. "what are you hiding from me?"

If it’s one thing that Chan hates, it’s being called in at the last minute to work a shift at the flower shop that he’s a part-timer at.

Not to mention, it’s Mother’s Day.

Beige apron wrapped around his frame, he stuffs in another receipt for an order that’s printed at the register. There have been so many pre-made orders that were sent in from online, and the fact that it wasn’t properly staffed here in the first place, on (he repeats multiple times) Mother’s Day, has him appalled.

Did they really think that only three people could handle the rush of Mother’s Day? It’s like… the number one holiday for flowers. Moms love flowers.

Nonetheless, he finds himself stuck here. Grabbing the materials needed for the next customized request, and handing it over to his boss so that she can take care of the aesthetics from there. She trims the stems, pulls out the unappealing petals, and ties them gingerly with a lovely cute bow that matches the shades of the flowers. They’re pretty, he concedes, despite the amount of times he gets pricked by the thorns and has these little scabs on his fingers as a result of it.

“Chan!” One of his co-workers hollers out, and his head jolts to the direction of the sound. “There’s a customer, can you help her out?”

He groans internally. He’s already got four receipts in the stomach pocket of his apron, and he has to help out a customer?

Shuffling through the aisles of buckets and baskets of pre-wrapped flowers, he practically has to drag his feet through the crowds of people because if it hasn’t been abundantly clear, Lee Chan very much does not want to be working on a Saturday, especially on Mother’s Day, when he could be making his mom breakfast in the morning then hanging out with his friends in the afternoon.

“Hey, welcome to le marchand de fleurs—” Chan pauses in the midst of his sentence.

Who was that?

You have dark, long locks that cascade over your shoulders, cheeks gorgeously bright like you’ve been kissed by the sun, and the soft smile that tugs on the corners of your mouth nearly sucked out all the air out of his lungs. In just a plain pair of blue jeans and a white tee, Chan doesn’t know how he’d act if you got dolled up because he’s already swooning from the mere sight of you in casual attire.

“Hi, uh, I’m actually looking for flowers for my mom,” you say, adjusting the straps of your backpack on your shoulders. “Kind of last minute, sorry, I know you guys are swamped. I wasn’t even sure if there was anything left here but—it seems like you guys have at least some things left.”

“I-Uh, yeah, yeah, we uh, we have quite a selection. Do you know what you had in mind?” Chan mentally slaps himself across the face. Is that how we talk to a pretty girl now? Because if so, Chan is starting to believe why he doesn’t have a girlfriend. He knows he sounds like a regular flower shop employee, but he should at least exhibit at least a tiny bit of charm.

You shake your head in response. “Honestly, not really. I’ve never uh… bought my mom flowers before, oddly enough. I’d always given her something handmade—” Is Chan levitating? He feels like he’s on cloud nine. You’re crafty, he takes a note of, and he loves that you give your mom something that’s made by you and not something thrown together at the last second (ironically you’re here buying her flowers at the last minute). “—but my throw blanket is taking a lot longer than anticipated. So… here we are.”

“Right,” he grins, attempting to mimic your smile but he can’t replicate how saccharine it is. “How about I show you a couple of options?”

Chan hates admitting it, especially in front of his friends, but he’s sort of a corny romantic. He loves like a high school romance, one where your heart races, even skipping a beat just at a slight hand brush, or even getting caught staring dreamily at your crush.

And well, he’s… sort of going through that with you.

He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, no, that’s so unrealistic. Chan is a romantic, not an impractical person. But uh, he’s believing in immediate crushes because he can’t find a reason why his chest is tightening at the mere sight of your soft smile and pretty lashes brushing against the smoothness of your cheeks. “What do you recommend?” You ask, and he’s surprised he doesn’t trip over the hose on the ground.

Spoke too soon, he does.

He regains himself quickly, laughing awkwardly when he fixes his stance. “Sorry.”

He’s cute. And the way he tries playing off that he nearly just pummeled on his face only makes him more adorable. “Chan, what do people normally get for their moms?”

Chan pauses, appalled that you even know his name. Clearing his throat, he rubs his nape with a tilt of his head. “How’d you know that's the name that I go by?”

You obviously point to the nametag pinned to the pocket of his shirt. It’s a rectangular plastic with his name engraved, but nonetheless the letters are written in bold out for you.

“Right,” he laughs uncomfortably, realizing how awkward he’s being. But he can’t help that you look so pretty and it’s only been the first encounter. “Roses? Can’t go wrong with roses, right?”

“Mm,” you hum lowly in thought. “Truthfully, after what happened at my graduation… can’t say either I or my mom is a fan of roses.”

Chan raises a brow in curiosity. “What? Why is that?”

“Something involving tripping, thorns, heels and grass. Don’t want to get into the logistics of it.”

God, you’re even funny too. Sure, that wasn’t a joke that has him cackling to the point that he’s on the floor, holding onto his stomach while trying to catch his breath, but you knew how to get a chuckle out of him and he likes that. You’ve got a sense of humor.

Your mom doesn’t like roses, he learns just from a brief conversation with you, but he also picks up that you don’t live with her either when you mention how you have to travel a bit in order to get to her, because you don’t want the flower to wilt.

After some discussion, Chan stops in his tracks. He’s been talking to you for the past ten minutes now, trying to gather enough information on what kind of flowers your mom likes (while at the same time, getting bits of pieces on you) and he’s come to a conclusion.

Sheepishly rubbing his neck, he steals a quick glimpse at you then back onto the rows of flowers. “How about we customize it? And build a bouquet of flowers for your mom ourselves.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you suck in your cheeks momentarily in thought. “But… Chan, it’s Mother’s Day. The place is packed. Half the flowers are gone. Do you even have time to help me?”

He wants to say ‘yeah. I’m supposed to be helping other customers. But you’re so cute—I want to spend as much time with you while I can before I do something stupid and miss my shot.’ But he wasn’t gonna say that. Not after a first meeting. That’s way too soon… right?

“Uh. Yeah. I could squeeze some time. Let’s go to the work station.”

Chan is skilled in his job, despite it being a part-time gig, he has a knack for arranging flowers. He chooses a couple strands of peach roses, because you mention how you’re thankful for your mom being there when you needed; peach roses stand for gratitude, genuinity of feelings, and sincerity. It’s to show sympathy for those who are family members and friends, especially. “I know that you guys don’t like it for the thorns but—” Chan pulls out scissors and snips all the pointed edges before displaying it in your view proudly. Then there are the soft orange asiatic lilies that he grabs from a bucket that sits beside the wooden work table; “marriage and purity” is what Chan says, but it doesn’t have to be romantic. Your mom just purchased a new home and retired, you add, and he explains how these pale orange asiatic lilies can represent new beginnings while white stocks are conveyed as having a happy life.

“There’s still some room,” you mention, unsure if the bouquet is supposed to look so… spaced out.

But Chan doesn’t make you feel dumb, he’s good at teaching and elaborating on things while being patient. He gifts you a smile, warm like a nice mug of brewed tea, while sneaking a glance at you over his shoulder. “Truthfully, not all flowers have a meaning. Sometimes, like a dish at a restaurant, you garnish. We can add a couple mini carnations that match the peach of the rose,” he snips the stems of the plant before slipping it into the glass vase, maneuvering some here and there, “... and there’s the pitta negra,” which only looks like green leaves but somehow when he puts them in, it’s slowly being put together. “Oh, dusty millers are good too.”

“Dusty… millers?” You query, tilting your head to the side in confusion.

“Yeah, dusty millers…” he snatches them from one of the bins. “They’re green but sort of ‘dusted’ white. It’ll help transition the peach to the green of the pitta negra.”

Watching attentively, you can’t help but notice the way his nose crinkles and brows furrowed in concentration as he adjusts the bouquet around, taking some out, adding some in, cutting the length of the stems to match the others’ heights—he’s so adept at arranging the flowers, you were truly thoroughly impressed. His fingers work briskly, fam i’m iliar with the work and comfortable in his shoes, and when he pauses, steps back and observes his project, he reaches for some type of succulent. “What’s that for?”

“Succulents don’t actually have a meaning, but they add some variety. Plus, you could use it and say that your mom is like a succulent—full of strength and persistence.”

You snort. He sounds like a walking dictionary, but when he talks about flowers so passionately, you can’t help but admire him. Resembling those strawberry hard candies you’d get on Valentine’s Day during grade school, he’s sweet. There’s even that same feeling of nostalgia; heart palpitating, hands sweaty and mouth dry, body full of nerves because you’re about to drop off those little cutouts you get from supermarkets for Valentine’s Day to pass out to your classmates. There’s always a specific one little square that has a message a bit more heartfelt than the rest, and that’s the one you’d give Chan.

When he walks you to the checkout counter, you find yourself fiddling with the material of your wallet in between your fingers. You wanna ask him out, ask him for his number, or maybe if he goes to school and maybe you guys could catch up and grab coffee sometime.

But what you don’t know is that Chan has been trying to give himself a pep talk in his head for the past ten minutes.

It’s not succeeding, he has to admit, because his hands are shaky as he’s tapping in the total for the bouquet. He even remembers to put an employee discount for you (because maybe, just maybe, you’ll notice him in other ways than only a flower shop worker).

When he completes the purchase, you take back your card and slide it into the slot of your wallet before giving a brief wave, muttering a quiet ‘thanks’ and practically jolting out the door.

Fuck, Chan thinks to himself. It was probably creepy that he gave her his discount… right? She might think he’s some creeper, trying to hit on her when she wasn’t even showing any signs of interest. But nonetheless, he should’ve at least said something, at least try asking if the two of you could exchange texts.

Chan sighs, raking his fingers through his hair as another customer comes to the counter. He’s accepting his fate—he simply has no game.

“Do you think she notices me?”

“No,” you state calmly, stuffing another fry into your mouth. “She already forgot I have a brother and doesn’t remember your name. And she’s one of my good friends. That should say a lot.”

Mingyu pouts, shoulders dropped with his back slouched in the booth of the diner. He’s decided to take you out for dinner, something about “being a good brother” but you already know his motive. He’s got this fat crush on one of your friends, someone closer to his age than your own, and definitely not similar to him at all. She’s colder than a block of ice. “... Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Well,” he begins, getting up from his seat. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’m going to shoot my shot when I come out, so don’t be surprised if I take a bit. Gotta clean up.” When he leaves, you grimace at your sibling as he grins cheekily, excited for his mission but you pause when you spot him.

The pretty boy that helped you at the florists.

“Oh! Chan!”

“Oh, h-hey!” He’s stuttering, nearly tripping over his own untied laces. Chan thinks he’s been caught red-handed, watching you the entire time from his seat (and he was, there’s no denying that). “You’re the uh—”

“The one from the flower shop on Mother’s Day. Held you against your will to help me arrange a bouquet for my mom, and even pressured you into giving me a discount,” you grin cheekily. In all honesty, it’s nice seeing him again, especially since the first time, he made you so nervous that you got cold feet and couldn’t gather enough courage to ask him for his number. “It’s… It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” he replies, mirroring the brightness of your smile onto his because something about your happiness is contagious, and he loves being around you despite only meeting you a second time. Chan has his hands in the front pocket of his trousers, hiding the sweatiness of his palms, and swallows all his anxiety before speaking again. “Don’t worry about the whole discount thing. I did that willingly. How was… How were the flowers? Did your mom enjoy them?”

Straightening your posture eagerly, you nod. “Yeah! In fact, my mom liked it so much, my brother last minute wanted to split it with me. So we said it was from the two of us.”

“O-Oh, wow, that’s flattering,” he says bashfully with heat rushing through his cheeks. “Did uh… did your boyfriend get something for your mom too?”

You furrow your brows. “I’m sorry?”

“Your uh, your boyfriend,” he reiterates, this time even more embarrassed because you didn’t hear him. Chan gestures to the direction that Mingyu walks to. “The one that was here just now.”

You blink blankly. “Right. That’s why I said that. He’s my brother.”

Chan chokes on his saliva. “I’m sorry—what?”

Glancing over at Mingyu who walks out, wiping his wet hands on the fabric of his jeans, he shakes his shoulders before approaching the bar counter, taking in a deep breath. He looks… tense; pushing his hair back and clearing his throat, he leans his forearms against the resin top, putting on the prettiest smile on his face.

“That’s my brother. We actually came here for dinner because he’s got a crush on the waitress here,” reaching for your strawberry milkshake, you take a quick sip as Chan observes your brother get the jitters, laughing incessantly uncontrollably and the girl who only stares at him strangely. “She’s actually my friend but… he’s had a crush on her for some time. So he brings me around in hopes that she’d at least turn his way because I’m here.”

“So…” he turns back to look at you. “You’re… you’re not in a relationship?”

Pursing up your lips, you shake your head ‘no.’ He nods, bouncing his head like this is interesting information, but he’s definitely holding something back. Leaning back against your seat, you stare at Chan cautiously. “What are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing,” he says dubiously, and you narrow your eyes at the boy.

“Tell me!”

He figures that this is his chance, since he lost it the first time you bolt out the store, so he pushes down all the feelings of nerves and finally spits it out. “I just… I guess what I was going to say was… does that mean I can ask you out on a date?”

It’s your turn to feel the heat lingering around your face, despite the coldness of the milkshake entering your system. You regret not asking for his number that day, retreating with the bouquet faster than the Flash, because he just seemed so out of your league with his cute coconut hair, handsome face, and pretty smile. And normally, you’d be quick to come up with an excuse why you can’t go out with him, but something about Chan is comforting, so it doesn’t take you long to say ‘yes.’

#caratwritersclub #ficscafe #ficscafe dpe #dino fanfic #chan fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #chan x reader #dino x reader #seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #gyukultfics #idk what to tag anymore #goodbye

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