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alwaysmychoices · 4 years

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So, I wrote a HC that was pretty angsty and messy about what would have happened if Ethan and MC started dating after Miami. I still think that would have happened, but I started wondering, “what would I have written if I was writing a cute HC about that?” Next thing I knew, it was 2 am and I was writing this on my phone from my bed.

So, here are all the cuter details about what I think would have happened if they started dating in Book 1.

Ethan & MC Dating after Miami - Cute Moments HC 💖

When Ethan and MC started a relationship in Miami, neither of them had any idea how hard those first six months would be. Between the fights and miscommunications, they were just trying to get to know each other while their personal lives went to hell.

There were breakups, makeups, passive aggressions, avoidance, and even a few rounds of silent treatments.

But there was a reason they always came back. Because, late at night, when they mulled over their loss, it wasn’t the bad things that they thought of - it was the good, the pure, and the four letter word on the tip of their tongue that brought them back to each other’s doorstep time and time again.

Because, when they were good, they were amazing.

Ethan loved to send MC flowers.

Before MC, he had never been the kind of man who sent flowers. They were messy, impermanent, and hard to enjoy when you spent all your time at work.

But one time, MC said she mentioned that she liked buying flowers because they allowed her to enjoy a piece of nature, even when she spent her whole day inside the hospital.

The first time he sent them, Ethan had made a real ass out of himself. He said something stupid at dinner, which lead to a fight. He had already worked it out with MC, and though she assured him it was alright, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to do something to prove that he wasn’t such a jerk. On impulse, he ordered 2 dozen roses to be sent to her apartment.

When she got home to her roommates crowding around the prettiest rose bouquet she had ever seen, it didn’t even cross her mind that it could be for her - not until Elijah supplied the card addressed to her from a secret admirer.

Once she was alone, MC called Ethan to make sure it was really him. She couldn’t imagine him willingly ordering such a romantic gift, but she also couldn’t picture someone else giving it to her.

When she asked him if he bought the flowers, he tensed, afraid he’d accidentally risked their secrecy by sending it to her home, but he anxiously admitted that he did and asked if she liked them.

And when she said she loved them... he felt a feeling so unfamiliar he couldn’t classify it. He was so proud to be the one who sent them and so happy that he found a way to make her smile when he so often felt like he was always messing up with her. Right then, he knew this wouldn’t be the last time he sent her flowers.

And it wasn’t. He regularly sent her bouquets and only let up a little when her roommates became suspicious. Once, when MC was alone in his apartment dog sitting Jenner, he had a massive flower arrangement delivered to her with just the message “I miss you.”

To accommodate their busy schedules, date night usually meant going back to Ethan’s apartment with takeout, but after one too many nights of Thai delivery, Ethan decided to teach MC how to cook.

He was startled to realize she had absolutely no idea how to cook. How had she gotten this far into adulthood without this basic skill? Every week, he had a new recipe for them to try, and he would walk her through all the steps.

When Ethan concentrated on cooking, he got these little lines between his eyebrows. MC thought they were cute. Sometimes, she would smooth them out with her thumb to remind him to relax. Other times, she would kiss them. When she did that, he always became distracted. Once, he almost cut his hand because he was so wrapped up in her.

Ethan pretended to find this annoying, but whenever she did it, he showed a small smile that gave him away.

Their fights were usually brutal. They were both so smart and so stubborn that the fights became unwinnable.

And probably because of that, their debates were practically a force of nature.

More than once, they spent a whole Saturday afternoon half naked in Ethan’s apartment and debating the finer points of medical ethics or treatments for patients. They usually could reach an agreement, except when they debated pineapple on pizza.

They pushed each other.

They made each other better doctors for having worked together and better people for having known each other.

Perhaps more importantly, they cared about each other. Even when they were locked in a disagreement or feigning disinterest, they cared. If the other needed them, they were there.

They needed each other more than they would admit. Very quickly, MC became Ethan's rock as they treated Naveen. She was the only one who could understand what he was going through.

MC was nervous to tell Ethan about being sabotaged at work. She didn't want him to think of her as the kind of person who blamed someone else for her mistakes, but when Landry was exposed as a traitor, she was devastated and just wanted Ethan to comfort her.

When he found out all that Landry did, Ethan was furious. Beyond hurting his girlfriend, he had endangered dozens of patients and the stability of the whole hospital.

But he was also hurt that MC hadn't told him.

Ethan realized that he wanted to be the person she shared her problems with. He wanted to be her person, just like she was his.

MC was surprised that, when it came to someone insulting or hurting her, Ethan was always on her side - even when she was equally as guilty. Once, MC complained that an attending made a sexist, offhand comment during rounds. Ethan never liked that attending again. When someone hit on MC and made her uncomfortable when they were at a bar together, Ethan told him off and forced him to leave.

Ethan was equally surprised by how jealous MC could get. He rarely noticed when women flirted with him, so it took him a few months to detect MC's jealousy. The first time he saw it, they were having a drink at a bar. A woman was very shamelessly coming onto him, though she didn't get much of Ethan's attention, but MC looked furious. Every time the woman came over to talk to them, MC moved just a little bit closer until she was almost in his lap.

When he took MC home, he commented on it, assuring her that he was only there for her, but MC grumbled that it happened all the time and that he didn't notice.

So, he started paying attention, and wow, it happened way more often than he thought. Even patients flirted with him, earning a glare from MC.

Once, when Ethan and MC were in the middle of a really big fight, Ethan caught MC staring at him at Donahue’s. To get a rise out of her, Ethan started flirting with the woman sitting a few seats down at the bar. MC was outraged. Thirty minutes later, when he got up to leave, MC followed him out, and they yelled at each other in the ally. And then they made out in the ally and had sex in the back of his car.

The next morning, they acted like nothing happened at work.

In fact, that was usually how they acted at work.

But at the beginning of their relationship, there were plenty of cute moments to be had at Edenbrook.

Like when their hands would accidentally brush when looking over a chart. Or when Ethan's breath hit her neck when he looked over her shoulder to see if she was doing something right. Or secret meetings in his office under the guise of needing to talk about a patient.

But MC thought the sweetest moments where the ones when he would see her coming down the hall, and just for a second, his face soften and warm to her. Almost immediately after, his face would harden again as he got back to work. But in that short little moment, MC knew she made him happy.

Keeping the secret was so hard, especially when MC was always under the watchful eyes of her roommates and friends.

They were all convinced she was in love with someone and joked that she had a secret boyfriend. MC laughed along, but they never actually thought it was Dr. Ramsey.

To make it a little less obvious, she always joined in when they complained about him.

Ethan noticed and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t stop her.

The only person who noticed in Ethan’s life was Naveen, but Ethan skillfully dodged the question whenever he could.

However, they had almost been caught so many times, in and out of the hospital. Even at the farmer’s market, they weren’t safe from a coworker finding them and innocently approaching.

MC always looked around before she kissed him, and Ethan had to be at least 5 miles from the hospital to show any display of affection, not that he particularly liked public displays of affection in the first place.

MC knew that she loved Ethan before she even really knew him, which was terrifying. She worried that, one day, she would learn some horrible fact or realize some unforgiveable trait. Ethan, on the other hand, never imagined that MC would become ruined in his eyes. He didn't think she could. No, he worried that he would be the one to make the mistake.

Both them harbored a lot of insecurities in their relationship - insecurities that held them back.

When they shed them, even just for the night, it was incredible.

Some of the best nights were spent wine-drunk, oversharing hundreds of little details that shaped who they were. MC liked hearing about Ethan's childhood, and she frequently needled him about his mysterious past relationship with Harper. Ethan wanted to know everything about her adult life before him, even when it included ex-boyfriends he instinctively hated.

When their relationship settled into comfortable, stable commitment, they still had nights like that.

Even when they moved in together, they sometimes picked out a bottle of wine, finished the whole thing, and spent the second bottle of wine sharing stories and experiences.

That was when it felt real. That was what reminded them that this was magic - that this was love.

@stateofgracious I think this was kinda cute, so maybe I can do some cute ones 🤞

#Ethan Ramsey #Ethan Ramsey x mc #Open Heart #Open heart 2 #choices #choices stories you play #pixelberry

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heoneyology · 4 years

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simply human | l.jy

A/N: this was supposed to be posted yesterday for halloween so uhh happy late halloween look at me I’m trying to write again! it’s not spooky so I guess posting it today isn’t a huge deal, still fits the season... based loosely on this story idea.

Word Count: 6866

Genre: catboy!juyeon, warlock!juyeon, fluff, lightly implied romance

Pairing: reader (gender neutral) x lee juyeon (the boyz)

Warnings: mentions of magic though nothing used... uhh... very slowly paced is a warning as well (like there’s barely any juyeon wtf was I doing???), also I have a habit of trailing things off at the end of my writings and leaving things to the reader’s imagination after sorry :’))

Summary: Lee Juyeon is possibly one of the most eligible bachelors in town—his looks being favored by everyone who lays their eyes on him—but he has one thing working against him: He’s a warlock. In the city, those who practice magic are just thought of as normal, everyday people. But in smaller towns, they’re thought of as bad luck and archaic. It’s a bias that you’ll never quite understand, and thus you watch the handsome boy who visits the coffee shop you work at daily, admiring him from afar. You’d never have guessed he was leading a quiet double life...

A deep sigh falls past your lips, one that seems to come straight from the depths of your chest—maybe even deeper. It holds something that words can’t quite express; stresses, longing, and a confusion you aren’t sure how to work past. Next to you, the black cat who is just an arm’s length away stirs. It peeps one eye open as your breath travels through the blades of grass, passing through before ghosting over the cat’s fur. It tickles, and felines don’t much like things that tickle.

You’d been watching the cat this entire time, so when it cracks a single amber eye open to fixate on you, you suck in the breath you’d just let out, freezing in place. Waiting, wondering. Had you somehow deterred away your latest friend and most recent confidant?

“Sorry,” you whisper to the cat, wondering if that will somehow remedy the situation.

The cat’s ears flicker in response, and that single amber eye closes.

You’d dealt with many cats before that. For many, as soon as you even so much as had your fingertips graze their fur the wrong way, they’d go scurrying off. Some even liked to lash out. This cat, however, was a curious little fellow—you were fairly certain it was a fellow—it liked to lay just out of your reach, near you, whenever you came to sit underneath the maple tree in the warm afternoons; on days when the sun was just peaking at its highest before dipping down below the horizon. Now that autumn was in full force, days were growing shorter and the warmth which you sought by the sun and the maple—a space to think freely and escape your worries—was also growing shorter as the chill of the oncoming winter began to set in earlier and earlier each day.

The cat seemed to have the same idea as you, seeking out the tree for afternoon naps and letting you rant your heart away. Somehow, it almost seemed as if the feline was listening to you—but not just listening, understanding, as well. The little black feline would fix you with a gaze that was so deep and knowing, you sometimes felt as if you were oversharing. Whenever the cat met your eyes, you could feel your heart seize up in your chest; the idea of the creature somehow understanding what you were saying causing you to panic and double back, wondering if your thoughts were safe with the little cat.

But the comfort the cat brought was something that couldn’t be matched by the company of your friends and family. It was nice to have someone to just talk to and listen, someone that didn’t reply all the time. Even if that someone wasn’t exactly a human. Even if that someone happened to have some human-like personality traits that left you wondering. Cats were intelligent, though, so you never found yourself questioning it too much.

After some time, you push yourself up into a sitting position from where you lay on your side in the grass, letting out another long sigh. This time, your breath doesn’t even so much as reach the cat. However, your presence shifting causes the small animal to stir, letting out a ‘mrrmph’ and stretching out of the ball it had been curled into, rolling over onto its side. The cat lazily blinks up at you, before licking a paw and swiping it over its face, repeating the action and grooming itself.

“This is why my mom told me not to move away to a small town like this. She called me a romantic for trying to follow my dreams—be a writer, live in a cozy space unknown to the world and basically off the grid.” Instead of sighing, you scoff this time. “Little did she know I’d actually become a romantic and fall in love with someone who doesn’t even know I exist… or maybe she did know. Moms seem to somehow know everything…”

You groan, letting your face fall into your hands. “I can’t believe I spilled that all over him this morning—I don’t even want to go to work tomorrow.”

Before one emotion can even settle, you’re letting out another groan and falling back into the grass again. You hit the ground with a slight thud. Next to you, the cat startles in surprise, but doesn’t move.

“I have to be up for seven… I have to open the shop… ugh I hate opening shifts, that’s too early. We saw what happened today! I didn’t even get enough sleep and then that disaster unfolded!”

From next to you, the cat watches as you work through your turmoil of thoughts and emotions for the third time since coming to the maple tree. Before one can settle, another begins, and so your distraught cycle repeats itself yet again. The cat had already heard the story, about how you’d gotten next to no sleep last night—finally finding a strike of muse and mistakenly staying up until almost four in the morning to write the wave out—and had to open the coffee shop at which you work at seven on the dot that same morning. Your crush, the one and only Lee Juyeon—a noteworthy bachelor in town whose presence wasn’t very welcomed, though his looks were practically revered—had entered the shop. Amidst your foggy, sleep-deprived state, you’d clumsily perfected his order, then proceeded to spill it down the front of his clothes.

It was a minor mishap. It wasn’t something that happened often, but it wasn’t something that one should trouble themselves over this much. Although, of course, one had to consider the fact that Juyeon being dashingly handsome, with strong features and a soft smile; as well as being your crush, were added factors that had to be considered in the equation.

The cat still found it ridiculous, as cats often do of human matters.

You push yourself into a sitting position again, with a bit more determination in your shoulders this time. The cat barely pauses its grooming session as you turn to address it, despite not needing to. “I need to go. I need to get some sleep before work tomorrow.”

Despite knowing that the outcome will be futile, you reach out slowly and attempt to stroke the cat with the back of your hand, as a final goodbye before the two of you meet again. But this time, the cat reacts to your proximity—instantaneously cutting its grooming session short by jumping to its feet and away from you. The feline cuts you a look, giving itself a shake, before it trots off.

It had been two weeks now, so you had been hopeful something had changed between you and the cat. But, cats were fickle creatures, and although your feline friend proved to be a good confidant and equally welcomed your silent company—that’s all it wanted at the moment, was some company. A part of you wondered if something kept the cat from being friendlier, even after you’d proven you weren’t going to push or rush any affection received, such as a trauma or unpleasant experience. You weren’t too certain that was the case, though, considering the cat wasn’t wary or scared—just indifferent.

“Get home safe,” is your last goodbye to the cat, spoken into the emptiness around you which is only broken up by the evening breeze whistling through the autumn leaves.

—

Thankfully, you get enough sleep that night. When you get home, the tiredness hits you like a giant wave, and there’s not even an ounce of temptation to continue your writing as there had been the night before. When the next day arrives, you’re much more bright-eyed and alert. Opening the coffee shop goes smooth, as does the passing of the first few customers you have.

After the first hour of being open, like clockwork, Juyeon walks through the door of the little cafe at eight. And, like clockwork, your coworker lets out a grunt under their breath and nudges you with their elbow.

“Can you take over the cash register?”

You frown, studying them, then glancing back at Juyeon as he slowly nears the counter. A few guests cut him unfriendly looks, others stare in awe. You should be used to this, by now, but you aren’t. Growing up in the city, you hadn’t realized what kind of bias there would be in smaller, more rural areas for Juyeon’s kind—as those around here called it. He practiced magic, which in the city was a common occurrence. Being so populated, it was easy to pass someone by and not really know whether they were a witch or a warlock. They were just simply human.

But here, it was like some sort of blight. Where witches and warlocks were far and few between, it was misunderstood, and thus not welcomed. People didn’t like change, or that which they didn’t understand.

If only people could be more like cats—indifferent to those things that surrounded them which caused no harm, despite how different it might be.

Your coworker hadn’t waited for your answer, disappearing, and you have no choice but to take over the cash register. Despite the repeated normalcy of this specific situation, it’s still something you really don’t think you’ll ever get used to.

Juyeon stops in front of the counter and studies the menu above, just as you step forward and wish him a good morning. He glances down at you, gives a small smile, and then glances back up at the menu. He’s been here enough times since you’d moved to town that you know he’ll order the same thing he gets every day. For some reason, though, he still likes to idle a bit and study the menu. Maybe because there’s seasonal flavors to consider trying, despite always defaulting to the comfort pick. Or maybe he’s buffering his mind for the day—a sentiment you felt you could relate to.

“Can I get my usual?” Juyeon asks, pulling his eyes away from the menu with another smile.

You return his smile, nodding. “Of course.”

Although you try to stay calm, you can hear your heart beating much too loudly in your chest, replaying the events from the day before in your head. You try not to outwardly cringe as the scene from yesterday replays itself in your mind; then try further to shut the memories out, though not visibly show your internal struggle—choosing to focus instead on the fact that despite not being weary-eyed that morning, your hand is shaking as you lift it to the register to punch in Juyeon’s order, and you need to make it stop.

It’s something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the regular customer, though you aren’t aware that he even does notice until you’re serving him his coffee. Your coworker has conveniently cooped themselves up in the back to clean and stock. That leaves you left alone to prepare Juyeon’s drink, and you’re grateful there isn’t a rush at that moment.

When you step up to the counter to call out his name and hand over the drink, you’re straining your arm to keep your hand from shaking too badly—paranoid over a repeat from yesterday. As he takes his drink with a smile and a thank you, his fingers brush over yours. You glance up in surprise at him, wondering if he even noticed the skin contact.

Meeting his gaze, you’re aware that he is, in fact, aware of what has happened. He softens his smile—if that’s even possible. His sharp features are always the softest when he comes in during the mornings and hands out smiles to the people around him. Despite the stark contrast of how the townsfolk treat Juyeon in comparison to how he treats them, you’ve never once seen the smile on his face falter.

“You don’t have to be nervous about yesterday,” he states kindly. “Accidents happen. Stop shaking so badly out of nerves, or you’ll really end up spilling my coffee again.”

A flush immediately over takes your face, and you pull your hand back like the snap of a rubber band—luckily Juyeon already has hold of his drink, or it would have come crashing down to the counter below.

“S-s-s-sorry— I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, I’m only joking. Like I said, accidents happen, and clothes can be washed,” Juyeon chuckles. You swear the sound makes your heart seize up in your chest—but it’s a different kind of seize than the feeling your secret cat makes you feel. This feeling is one that makes time seem to stop moving itself; his soft laugh something akin to a toll bell—not quite high pitched enough to be a bell, but not deep enough to be something else.

“Although if you spilled drink on me two days in a row, I’d probably need you to join me for coffee at some point in order to make up for all the dry cleaning,” the joke falls from Juyeon’s lips with ease—and you can only stare at him in surprise as he offers you one last smile and makes his way to a corner of the coffee shop near the window, as he does every day.

Did… he just flirt?

You shake your head at the absurdity of the thought, though the rest of your work day is spent in a trance. Even when there is a callout halfway through your shift, just a few hours away before your freedom from work—you barely react. It’s just a hiccup, even if it means you’ll be working five hours extra. Juyeon’s words idly trail through your mind, enough to keep you in a daze. Luckily, despite your mind being focused elsewhere, nothing is spilled or broken that day and you make it through the shift safely; save for a few moments of tripping over your own two feet.

When closing time rolls around, you finally start to feel all the work of the day and your clumsiness in those same two feet. You’re practically dragging yourself over the threshold when you close up the coffee shop, locking the door behind you. When you turn to begin down the street for home and the comfort of your warm bed—you almost trip over your own two feet yet again.

Except, this time, it’s not by your own fault that you almost trip. Underfoot, the darkness of the night moves just as you stumble to catch yourself, and you startle in surprise. But then, a familiar pair of amber eyes turn and meet yours—and as your eyes adjust to the blackness, you recognize the outline of a little black cat.

“Kitty?” You wonder, surprise lacing your voice. The cat, as if replying, lets out something akin to a meow and an indignant sigh, as if to ask, How dare you trip over me?

The indignant meow-sigh-huff combo makes you smile, letting out a small laugh under your breath. Yes, it’s definitely your cat friend. But why is the cat so far from the fields at the outskirts of town, away from the maple tree? How did it wander so far? You’d always assumed the cat to be a farm cat, since you’d never seen it among the streets like this—which had you worry the feline may have wandered too far from home to find its way back. At night, nonetheless.

Crouching down, you reach out a hand to the cat, back of your hand facing the feline. “What are you doing all the way in town like this, kitty?”

As per usual, the cat backs away from your hand with a little jump, before scurrying off into the night. You let out a sigh, watching it meld with the shadows, before pushing yourself back to your feet.

“Okay, fine. I thought we were friends, but whatever. Just try and assist me in breaking my neck and then leave the scene of the almost-crime.” You give your head a shake, before turning away from the coffee shop and making your way home.

The evening is colder than it has been in the past few nights. As you walk, you snuggle down a little deeper into your coat, surprised by the chill. It’s sharp enough to cut against more sensitive places of your body—like your nose, ears, and cheeks—but not quite deeply cutting in the way that the cold of winter is. This chill doesn’t seep into the depths of your bones and create an ache. It’s just cold enough to make you want to curl up on your couch with a cup of warm tea before bed, but still admire how there’s a warmth to the season overall despite the weather.

It doesn’t take long before a black flash cuts across in front of you. You slow your steps slightly, having set a brisk pace to simply get yourself home quicker, so you weren’t out at night for too long. Your shadowy friend darting back and forth is enough to keep you from walking too fast, though, worried you might trip and fall, and ultimately hurt yourself or the cat. But as you pick your pace up again, the black feline settles into a trot alongside you, weaving close to the walls of the buildings which you walk next to.

“Are you walking me home?” You muse to the cat. “Feel guilty for almost tripping me in the dark?”

You know the cat can’t understand your humor, and likely doesn’t have a conscience enough to feel guilty about such a thing, but it feels nice to talk to someone as you walk. Again—you seek comfort in the feline companion for the fact that you can voice your thoughts aloud, without expecting a reply. It’s also nice to have company on your walk home. Despite the small town being safe, and the streetlamps lighting the way, walking alone at night was an uncomfortable event. Having grown up in the city, you’d been taught to never wander the streets alone at night. It was strange to do so here.

“Lee Juyeon, the warlock that I’ve told you about, came in to work again today. I didn’t spill his order all over him today,” you smile, glancing at the little black shadow that meanders next to you. “You should be proud of me.”

Slowing your pace, you come to a halt. “Do you ever wonder why people treat him differently?” You ask the cat. For a moment, you think, before sighing, “Wait, you probably don’t even know. You’re a cat, after all. How would you realize that he’s being treated differently just because he can practice magic. Heck, you probably don’t even know who Juyeon is.”

Or, maybe the cat did, considering you’d seen Juyeon feed the neighborhood strays outside the coffee shop before.

The thought has you pulling your eyes back to your cat companion. Ahead of you, the animal pulls itself away from the wall and sidles its way into the center of the street. It keeps walking, which prompts you to resume your pace in order to catch up to the cat.

“Anyway, he does magic. A warlock. In the city, witches and warlocks are common. Magic is a lot more accepted where I come from, even though there are rules and restrictions to practicing in order to keep non-magic users safe. Maybe that’s why rural areas and small towns don’t like it, there’s no one to really keep watch and create rules,” you sigh, then wonder why the heck you’re explaining this to a cat. “But still, he’s just simply a human. My coworker doesn’t even want to breathe the same air as him. Isn’t that ridiculous…?”

Much like you do under the maple tree, you ramble to the cat as though it were any other day. It feels kind of nice to have the cat’s company and be able to walk home with someone, even if that someone weren’t quite human. Though you might appear strange to anyone else who might see you chatting into the darkness, you aren’t alone that night—a comfort which you appreciate not only because it’s dark, but also after such a long and grueling day. It allows you to keep your mind away from the dreadful thoughts you might have. Talking to the cat had also become a routine, and though you hadn’t been able to dwell much on the idea of missing out on the almost-daily routine thanks to how busy the coffee shop had gotten in the afternoon, you realize now what it means.

As you near the corner of your street, the cat slows down just ahead of you, sensing a change in your demeanor. Your stomach growls just as you’re about to round the corner the cat is stopped at, causing you to glance down in surprise. Then, you glance at the feline, before lifting your gaze up to glance over your shoulder. Just across the street, lighting up the entire corner—something you’d always been grateful for, living alone—sits a little 24-Hour corner shop. You have food at home that you can heat up quickly, but you remember that your cat friend has wandered into town from the farms, and possibly hasn’t eaten. There’s probably an abundance of mice to catch, if the cat were to look well enough, but you feel guilty after realizing how far the animal had followed you.

And, unfortunately, it wasn’t likely with your current track record that the cat would want to join you inside for the night.

“Wait here,” you instruct the cat, not even sure if it’ll listen. You dart across the street and push your way into the warmth of the little corner shop. The attendant startles in surprise at your entrance, having not expected a customer so late on a fairly chilly night, most likely.

“Do you have cat food?” You ask, and the bleary-eyed boy behind the counter points off in a corner of the shop. You follow his direction to the aisle he points out, wandering down and eyeing the shelves lined with canned and bagged food and treats for all different kinds of pets. You pick out a can of shrimp flavored canned food, remembering that the cat you’d grown up with at home had enjoyed shrimp-flavored things, before heading back to the front of the store to pay for it.

Surprisingly enough, the black cat is there waiting for you as you exit the store—still across the street. You smile, as you near, watching as the cat’s tail tip flicks where it's curled on the ground, rustling a leaf just within reach. Each time its tail does so, causing the leaf to move, the silly little cat swipes at the leaf—and its own tail. And each time, the cat looks offended as it pulls its paw back.

“I have food,” you announce your presence to the cat, so as not to startle it too much out of its little game. As you near, you pull open the can lid, bending down and setting the can on the ground. Knowing the cat will run if you extend your hand, you slowly inch the can forward with your finger tips, watching as the cat slowly inches itself back on its butt in surprise. When your hand returns to yourself, the cat stares at the opened can of food, before bending over just enough to strain its neck to reach out and sniff.

With a sharp flick of its tail, it huffs and turns, trotting off into the darkness.

Your jaw falls open in surprise. “Wow! Rude! That was two dollars!”

Frowning, you glance back at the can of food, then up again where the cat disappeared into the night. Either the cat was extremely spoiled and wasn’t actually a farm cat as you’d thought, feasting on mice—or the animal just wasn’t hungry. Somehow you doubted the latter, as it seemed like quite a journey from the edge of town to your place for a little four-legged creature. Surely any animal would be just a bit hungry after wandering around for hours, right?

Straightening yourself up, you call out into the darkness, “I’m leaving this here, then—in case you change your mind!” But your words are met with silence, and there isn’t even the breeze of the autumn wind whistling through the trees to fill the void of the night.

Parting ways with the darkness and its feline voidling, you finally round the corner and head the last few feet up the street to the warmth of your home.

—

When you wake the next morning, there’s not an immediate rush through your morning. You don’t work until a bit later in the afternoon. This means you’re able to sleep in, enjoy the warmth and comfort of your bed and burrow yourself further down under the duvet as the morning light streams through the curtains, casting even more warmth over you as it filters through the glass window. When it comes time to finally pull yourself out of bed, you shower and brush your teeth, brew a pot of coffee for yourself, and set to work at your laptop for a couple hours to get some writing out.

It’s at this time that a repeated rapping catches your attention, and when you glance up from your laptop—pulling your eyes away from the white light of the screen and squinting—you’re surprised to see a black shadow at your window, two amber eyes peering through a frame of the glass intently.

“What the—? Kitty?”

Hearing your voice, the cat stands up from crouching on the sill, butting its body against the window and letting out a loud meow. You’re fairly certain this is the first time the cat has answered you in such a blatantly obvious tone, which has you excitedly pushing yourself to your feet and rushing over to the window. In the entire time it takes you to cross your bedroom to the window, the cat continues to meow, pacing back and forth along the sill and butting itself against the glass. The cat’s tail curls, waving about languidly.

“Good morning,” you greet, pulling the window up and open for your friend. “What are you doing here? Did you sleep outside on the street last night?”

With more room on the window sill, the cat sits, pointedly fixating its gaze on you. Curiously, you present the back of your hand to the cat, holding it up between the two of you. This is the closest you’ve ever been to the creature, but that doesn’t mean you’re quite out of the woods just yet.

It takes everything within you, though, to hold back the gasp of surprise when the cat leans forward just a bit to sniff you, cold nose pressing against the back of your hand and whiskers grazing across your skin.

“Can I pet you?” You wonder, turning your hand over slowly and reaching behind the cat—but, as fickle as ever, the cat lets out another meow and turns before you can even so much as put your hand onto its fur, dropping down from the window sill. The most touch you get from the interaction is its tail swiping your arm as it turns and jumps down—which, honestly, still leaves you grinning after the cat.

“Wait there again,” you instruct the cat, closing the window. Not waiting for an answer from the feline, who seems a bit chatty that morning, you make your way out of your bedroom—pausing momentarily to grab your coffee mug—before heading to the kitchen. You wonder if the cat is hungry, mentally noting you don’t have cat food, which is why you had bought it last night, before reminding yourself that it didn’t seem to like the canned food anyway.

Fish? No, you’d have to go to the market for that. If you ate fish, you typically cooked it immediately rather than let it sit in your freezer. What else could cats eat? “Chicken…?” You wonder aloud, opening your fridge and eyeing the leftover container of some grilled chicken you’d had the night before.

“It’s a bird, cats like bird meat.” Giving yourself a small shrug, you pull the container from the fridge and open it. It takes a few moments to shred it down to something a bit more manageable to chew with your fingers, before you pop it in the microwave to nuke it a bit. You didn’t mind cold chicken, but assuming the cat had spent the night outside, you figure a little warmth in its belly would be nice.

As though sensing your intentions, when you open the front door, the black cat is sitting expectantly on the porch, staring up at the door. Its tail swipes across the wood deck lazily, seemingly unbothered by having had to wait.

“It’s not much, since I don’t really know what to feed a cat that’s okay and I don’t keep cat food… not that you appreciated it last night…” You scoff, before setting down the container on the porch in front of the cat. “But here’s some breakfast for you. Or brunch now, I suppose.”

This food smells much more interesting than the canned cat food, and the feline doesn’t hesitate to step forward and crouch down in front of the leftover container, immediately gobbling up the grilled chicken you’d shredded. You smile, watching with relief as the animal eats. You really weren’t sure at this point if the cat was a farmcat after all, a stray, or simply a spoiled wanderer—but not knowing where the animal had been overnight, and seeing it eat now after refusing food last night put your mind at ease.

You watch the cat eat in silence, making yourself comfortable and sitting back against the doorframe of your open front door. Every now and again, you sip your coffee, glance up at the street and off into the distance where you can see the rolling hills of the countryside, before looking back down at the cat. When your feline friend finishes its meal, it lays back on your porch, grooming itself in content—then moving off to a warm patch of sun and curling into a ball on your deck. Deciding you don’t want to waste this precious moment, you clean up the container before grabbing your laptop, and setting up shop on the deck for a few more hours before work, writing alongside the silent company of your tiny visitor.

“Okay, I have to go to work,” you announce after a few hours have passed, not entirely sure why you’re detailing this to the cat. If it really was a stray, it would probably remove itself from your company whenever. Or, you’d return home after work to it having disappeared again. The thought made you wistful—maybe even a bit sad. This had been the first you’d ever had the cat’s extended company and attention for, and you were growing quite used to it.

To your surprise, when it actually is time to leave for work, the cat begins to follow you after you’ve closed and locked up your little house. You let out an amused half smile, watching as the cat follows alongside you. “What, are you my chauffeur now?”

The walk to work that day is infinitely more amusing than all the other times you’d walked the same path. You don’t have much to ramble to your companion about that day, though you do mention that you wonder if Juyeon will pop in at the coffee shop in the afternoon. Typically, he was a morning coffee person, but you’d seen him stop by in the evenings once in a while. Instead of talking as you walk, though, you watch as the cat darts ahead of you every once in a while—chasing a stray leaf on the breeze and pouncing after it down the street until it lies motionless on the ground. Sometimes, the cat lags behind, and you find yourself glancing over your shoulder to see what curiosities it's getting itself into—jumping on a fence to tease a dog, sniffing around at certain things on the path, or slinking down close to the ground and acting as if it’s hunting nothing in particular, before darting ten feet ahead of you at a run and waiting for you to catch up.

“Don’t stay out here for too long tonight,” you warn the cat, pausing outside the coffee shop. “This street gets busy on weekends, someone might not see you…” You didn’t want to imagine the poor cat getting lost in the crowd. The coffee shop was in the center of a small village shopping square, and on weekend evenings it filled up with families and others sharing date nights and evening events together. You frown, wondering if the cat will listen, before giving the animal a small little wave and heading inside.

When you set to work, you can’t help but find yourself glancing out the window periodically—taking mental stock of the cat through your shift. Each time you go to clean a table, you peer out the window and see the cat either peering right back in at your, or napping somewhere nearby. Every time you call out someone’s order, you push yourself onto your tiptoes to glance over the customer’s shoulder as they near, mentally noting every spot the little black shape outside moves to. If a new customer enters the shop, you greet them and take their order, and before the transaction finishes you ask in a quiet voice if there’s a cat outside still—relieved when a customer confirms they’d seen one lounging about.

Halfway through your shift, your cat friend disappears from the view of the window, and a small panic sets in. You notice as you’re taking an order for a couple of guests, two people who can’t seem to settle on their decision and keep talking over each other as they tell you what they want. They aren’t the type of people to inquire about the cat outside, especially since it seems as though they’ve popped into the coffee shop for an afternoon pick-me-up to help settle some of their irritation. Yet as you speak with them, and punch in their order, you can’t help your eyes darting off to the side now and again to try and peek around them and out the window.

“Can you take over the register for a bit?” You ask of your coworker almost as soon as the two chatty, indecisive guests walk away. You don’t wait for them to reply—considering they always drop the same on you without warning. It’s rare of you to return the “favor,” but you don’t feel guilty doing so.

As you move around the counter, you grab a tray and a cleaning rag in order to clean some tables, eyes never leaving the window as you do so.

“Was that your cat? The one outside?” Your coworker asks, scoffing. “Should take better care of it.”

You scowl, eyes snapping back to your coworker, who shrinks in surprise at the ferocity of your gaze. “No it’s not. It’s a stray that followed me, and I’m worried.” As you turn away from them, you grumble under your breath, “You have a nasty habit of assuming the worst of people.”

As you near the window, searching for the black furry shadow outside, your eyes are so fixated you barely register the door of the shop opening and the lackluster greeting being called out by your coworker. In fact, you’re so out of it that, as you move, you practically stumble straight into a wall of body that had just entered the shop. You stumble back in surprise, realizing that you’ve almost walked straight into a customer, glancing up to apologize—and blanching when you realize it’s Juyeon.

“S-sorry!”

Juyeon smiles in greeting. “It’s fine,” he answers, before glancing over his shoulder outside, then back down at you. “Are you okay?”

“I— yeah… I just—” You frown. “Nevermind, it’s nothing. What can I get for you today?” Sparing one last glance at the window, you move back toward the counter, eyeing your coworker as they move away and disappear, refusing as always to take the young warlock’s order.

“Can I sit at the bartop today?” Juyeon asks, trailing after you. You glance over your shoulder at him in surprise, before nodding.

“Let me take your order and then you can take a seat.”

“I’d like a mochachino today.”

You punch in the order, looking at him in surprise. “Chocolate?”

Juyeon smiles that soft smile that always seems to leave you winded and out of breath. “Craving something sweet, but I’ve got some work to do, so I need something that will keep me awake, too.”

You nod, letting out a hum of understanding from the back of your throat. When you read the total off to him, Juyeon pays the appropriate amount, and you wave him to the bartop just to the left of the cash register. His presence at the bartop is almost certain to keep your coworker from ever returning to the front of house, so you silently hope that no sudden rush comes through the cafe as you set to work making his drink.

“Why did you seem so distracted when I came in earlier?” Juyeon asks, tone of voice idle. You glance over your shoulder, away from the espresso machine, in surprise when he speaks. Had he always been this chatty? Although, to be fair, Juyeon always came in during the morning rushes and you never had a chance to actually talk to him.

You aren’t sure what really catches you by surprise—the fact that he’s making conversation with you, or the fact that his deep voice has caused your heart to begin a rapid and stuttering beat in your chest. Yet, somehow, despite your nervousness to be talking to a young man you’d always admired from your own little corner of the coffee shop, and how he gazed out the window and watched the world in silent content and admiration, and offered up sweet and soft smiles to everyone around him—his voice also fills you with a warmth that’s almost soothing. Like the familiar smell of the coffee grounds that waft through the shop daily, then later cling to the strands of your hair when you get home. It feels familiar.

“Are you really okay?” He asks, prompting again.

“I’m fine. I was just worried… there was a cat outside. It followed me to and from work yesterday and today, and now that it’s getting busy I’m wondering where it went off to and if it’s okay. I feel responsible even though it might be a stray that just followed me for its own amusement,” you explain as you work.

When you finish Juyeon’s order, you turn and set it on the counter in front of him. He smiles, as always, and takes it with a polite and soft thank you, before leveling you with his gaze.

When his eyes land on you, almost instantly you feel your heart seize up in your chest. You’ve never been this close to Juyeon before—never actually gotten a good look at him up close. His features from afar are stunning; he’s handsome in a very simple way that’s easy on the eyes. But up close, it’s almost as if he’s crafted from marble. You’ve never had a chance to admire his sharp features; study the lines of his jaw and his high-placed cheekbones, notice the square shape of his earlobes, or admire his long and straight nose or the way his lips curl upward slightly at the corners.

“Cats are street smart, you know. I’m sure your little stray friend is fine. They probably know these streets better than the both of us,” Juyeon replies, “And luckily for them, people in this town are a little kinder to stray cats than other types of strays.”

It’s then that you meet his gaze, catching on to a deeper implication of his words—studying his almond-shaped brown eyes and taking note of the curious amber flecks that hit the warm yellow light of the cafe just right.

“No way,” you breathe out.

Juyeon smiles—and this time, his smile isn’t the usual soft and kind one, but one that pushes his cheeks up in a way that causes his eyes to smile along with the rest of his face. He seems much too amused by the realization setting across your face, followed by a flush that follows soon after. You’d ranted and rambled about Lee Juyeon to Lee Juyeon—albeit not the human one.

You’d heard that some witches and warlocks could shapeshift, and that others had familiars. Never once in your life did you think you’d somehow be on the receiving end of that gift. Of course, it made sense, considering the treatment around town that Juyeon often received—that he’d either hide in another form or test the honesty of those he interacted with in a different form.

Juyeon lifts his coffee cup to his lips, smiling over the rim. “Can I walk you home tonight? Perhaps this time not as a cat? I’d love to hear you regale one of your lavish tales of me.”

#juyeon fic #juyeon fanfic #the boyz fic #the boyz fanfic #juyeon #the boyz #tbz fanfic #m.writes

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leafallsonelines · 3 years

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Bizarre Love Triangle

I'm not sure what this could mean I don't think you're what you seem I do admit to myself, that if I hurt someone else Then I'll never see just what we're meant to be -New Order

I didn't want to get into a relationship.

He wore me down and soon enough I was the one crazy about him. I always answer to the undefinably strong pull toward a certain person. I was soul weary and needed a break from emotional turmoil. When you meet somebody else, they're the main character of their own love story (just like I am in mine; as it should be). I'm privy to fact that we all have a history, especially when dating in your late 20's and 30's. I wasn't ready for our stories to collide.

I desperately wanted to avoid cluttering my life with someone else's relationship baggage when I haven't even taken care of mine. He campaigned hard for the relationship. I went for it.

Despite my better judgment I always cave—give in to that desire — anticipate and absorb the pain that inevitably follows.

I told you that story to tell you this one.

Back in 2014 the term Cool Girl ™ was coined to describe women who change their personality for male approval. (The shtick is contrived and annoying once you spot it.) She doesn't have a solid sense of self and basks in attention to fill. That void; hoards men like Thanksgiving hams and gets territorial when she's not The Girl. She gets kicks from seeing how uncomfortable she can make other girls by openly flirting with their boyfriends just to watch them squirm. This act is so played out most people have an eye roll ready for anyone flying the “I'm not like other girls” banner. (Gen Z now calls them Pick-Me-Girls ™.)

I crossed paths with one in 2018 — my boyfriend's best friend of sixteen years. A self-indulgent, selfish friendship. I wasn't initially jealous, didn't interrupt, and it came back to bite me; it was hideously unfair.

For storytelling purposes let's call her “Kate Luu.” Kate, an incestuous tigermom who gets jealous of any girl her son gets with, a petulant toddler that would rather break a toy than let someone else play with it. Probably has BPD. Definitely needs a good therapist.

Like a lot of dewy eyed girls newly in love I conveniently dismissed the red flags around my boyfriend and Kate. I had empathy for them because of my past platonic friendships with flirty undertones. Guys would respectfully fall back when they got into relationships or if I Was in one. I struggled with the slow withdrawal of warmth, missed the emotional intimacy, but recognized it as the right call and moved on. A lot of young adults exploring their sexuality go through this. As I got older I favored female friendships for being uncomplicated, preferring to avoid unwanted sexual tension.

Empathy without boundaries is self-destruction.

A couple weeks after celebrating our one year anniversary Kate texts me, “We need to talk.” Alarms immediately go off in my head. The last few months I had started bringing attention to the bad vibe I was getting and the inappropriate nature of the relationship. I got tired of biting my tongue. He didn't know how to process it or correct it. His lingering infatuation with her made it impossible for him to distance himself or enforce new boundaries. He started hiding it instead. I caught him being intentionally ambiguous about his plans when going to see her. He fumbled himself into an emotional affair.

Princess Diana famously described her marriage to Charles as “crowded.” It was an unmistakable reference to his affair with Camilla. Looking back the (justifiable) anxiety I had was from being crowded. Intuition is not insecurity.

I met Kate for coffee and she read aloud a pathetic five page letter telling me I'm a bad girlfriend and “full of shit.” She was intervening on his behalf as the person who knows what's best for my boyfriend.

“It's none of your business.”

But no, she has the authority to interfere as his best friend of sixteen years and I was a one year nothing. She brought up the fact he was attracted to her first, told me I'm spineless and ruining their friendship with my insecurity. (She _really _ran with the words spineless and insecure.)

Accusations are confessions when they come from a manipulative person. Textbook projection. She was mad her narcissistic supply was tapering off. (Gaslighting Pro-tip: Label rightful jealousy as insecurity.)

My boyfriend gave her personal, intimate details of my life during their oversharings and she used that information to bully me. Nothing was off the table, including my sexual history. I can see how she manipulated him, but it was inexcusable. People who enable They leave the door open for endless rows of inappropriate behavior. All of this was happening behind my back for a year. That kind of intimate toxicity are suckers for ego massages.

Don't you just love a story where the villain puts all the evidence of her misdeeds in one letter and unravels into epic, illogical rage all in one afternoon, in the space of two hours?

How did Kate have time to write five pages of false narratives designed to destroy a relationship she was jealous of? She doesn't have a job. She's a pampered dog mom living in her rich fiancé's house for free. A busybody performatively taking care of other people to avoid a mountain of personal issues. (An unevolved Virgo.)

Don't worry about what I'm doing. Worry about why you're worried about what I'm doing.

Kate has many noticeable traits as an obnoxious, self-important person — an absolute fake. She calls herself a _philanthropist _without having done anything philanthropic or even knowing how to use the word; she literally saw a big SAT word that means good person and attached Herself to it. (A word assigned to big charitable donors like Bill Gates, not bloggers). She has the same relationship with the word “unconventional” and thinks using a bigger word for unique or quirky makes her even more unique and quirky. Nope, still basic.) In place of possessing any actual humor she repeats memorized dad jokes and leans into corny, forced puns. If this isn't annoying enough she then insists she's funny. (Funny people just make you laugh. They never have to tell people they're funny. Barfs in, “I speak fluent sarcasm.”)

If I poked a finger through her shallow veneer I'd find loose dirt and dog shit.

And you know what? I'm not even against intense friend love. I get it. I groove to “One Love.” Emotional freedom is important. Expressions of love are multitudinous. It should transform to fit the situation. She didn't respect basic boundaries to make room for all of us to be comfortable. She was just mad she got demoted and tried to burn the whole thing down.

Kate wanted to be the main character in my boyfriend's love story without ever actually dating him. Oh yes, I know — the audacity, the toxic lack of boundaries, the mind numbing arrogance. She's not even protagonist material — a papier-mâché hipster who got her personality from an Urban Outfitters catalog and can't stop contradicting herself despite the fact she is working off a pre-written letter. I have never encountered someone who thought so highly of herself while having almost no substance. She calls herself a writer , but is just a pseudo-intellectual English major who posts aesthetic word salad on Instagram.

Later on I realized that if someone is mean to you unprovoked it's jealousy. One of the catalysts for the meetup was a heartfelt anniversary post I wrote on Instagram. It's not my usual style, but I felt gushy and really went full blown poetic and swoony She's jealous that her own, brought up love and Birth of Venus, blah blah blah. She mentioned my IG post and even admitted it was poetic and well written, but proceeded to use that as the jumping off point to invalidate the love in it. writing is try-hard drivel; a woman in her thirties mentally stuck in 2011 tumblr cringe.

If she truly wanted him she should have pursued him honestly and not wait to mess with another person. Hell, even just owning up to her feelings and saying, “I realize I may have lost my chance with you. Is there still anything in our sixteen year history that makes you want to give us a shot instead? ”à la My Best Friend's Wedding. Treading some moral gray area, but way more acceptable than actively sabotaging a relationship.

She didn't really want him though. She just wanted to continue their friendship in that inappropriate flirtationship space to feed her ego. After the coffee date she ended their friendship in an email. That really important sixteen year friendship became disposable to her once she wasn't able to control it.

Sometimes trash does the public service of loudly identifying itself as trash and takes itself out.

If you're a female best “friend” to a guy in a relationship and you need to flex on “I was here first” and “We did this before you were in the picture,” then you were never interested in seeing that friend thrive in a romantic relationship. You just get off on being his favorite unfulfilled option. If seeing him in love with someone new has you feeling that miserable you're just being selfish. Real love doesn't overstep in a new relationship so you can hog their spotlight. You're not even a friend; you're a skunk marking your territory and keeping him in the friendzone while not really wanting him to have a girlfriend.

You learn to love somebody in their love language and not just yours. Selfish love is not real love. That's just using someone to fill a place. Maybe a distraction. Seeking anything in return isn't real love because if you want that you actually don't have love to give; it's fake; it's toxic. If there's someone who isn't around anymore and you miss them consider the fact that you might just miss the place they held in your life. (You have the freedom to fill that space anyway you want.)

She realized she burned through all her goodwill thus the sudden ghosting and extracting herself. I never asked my partner to pick me or issued any ultimatums. Sometimes important questions stay unanswered. Sometimes you have to move on without the apology you deserve. There is grief in never receiving closure.

My partner finally saw my concerns validated in the aftermath. I bubbled with rage remembering excuses he made for her. Day in and day out I was drinking from an overflowing cup of righteous anger. So what was his role in this? Stupid or co- conspirator?

He was oblivious.

“I can't believe you could've left me for a wannabe influencer.”

I switched my phone wallpaper from his picture to a solid color. Looking at his face filled me with disgust. There's only so much letting go you can ask someone to do. I knew I still loved him, but anytime a woman is hurt she becomes less interested.

How do you recover from unknowingly letting a toxic bitch walk all over and jeopardize your relationship?

Friends told me to move on, date other people. He campaigned for the relationship again. We did the work of picking up the pieces and starting over.

I'm not pretending to be perfect. I was reeling from back to back traumas. My soft spots turned hard and cynical. It was my turn to be the toxic one. I drove to work sobbing everyday for a month. I complained constantly. My default became anxious and suspicious. I'm so out of touch with the person I was before; she's a stupidly innocent, free-spirited stranger to me. It took time for the poison leach out.

It's a lot of baggage.

The couples who make it aren't always the ones that never had a reason to break up. They're the ones that decide their commitment to each other is more important than their mistakes. Fast forward to the herculean effort he made to earn back my trust and we're still very happily together. (This is published with his permission.)

Our relationship is more grounded in reality now. It's not crowded anymore. Somethings more precious from having almost been lost. Somethings will never be the same. I'm the villain in her story, just as much as she's the villain in mine. We get to live out our own endings and there is peace in that.

Hurtful, painful, memories. Memories of deep regrets, memories of hurting and being hurt. Memories of being abandoned. Only those with such memories buried in their hearts can become stronger, more passionate, and emotionally flexible. Only those can obtain happiness. So Don't forget any of it. Remember it all and overcome it. If you don't overcome it, you'll always be a kid whose soul never grows. -The Boy Who Fed On Nightmares

#coolgirl #pickme #microcheating #emotional cheating #emotional affair

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casandpuppies · 7 years

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October Destiel AU Challenge: Day 7 - Ride ‘Em, Cowboy

31 Days of Destiel Drabbles: Day 7 - Bar/Club scene

This particular drabble is brought to you by this post. I saw it and instantly thought of Dean, for some strange reason. And thus, this was born.

Castiel officially hates his brother.

Alright, hate is a strong word. But it’s fair to say he’s sufficiently displeased with his brother, even though it’s not exactly fair to lay all the blame on Gabriel for his current predicament.

But he’s only here because Gabriel knowingly took advantage of the fact that Castiel cannot, for the life of him, say no. So, when Gabriel asked him to cover a shift at his club—because there was really no one else he could call, and he wouldn’t ask if there was any other option—it had really only taken one round of his brother’s puppy eyes before Castiel had reluctantly caved.

It was just one night, he told himself. And it’s not like he didn’t know how to do the job. He’s done his fair share of bartending to put himself through college and grad school. If he does say so himself, he’s pretty good at it. His social skills aren’t really stellar, but he can make a damn good drink, and he’s attractive enough that it seems to make up for his lacking conversational skills. At least, that’s what Gabriel tells him.

How bad could it possibly be?

Very bad. Every minute Castiel is here is another minute that reminds him why he hates the bar and club environment. The loud music, the flashing lights, and the obnoxious drunk people causing a ruckus all around him are experiences he does not miss in the slightest.

A blonde woman who looks barely legal slides up to the bar. “Heeeeeyyyy, bartender!” she slurs. “What’s on your tap tonight?”

Castiel’s about to tell her the special brew of the night, but then she gestures crudely towards his crotch and winks, before bursting out into lewd laughter. He barely refrains from pulling a disgusted face. “Perhaps that’s enough for tonight, ma’am. I suggest drinking some water before anything else.”

“No fuunn! Why are the cutes ones so boring?” She pouts and saunters off.

He sighs distastefully and stares impassively at the bar scene in front of him. If nothing else, he’s certainly grateful that he doesn’t have to do this for a living anymore. What Gabriel can possibly see in this line of business, Castiel will never know.

A series of loud wolf whistles and cheers draws Castiel’s attention to a large crowd congregating nearby. The realization of the crowd’s location hits him, and he allows his lip to curl up into a brief sneer. One of the more annoying things about Gabriel’s club is that it’s western-themed, which isn’t necessarily bad by itself. But he’s installed one of those ridiculous mechanical bulls, and he swears that thing alone causes him more stress than anything else in this building.

Personally, he fails to see the appeal. Why would anyone in their right mind want to be flung around by some metal contraption while people around you laugh at your misfortune. All for what? To look “manly” or “macho,” maybe? It certainly doesn’t look like it would be fun. Not to mention the possibility for injury is astounding, even with the padded floor Gabriel’s got around the area. Especially when copious amounts of alcohol are involved. Then again, maybe that’s the problem. These people aren’t in their right mind.

There’s another round of raucous cheering from the group. Most likely, it’s another drunk redneck who’s crawling past “comfortably drunk” into “shitfaced” and is getting too rowdy. This wouldn’t be the first time tonight. In fact, on two separate occasions, he’s had to chase people off the ride for trying to fit more than one person on the back of the bull, totally ignoring the fact that rules clearly state that only person is allowed on at a time. He’s even had someone try and hang on to the underside of the bull. Best to put a stop to it before someone gets hurt. Glancing around, he sees no security guards in the area, and sighs to himself. Another check of his surroundings reveals no patrons at the bar, so he should be good to go check it out.

He throws down the bar rag and makes his way over to the crowd. When he pushes his way through the throngs of people, he’s surprised to see not a drunk redneck, but a very attractive man with sandy, brown hair and bright, green eyes, and wearing a nice, button-down shirt and a tie. He looks like he could have come straight from the office.

Other than the strange attire, he seems fairly normal. He’s doing a really good job of staying on the death-trap, but Castiel doesn’t see what the big fuss is. Maybe this guy’s just got a lot of enthusiastic friends or something. With that thought, he’s about to head back to the bar, but then the music picks up, and the guy flashes the crowd a wild grin, winks, and uses the bucking motion to push himself up and suddenly he’s standing on top of the moving bull and starts dancing. Actually dancing.

Castiel’s jaw almost hits the floor. The guy can’t be that drunk. There’s no way he’d have that kind of coordination otherwise. Honestly, he doesn’t know whether to be upset or impressed. He’s seen people clinging on for dear life get thrown to the floor, and this guy is…well, he’s surfing the bull. That’s the only way Castiel can describe it. He’s not even hanging onto anything, and doesn’t seem nervous in the slightest—on the contrary, he looks like he’s having the time of his life. And he must be a professional dancer or something, because he’s doing a really good job, making it look so easy and moving fluidly with the continuous jerking motions. Also, extra kudos to the guy for doing all this while wearing dress shoes. Castiel knows from experience that those things have no traction whatsoever.

The guy jumps and Castiel is certain he’s going to see him crash to the floor, but he lands successfully and resumes dancing on the trashing metal bull. The crowd erupts into joyous yells, which seems to encourage the guy more, because he smirks and continues to absolutely floor Castiel with his skills and bravery. That’s about the point where Castiel kicks some sense back into himself and remembers that he’s here to put a stop to this. Because, as talented as the guy is, he could still easily fall and get hurt, and this is definitely against the rules.

“Sir!” Castiel calls over the music. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to get down!”

The guy doesn’t seem to take notice of him at first, but after his second attempt, he turns and acknowledges Castiel. Unfortunately, that acknowledgement is in the form of a devilish grin and not dismounting the bull.

Castiel frowns and crosses his arms. “Sir, it’s against the rules to stand on the bull. I must insist that you get down or I’m going to have to call security and have you escorted out.”

The crowd around him seems none too happy with the idea, and he receives a chorus of booing for his efforts. The green-eyed guy, however, spends a moment staring down at Castiel while the mechanical bull continues to move below him.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he says at last, with just the right amount of country accent to be endearing to Castiel. “You win.” He jumps down, and Castiel flinches back, prepared to watch this guy faceplant. Instead, he hits the ground safely, just a few feet in front of Castiel.

Once the guy is on solid ground, Castiel lets out a relieved breathe he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank you.”

The guy winks at him. “You gonna escort me out, now?”

Okay, he’s definitely drunk enough. Now that he’s this close, there’s the telltale glazed look and a light flush evident on his face. At least he’s not hammered, though. A definite plus. Castiel hates dealing with drunk people. “Alright, I think you’ve had enough for the night,” Castiel says with an exaggerated eye-roll. He makes his way back to the bar, because he’s probably left it unattended for too long, and when he makes it back to the counter, he sees that the man has followed him. He raises an eyebrow at him in what he hopes is a “can I help you?” kind of gesture, rather than a rude one.

Green-eyed guy laughs, and Castiel hates the fact that it’s such a nice sound. “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you here, before. Think I’d remember a pretty face like yours.”

Castiel’s body betrays him, and his cheeks turn red. “I’m just—uh, I’m just helping my brother out. My brother owns this place. I don’t actually work here.”

“Ah.” The guy sits down at one of the seats. “I’m Dean.”

“Castiel,” he replies automatically.

Dean tries to pronounce his name a few times. He must be drunk enough, because his name is not that hard to pronounce, thank you very much. Finally, he gives up. “Can I call you Cas?”

Castiel nods. What harm could it cause? It’s not like he’s ever going to see this guy again. He wordlessly slides a glass of water at Dean. Dean accepts it with a grimace. “You have someone you can call for a ride, Dean?” Castiel asks casually as he goes about tidying up the bar.

“Naaaahhh,” Dean answers, the grin still firmly in place. “Well, I came here with Charlie. That’s my coworker. Boss was being a dick to her today, so I thought I could cheer her up.” Castiel nods along politely, not sure why he needs to know all this. Oversharing seems to be a trait of drunk people, though, so he doesn’t question it. “Think she mighta gotten lucky, though. Think I saw her leave with a bombshell.” He ends with a snicker that slowly dissolves into a full-blown fit of giggling. Castiel doesn’t see what’s funny, but he waits until Dean’s finished to say anything.

As soon as he does say something, he regrets it instantly. Rather than doing the logical thing and offering to call a taxi, he opens his mouth and says “Last call is in an hour. I’ll give you a ride home if you’re willing to wait.”

He wishes he could take the words back, because really? What is he thinking? Just because the guy is attractive doesn’t mean this is a good idea. He could be a serial killer or something. But Dean looks so happy at the prospect that Castiel can’t bring himself to take it back.

“Ooooh, does that mean I’m getting’ lucky tonight, Cas?” He leans across the counter and gives Castiel his best ‘melt your pants off’ grin.

Despite his subconscious telling him not to (if nothing else, Gabriel will never let him live it down), Castiel rolls his eyes and gives Dean his own playful smirk. “Let’s get you sober, first, and then maybe we’ll talk about getting you in my pants, cowboy.”

Without missing a beat, Dean retorts, “only if I’m riding you,” and Castiel chokes on his own breath.

Dean doesn’t quite “get lucky” that night in the way he was probably hoping, but numbers are exchanged, and things actually turn out even better than they might have had this been a one-night stand. In retrospect, they’re both very lucky.

Years later, it makes quite the story to tell at family gatherings, when relatives ask how they met. On the plus side, he does forgive Gabriel for making him work that night.

#destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel fic #october destiel au challenge #Mandy's writing

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