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"Rumi, are you certain? The dorms here would certainly be safer…"
"I'm sure, Celine," Rumi said, looking around the small apartment. It was nicer than the other apartments she had seen around the campus, but it was still smaller than she was used to, especially with the moving boxes still there, and that didn't even mention the idea that she would have a roommate. "You told me that you met the other Sunlight Sisters at college."
"Yes, but it was dangerous," Celine said. On the other side, she could hear keys tapping. Either she was working, or she was once again checking the safety rating of the campus. Again. "Not only did demons attack us, and two of us had no idea why, but there are human dangers."
"I'll be fine," Rumi said. "I promise. If anything happens, you'll be the second person I call."
"…after 119?"
"After 119."
"…Alright. Stay safe, Rumi."
"You too. Love you."
There was a pause and then a soft laugh. "I love you too."
Rumi pulled her phone away, feeling a smile form. She did love Celine, she did, but it was exciting to be on her own for the first time. She could've attended college in Seoul, yes, but it-
"Overprotective mom?"
Rumi yelped, whirling around and fighting back the heat of shame. She hadn't even heard the other come in! Next to the front door, kicking off her shoes and slipping into the teddy bear slippers she had seen when she came in, was a girl in golden-rimmed glasses. She cocked her head, studying Rumi.
It took a second.
"Oh, uh, kind of. She's not my mom, she's my guardian, and she-" Okay, she was rambling. She held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Rumi. You must be… Jin-ju?" Wasn't that what the paperwork had said when she signed it?
"It's Mira, actually," the girl said, shifting the plastic bag she held to the other hand to shake Rumi's hand. "I had some family issues crop up. The college was willing to let me switch rooms. I hope you don't mind."
Oh, that would explain her question. It also gave Rumi a few of her own. "Is everything okay?"
Mira shrugged. "It's better than it was before," she said, open honesty lining the words. Her eyes glanced at Rumi's hair. "Are you an expert in hair dye?"
Rumi glanced at her hair, coming loose from the work of moving all the boxes in. "Oh, um, it's not dyed," she said, repeating the story Celine had told neighbors when she was a kid. "It's a genetic condition. But I'm willing to help. Are you dying your hair?"
Mira nodded as she reached into the bag, pulling out a pink tube. Across the front was HAIR DYE. "I decided I didn't want to look like my mom anymore, so I'm going pink."
"Oh, okay! Where's the bathroom?"
"It's over here. I've been here for about a day, I can show you which way the shower knob works while we're doing this…"
Rumi felt a smile grow as she followed Mira.
Something told her that this was going to be wonderful.
@monthlywritingchallenges's AUpril day 01: coffee shop au
⋆˙⟡ the coffee was good—better than most you had tried by far, but it was the barista that kept you coming back for more. there was just something so painfully familiar about him.
⋆˙⟡ barista!enjin x fem!reader. 7441w. nsfw, angst. ex-lovers/past relationships, implied traumatic history between enjin and reader, blood and violence, holdup/robbery and gun threat, character death, shameless flirting, coffee dates, smut, semi-public (restroom) sex, memory manipulation, use of neurotransmitters/lab experiments (on reader)
i only started writing this four days before today...very little research about memory manipulation and that stuff was done, so not everything mentioned in the story is reliable. i just really wanted to write something like this >_<
⋆˙⟡ masterlist | read on ao3 | header by @/steddiecameraroll-graphics
[Memory Log 1.1: I Caught Fire]
Walls overcrowded with rock band posters and a rock song playing in the speakers were what you would’ve not expected when you entered the new coffee shop near where you workplace.
There’s a weird feeling in your gut—everything felt oddly familiar. From the song, the ambience, to the chair arrangements and potted plants. It felt like you’ve been in this place a few times before.
Sitting behind the service counter were two baristas, doomscrolling on their phones. There weren’t a lot of customers at that moment—just a group of three drinking their iced coffees. The barista closest to the register scrambled to get up when he realized your presence and welcomed you with a warm smile. His name tag read Gris. You tried not to stare for more than three seconds at the scar across his left eye.
“Hi,” you greeted back, then turned to the overhead menu. There were six coffee flavors, no tea blends. Even for food choices they didn't have much—two kinds of pasta, two flavors of toasts, and sugar cookies and brownies for pastries. You saw the same from their menu stand outside and it made you think twice about going in. But they were one of the few new coffee shops near your office that you hadn’t tried yet, so why not? You’ve got nothing to lose except a few minutes of commuting back home.
“Hot latte, please. Do you have soy milk as an alternative?”
“Yes,” he smiled, “but it would be an additional buck.”
“Sure.” You assumed there was only one size. There was no indication otherwise on the menu and only one size of mugs was on their cupboards. “That’s all. I’ll have it here.”
The other blond got up, taking it as his cue to start preparing your drink. You paid for your bill, put all the change into the tip jar, and left to find a table. You sat near the claiming area where you could watch the other barista operate the espresso machine. His back was facing your way, showing you a view of the baggy clothes that he was wearing under his brown apron. He was tall but looked rather skinny. Intricate swirls of red and black ink adorned his neck, and he wore a pair of thick hoop earrings. He also has a scar on the side of his head.
Was having scars a thing now?
You took your phone out and pretended to scroll through your social media newsfeed while stealing glances of the tattooed barista. As he poured the steamed milk into the espresso, you noticed that even his fingers had tattoos and his nails were polished with black. He put the mug on a tray, followed by some tissue paper and a stirrer. You were ready to get up, expecting he’d call your name, but he served your order himself instead.
♪ in your eyes, I lost my place, could stay a while… and I’m melting…
He was towering up close. He was handsome, but not your type of handsome—spiky hair, eyes a vivid citrine, sharp facial features. You bit back a giggle—he reminded you of sunflowers, oddly so, with the blond hair, striking yellow eyes, and the brown apron. His nameplate read Enjin, and when you met his gaze, he grinned, his eyes crinkling and the dimples appearing beside his lips.
“Hot café latte for the princess.”
What a flirt, you thought, biting back the laugh that had threatened to spill from your mouth.
“Thanks.” You looked away to your coffee, fearing you would be staring far longer than you should be at his handsome smile, and found that he had drawn a winking emoticon in special characters as latte art. Behind him, Gris sighed, and while it was a bit unprofessional for a barista to do this, you found it quite amusing.
“Enjoy,” he said, winking just like the figure he drew, and left.
There was something with the way he moved that felt familiar. The confident walk, the hands in his pocket, the way he shrugged and the sound of his laughter when Gris reprimanded him—it felt like you had watched this scene numerous times before.
You turned back to your drink and found three packs of bite-size brownies next to the mug.
[Memory Log 2.1: Follow You]
The coffee and brownies were surprisingly good. That was enough reason for you to come back and try a few more of what they offer.
Well… that, and you also kind of want to see Enjin again… even when last night you had spent a good hour and a half convincing yourself that you didn’t like the sound of him calling you princess.
There still was a noisy pop rock song that played when you entered, still vaguely familiar like yesterday’s.
♪ so you can drag me through hell, if it meant I could hold your hand…
There were four customers this time. An old lady, and the group of three from yesterday—a raven-haired man, a childish-looking woman, and a man in long dreads.
Enjin stepped out of the stock room, a faint smirk curling his lips when he saw you waiting by the counter. His hair was down unlike yesterday. You thought he looked cuter like that.
Gris followed behind, carrying a pack of whole beans to grind. He smiled the moment he saw you. “You’re back!”
“Hello,” you greeted back with a smile, looking up at the overhead menu. You could feel Enjin watching. He was openly staring. Was this how he always flirted? “I’ll have a hot vanilla latte and…”
♪ and you can throw me to the flames
If looks could burn, you would be ashes now.
You turned to Gris, clearing your throat. “...a banana chocolate toast.”
Gris punched in your orders. Enjin had already turned away to make your coffee, thank goodness. You swore you would’ve combusted if he didn’t stop staring at you soon. You paid your bill, dropped the change in the tip jar, and left to find a seat—the same one you occupied yesterday.
Enjin, again, served your order himself.
“Vanilla latte, banana chocolate toast…” he paused, fishing for something from the pocket of his apron, “‘n a cookie.”
A sunflower sugar cookie.
You met his overly charming grin with a confused gaze. “You can't just give me stuff for free…” First, it was the brownies. Now, this.
He produced another cookie from his apron, this time, heart shaped. “Oops. Just did it again,” he grinned, and you were once again overcome with the feeling that this was familiar. Too familiar. “Enjoy, princess.”
He turned to leave. You caught Gris shaking his head at Enjin, like a brother scolding his younger sibling.
Shaking the weird feeling off, you grabbed the sunflower cookie and instead, wondered if he was the one who baked and decorated it. You imagined him pipping the icing with unwavering focus, biting on his lower lip as he tries to draw the outlines straightly. Cute, you thought, biting back a giggle. A sharp pain suddenly tore through your head, and an image flashed before your eyes—you holding a huge sunflower that was freshly picked, posing for a selfie with someone. You saw yellow, then red, his smile, a tattooed arm over your shoulders, his lips pressed on your temple, but before you could even get a grasp on any of it, the image turned to a blinding white and a piercing sound rang in your ears.
The cookie fell to the ground.
The raven-haired customer was watching you closely.
Everything turned black.
“Again,” says a deep voice.
[Memory Log 1.2: Pinky Swear]
It started raining the moment you walked into the café, and the sight that welcomed you was definitely not what you expected. Three electric guitars were mounted on the wall that was crowded with posters of different bands, some even signed. From Funkadelic, Maná, Metallica, to All Time Low, Greenday, Bring Me the Horizon, and so on. You thought you might have walked into a music store and not a coffee shop.
Like what the reviews said, even the song that was playing was “un-café-like”.
♪ tie your hand to mine, so you can't go away
There were only three customers at that time, a group consisting of a raven-haired man munching on a sandwich, a brown skinned man with long hair styled in dreads, sipping a frappe, and a childish-looking woman shaking her iced coffee.
“Hello!” The barista greeted you with a smile. You thought his eyes were the prettiest blue you had ever seen… despite the scar across his left eye.
“I’d like a Spanish lat—” Hot latte, said a voice that sounded like your own in your head.
♪ put me in your pocket, pinky swear you'll stay
The barista tilted his head in question.
“Hot latte,” you blurted out in correction. A high pitch ringing started to assault your ears. “And a banana—”
Everything turned black.
“Again,” commands a deep voice laced with impatience.
[Memory Log 1.3: I Caught Fire]
It was scorching hot outside. Fortunately for you, the newly opened coffee shop that you had been wanting to try since last week was nearby the office.
The reviews were crazy. You read some last night since you were planning to drop by today. Most people said the coffee and pastries tasted superb, but the ambience was “un-café-like”.
You thought you understood now.
It was noisy, with the speakers blaring The Used’s I Caught Fire. The walls looked dirty to the eyes only because it was overcrowded with posters of rock bands along with three electric guitars mounted on the wall at the center.
Weird theme for a coffee shop, you thought as you scanned the interior. There were only three customers, a group who were each sipping frappes and appeared to be refusing to look at each other and talk, as if they came to have coffee despite having beef with each other.
“Hello!”
You turned to the smiling barista behind the register. He had eyes the color of clear sky and he was handsome despite the long scar across the left one.
You smiled back and said, “Iced Spanish latte, please. Do you have soy milk as an alternative?”
“Yes,” he nodded, “but it would be an additional buck.”
“That’s fine.”
He punched in your order and asked if you wanted anything else, to which you shook your head.
And then, you hear the sound of the espresso machine. There on the other side of the service area was a second barista. A spiky blond with black and red tattoos on his neck.
Hmm. He wasn’t there earlier, was he? You didn’t notice him coming from anywhere either.
“Miss?”
You turned to the barista in front of you, murmuring an apology as you quickly fished for your purse to pay. You sat near the claiming area where you could watch the other barista operate the espresso machine, his presence still a huge mystery to you. You were certain you would’ve noticed him when you arrived. With that height and the baggy clothes he wore, he wasn’t easy to miss.
But that wasn’t just it; he felt familiar. Had you seen him somewhere before? The tattoos on his neck looked so familiar that an image of his naked body filled with black and white ink flashed before your eyes.
A sharp pain tore through your head, it felt like your skull was splitting in half. It dissipated just as fast as it had come, leaving a faint buzz in your ears and a funny feeling in your mouth.
Your order was soon served by the barista with tattoos. Up close, he looked so familiar it felt strange.
“Here’s your latte, princess.”
It would kill you if you didn’t ask. “Are you a celebrity?”
He blinked, unsure if he heard you right, then exploded in a laugh so loud it echoed in the nearly empty coffee shop. You wanted to smack him in the head, but you didn’t want to be accused of assault or whatever either.
“What the hell!” He was still laughing, although a little toned down now. “I— pfft— been told ‘m— handsome countless of times but— a celebrity?” He sat next to you to steady himself, his face red and eyes teary as he continued to laugh.
The sound of his laughter was so familiar it was painful. Quite literally. There was an ache in your chest that you couldn’t explain.
“Goddamn...” You rubbed your forehead as headache began to blossom. Even the buzzing in your ears had gotten louder. “You just looked familiar, okay?” You clarified.
He calmed down a short moment later, his laughter reduced to a contented sigh. “Well, I’ll take it as a compli— shit!” He sprang from the chair, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of his pants and nearly shoving it on your face. “‘Yer nose is bleeding!”
You didn’t get the chance to react to anything at all because—
—your eyes open. You come face to face with a man in long dreads.
“Sister’s awake!” he announces happily. “But she’s bleeding. Poor sister.”
Your lips part to speak but nothing comes out of your mouth. Your throat is dry. Your tongue tastes funny. Metallic. There’s a quiet hum in the background and the air smelled strongly of antiseptics.
A woman whose hair is dyed in blue appears to your left, holding a damp white cloth which she gently dabs at the space under your nose. It comes off with a tinge of red.
“How is she?” Asks a deep voice behind you.
You try to turn your head but realize there is something holding your neck to the bed. Even your wrists are strapped in place. What the hell?!
“Looks A-OK!” the guy in dreads answers cheerfully with matching hand gestures.
The woman sighs, “she obviously isn’t.”
“Come on, it’s just a simple nosebleed!” Dreads says dismissively. “Don’t baby her!”
“Start it again,” orders the third voice.
Dreads prances away, singing, “Come, come, come with me! Let’s take a trip down the mem’ry lane~”
“Zodyl.” There’s an edge in the woman’s tone that triggers fear in you. “We’ll fry her brains if we don't stop now.”
There’s silence, the kind that tells you the man doesn’t care. And then: “fine. Last one.”
She lets out a deep breath, somewhat relieved, and reaches for something nearby—a syringe with something purple inside. Panic pools at the pit of your stomach, even more so when she brings the needle to your neck. You look her in the eyes, hoping for eye contact, but it’s clear she’s avoiding it.
Your vision begins to blur. Only then does she meet your eyes and says, “Vanilla—”
“ —latte, banana chocolate toast…” Enjin paused, fishing for something from the pocket of his apron, “‘n a sugar cookie.”
A daisy shaped sugar cookie.
You met his charming grin with a confused gaze. “You can't just give me stuff for free…”
“It’s no biggie,” he said dismissively, turning away. “Enjoy, princess.”
Gris shakes his head at Enjin he returns to the service area, like a brother scolding his younger sibling.
You grabbed the sugar cookie, wondering if he made it himself. You tore the package open and took a bite.
It tasted like blood.
[Memory Log 3.1: Lunacy Fringe]
♪ wake up, my love, never thought you'd make me, break me
“Enjin, you’re flirting with the customer again.”
“Again?” Pretty boy with tattoos sighed. “She’s gon’ think I flirt with all our customers!”
“Don’t you?” You teased.
“See!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. Turning back to you, he said, “I don’t. Not all the time, at least,” and grinned.
Gris sighed, albeit fondly, and turned back to you. “Glad to see you again. What would you like this time?”
You hummed in thought. “Do you have a secret drink?”
“Well,” he pondered, scratching at his goatee. “Enjin’s working on a few drinks, but I don’t think they’re ready yet—”
“They are!” Said man interrupted, sidling up to Gris’s side. “One question, though. Sex or chocolates?”
“Is that necessary?” You questioned, to which he only grinned in response. You sighed in answer, “Sex and chocolates.”
Enjin smirked audibly. “Insatiable.” Then he went to prepare your drink.
You began to look for your purse in your bag, but Gris shook his head and said, “it’s on the house. Go find a seat.”
“You both like giving away free stuff, huh?”
“I call it ‘favoritism’,” Enjin yelled over the loud paper-tearing sound of the steam wand.
You merely laughed it off, but deep inside your heart just skipped a beat.
You sat in a booth at the far side of the café, away and hidden from the service area. There were no other customers today, and the volume of the speakers was set to low, so it was a little peaceful.
It didn’t take long for Enjin to find you, carrying a tray with two Collins glasses filled with two-tone layered drinks and garnished with lemons. Without asking, he sat on the couch next to you, his elbow bumping with yours, as if you were two people on a date.
The thought made you scoot closer. You hoped he didn’t notice. “Won’t you be needed there?”
With a brow raised and a funny look on his face, he gestured to the empty coffee shop.
“I mean, someone could come in anytime,” you chuckled, scooting even closer so that you’re now sitting side by side. He smelled like coffee and cigarettes, which should’ve been a turn off for you, having despised cigarettes your entire life (for reasons), yet you didn’t want to pull away.
“So,” he started, distributing the drinks, “Espresso tonic. Strong cold brew concentrate and tonic water.”
“Do I have to mix before I drink?”
He hummed in deep thought. You chuckled. “You don’t know?”
“Just teasing,” he grinned, and your heart might’ve skipped a beat again. “Drink it as is.”
You ignored the feeling that was blooming in your chest and lifted the glass to your mouth, catching a whiff of the citrus, floral, and fruit notes that a standard iced espresso tended to muffle. “Hmm…” you slightly tilted your head in curiosity. The aroma was familiar. Enjin chuckled impatiently and urged you to drink it already, and you did, stopping mid-sip as you tasted the bitterness that wasn’t just from the roasted espresso. It did taste like espresso but drinks like something entirely different. Bright and sparkling. Like Enjin’s triumphant smile when you took another sip.
“She likes iiiiit,” he sang.
You put the glass back on the table. “It’s… okay,” you said tentatively, teasing.
“It’s okay?? Surely, you can do better with your review,” he rolled his eyes and then chuckled. He took a sip of his own coffee, then he leaned sideways, elbow on the table and jaw on his knuckle, and locked eyes with you.
“I’m just teasing,” you said, poking his waist. He didn’t even flinch, unaffected and not ticklish. He only caught your finger and didn’t let go. You wanted to hold his whole hand instead. “It was delicious. Haven’t drank something like this before.”
Enjin smirked. You swallowed and unintentionally licked your lips. Then he leaned in and crashed his mouth into yours in a breathy kiss, as if he had been wanting to do this with you in forever, and so noisy, you’re certain Gris would hear it from the service area. Enjin’s huge hands cupped your face, pulling you even closer, while you held onto his wrists. You weren’t sure if it was his skin or yours that felt hot. Maybe both. But you were going to combust soon, that’s for sure.
You tilted your head to the side, a low moan escaping your throat. He pulled away from your mouth, biting your lower lip lightly as he trailed down your chin, then to the side of your neck—
The door suddenly opened and in came three customers. One of them was loudly singing, “Come, come, come with me! Let’s take a trip down the mem’ry lane!”
Enjin forced himself to let go of you. You struggled to breathe, feeling as though he took all the oxygen from your lungs with that kiss.
You swallowed, then murmured his name.
He took a small bar of dark chocolate from his apron and gave it to you. “I know,” he smiled, squeezing your knee as he got up to leave, leaving you flustered, wet, and admittedly wanting more.
[Memory Log 1.4: Walk this World with Me]
Darkness surrounds you. You can feel your eyes moving, seeking some source of light, but it’s as though there’s something covering them, preventing you from seeing anything. You feel like you’re floating, but you know you’re lying on something. Your brain feels like jumbled wires, unable to form any coherent thoughts. Your mouth tastes like metal. You try to swallow to wet your throat, but it takes a while before your muscles move, and when you finally get to swallow, a burning sensation hits your throat and makes you want to throw up.
The continuous beep and low thrum of machines around you slowly register in your head. Then, voices.
Someone’s singing, “...take a trip down the mem’ry lane. Come, come, come with me!”
“We have to stop her from going to the coffee shop,” says a deep male voice. There's a pregnant pause. And then: “one more.”
“You said that was the last one,” a female voice argues.
You flinch at the ear-splitting scraping of a chair against the floor.
“One more,” the deep voice repeats firmly. “Adjust the formula. Glutamate, .8. Serotonin, 1. Endorphin, 0.”
You don’t hear any answer. Just footsteps, retreating, then the ominous screeching of a door as it closes.
“...down the mem’ry lane we go…”
You stepped out of the office building together with your colleagues, excited to go home after a long day at work.
“Fuuuck, it’s so hot,” grumbled Alice, fanning her face with the folder she borrowed from the boss’ supply cabinet. “The weather forecast said it was going to rain today!”
“They did say the last day of summer was last week,” Mika joked with an implying tone.
“Ice Cream House, anyone?” asked Sanya. “They just released a new flavor: Blue Cheese & Pear.”
There was a collective groan. Dane exclaimed, “yuuuck, seriously?!”
“I have to go,” you answered immediately. You weren’t in the mood to stay out late today, thanks to the headache you had been nursing since morning. “See you guys tomorrow.” You bade them farewell despite their protests and started heading in the direction where your bus stop was located.
An iced coffee or frappe would be good though, you thought. You had been meaning to try the coffee shop that just opened nearby—
“Ow!” A sharp pain tore through your skull. You stopped in your tracks to steady yourself and massaged your forehead with the heel of your hand.
Your mouth tasted funny. You felt like throwing up. You couldn’t take another aspirin, not when it clearly wasn’t helping.
When you were feeling slightly better, you continued towards the street where the new coffee shop was located. You stopped outside the café, pondering over the menu stand. Nothing seemed to tickle your tastebuds.
You let out a heavy sigh. You weren’t really in the mood for anything, and it could ruin the experience for you, so you turned away to leave.
But the door was thrown open, and a tall blond barista with striking yellow eyes hurried towards you, holding a wet tissue in his hand. His other hand went to the back of your head, holding it in place.
“What—” Your knees trembled, and you end up leaning against him, your shoulder on his chest. He wrapped his arm around the middle of your back, keeping you close and steady.
You looked up at the blond whose nameplate read Enjin. He felt oddly familiar.
Enjin gently dabbed the tissue under your nose and said, “lean forward, princess. ‘Yer nose is bleeding.”
Your last thought was is that even fucking clean before you lost consciousness.
Or not. You hear voices around you.
“It’s no use,” sighs a female one. “We should stop lest we damage her brain.”
“We have her consent,” a male voice answers.
“We can’t change the past, Zodyl.”
He counters that with only a firm gaze. “We saw her memories change. We made progress—significant progress. Progress we wouldn't have made if we stuck with rats for experimentation.”
“That’s true,” she concurs, “but maybe this isn’t the time yet to—”
“We have her consent,” he repeats, firm and conclusive.
[Present]
“The first time I met him? Hmm…”
Was it winter? No, it was summer, you’re certain it was in summer.
“I think it was winter. I remember it was snowing.”
But when you search your memories, you recall heavy rain instead, urging you to take shelter in the coffee shop until it passed.
“Coffee shop?” A voice asks.
You feel like you’re being interrogated. Like you’re taking an exam where you’re being set to fail.
“Mhm… was it not a coffee shop?” You chuckle nervously, and the person shrugs in response. “Oh, wait. I think I remember now! It was a park.” You smile. And then: “A park where sunflowers bloom…” Repeating it doesn’t sound right anymore, like it’s not what you’re supposed to remember.
He looks like one, after all, a sunflower. So tall, so bright, and full of life. He was always looking at you, after you, like a sunflower that’s always facing in the sun’s direction.
“Hmm…”
“Remember something else?”
More like… forgot something else, you think. And it feels wrong. It’s becoming difficult to remember some things, although Cthoni did tell you it would take another two hours or more for the hippocampus to start functioning properly after a session.
“Sorry… who are we talking about again?”
There’s a heavy feeling in your gut.
[Memory Log 4.1: Lunacy Fringe]
Enjin carried a tray with two martini glasses filled with coffee—or so you hoped it was, not something alcoholic. It’s too early to be drinking cocktails and you still have to go to work.
It has been your daily routine for the past few weeks: coffee dates (his words) with Enjin before going to work. Since your office is just around the corner, he had reasoned out.
He sat on the couch next to you, bumping his elbow into yours. He had removed his apron, leaving him only in an oversized red shirt and loose beige pants.
His skin was so warm, you found yourself scooting closer. You caught a faint smell of cigarettes, coffee, and his chocolate-scented body spray.
“Won’t you be needed there?” You asked, hoping he didn’t notice you had gotten closer.
“Nah. Gris can handle it,” he said dismissively, distributing the drinks to each of you. “Caffè Shakerato: a shot of espresso shaken with sugar on ice.”
“As simple as that?”
“Mhm,” he murmured with a smile, dimples appearing. “Yet, so much more.”
Hmm…
“Are ‘ya going to drink it or you’ll keep staring?”
You cleared your throat and snuffed out the feeling that was blooming in your chest. You expected the drink to be just a normal sweet iced espresso but it wasn’t. It was velvety and capped with a creamy foam.
“I wanted to add Baileys, but I forgot to ask, so...”
“It’s just 6 in the morning, Enjin.” You took two more sips.
He smiled triumphantly. “You like it.”
You put the glass back on the table. “Hmm, it’s okay,” you answered in a teasing tone.
“It’s okay?!” He exclaimed, crossing his arms and then pouting like a child.
“I was just teasing,” you chuckled, poking his waist. He caught your finger and didn’t let go. “It was good. Haven’t drank anything like this before.”
♪ and will your love light burn me baby?
Enjin smirked, then he pulled you towards him, crashing his lips into yours in a kiss so intense he might as well breathe in your whole face.
♪ burn a hole right through my heart.
His huge hands cupped your face, pulling you even closer, while you held onto his waist, fingers digging into the flesh of his back. Goddamn, you wanted to sit on his lap. You wanted him to hold you somewhere else while you grinded against him. A low moan escaped your throat at the thought of straddling him, of the feeling of his body under yours. He pulled away from your face, lightly biting your lower lip as his mouth moved down to your chin, then to the side of your neck—
The door suddenly opened and in came three customers. One was singing, “Come, come, come with me! Let’s take a trip down the mem’ry lane!”
Enjin pulled away, his eyes zoned in on your parted lips. You were struggling to breathe. It felt like the kiss took all the oxygen from your lungs. He got up, took a quick sip of his coffee, and then grabbed your hand and dragged you to the restroom. You wordlessly followed, feeling a buzz in your nerves. Maybe he lied. Maybe he did put alcohol in your drink, but you didn’t care anymore.
He slammed the door close and pushed you against the wall, kissing you in the mouth deeply and with another sucking breath. You raked your fingers through his hair as you kissed him back, tongue slipping into his mouth, tasting roasted espresso and cigar. But he cut it short, earning an impatient groan from you, breaking the kiss so that he could to take his shirt off.
For the first time, you saw the expanse of his tattoos—the whole sleeves, the swirls on his chest, and the rest of it that covers his back.
Your hands moved to his chest, caressing the tattooed skin.
He smirked. “Like what you’re seein’?”
You met his gaze for a second, then leaned in to trace your tongue along the swirls of red and black ink on his pectorals.
♪ I'm so far gone now, do you wanna take me high?
He let out a low growl and grabbed your ass cheeks, squeezing them firmly as he lifted you from the floor. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him tightly as he pushed your skirts up.You sighed his name, your own hands moving to his belt to unbuckle it, pushing his cock against your clothed heat the moment it sprung free from the confines of his boxer briefs.
Enjin captured your lips in another heated kiss before moving to your neck. “Wanna fuck ‘ya so badly, baby,” he murmured against your skin, “so fuckin’ badly I dream of it every night.”
You grasped his hair at the back, pulling his head back to make him look at you. “So, fuck me.” You pushed aside the crotch of your panty while your other hand guided the tip of his head along your aching folds.
He buried his face in your neck as he thrusted up into your cunt, sighing out your name against the skin of your throat, and you watched him in the mirror behind his back while he fucked you against the wall.
It was good. Being with Enjin made you feel good, yet there was a heavy feeling in your gut. It was always there, growing bigger the more time you spent with him.
You closed your eye, hoping that sinking feeling would disappear, and when you opened them again —
— you find yourself in a dimly lit room, with no recollection of anything at all.
There’s a faint ringing in your ears. The headache follows.
A blue-haired woman in an indigo lab gown appears in your vision, looking down at you like you’re a patient undergoing surgery. “How are you feeling?” She dabs a wet tissue under your nose. Then another at each of your ears. They all come off tinged with red.
You don’t know. You aren’t sure. You feel like you have just woken up from a dreamless sleep.
And your head fucking hurts.
“Where am I?”
She doesn’t answer your question, but she tells you that you’ll feel better soon. She helps you sit up, then she pats your face dry with a purple towel and tells you to wait for someone to accompany you to your room.
[Present]
You don’t want to be here, but you can’t say no to him either. You still can’t say no to him after everything.
You turn on your seat, unable to stay still, your nerves killing you. The walls are too white they remind you, ironically, of the dark walls of R-Labs.
The door on the other side of the glass screen is opened by a police officer, and behind him is Enjin, his wrists handcuffed. His hair is noticeably longer now, the usually spiked strands now down without his styling wax. You can’t decide if his clothes are just too big for him or if he lost more weight. Isn’t he eating well? Don’t they give him vitamins?
The officer uncuffs him before he is sat on the monoblock chair. He smiles wide, as if the two of you aren’t in a damn prison visiting room and instead are out on a date.
You’re painfully reminded of the first time you met him.
He picks up the phone; you don’t yet. You aren’t sure if you want to hear his voice or if you even want to talk with him.
His mouth moves, the sound doesn’t go through the thick glass separating you from each other, but you hear his voice clearly in your head. “C’mon, babe,” he urges you to pick up the phone.
You let out a sharp breath, eyes beginning to blur. You look down on your thighs, where your fingers just twitched, itching to grab the phone.
Well, you’re already here. It would be a waste of your time if you didn’t talk to him, so you might as well just do it. Get over and done with it. With everything.
“There you are,” he smiles.
You force your eyes to be still, afraid that if you so much as blink even the slightest the tears would start to fall without an end.
“I missed you.”
You swallow down your answer. It doesn’t matter anymore.
But you do too. You missed his voice. You missed him. All of him. You miss the two of you before all of this.
“I know ‘ya did too. Well, I was hoping, ‘cos why would you be here if not?”
Your lips tremble. You don’t know what to say.
“You don’t have to answer. I know ‘ya didn’t want to be here, but… man,” he chuckles ruefully, “I really miss your voice. Really wanna hear it again so badly.”
Your heart shatters even more. Just when you think it could no longer break further, it crumbles to dust, leaving an empty space in your chest.
“Babe,” he calls, “please?”
A sharp breath escapes your mouth. It still baffles you how just last year, that one word always made your heart do somersaults in your chest. Now, there’s nothing but a bitter feeling in your gut. You want to remind him you aren’t together anymore, that he chose to end the relationship when he decided to seek revenge, but you know he won’t listen. He’s persistent like that.
So, instead, you question, “why’d you summon me then?”
“Well…” he chuckles, scratching the nape of his neck, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks. “I just missed ‘ya. I know I don’t have the right to miss my ex after everythin’ I’ve done, but it’s been what, five? Six? Six months since ‘ya last visited.”
“Eight,” you correct him.
“Eight,” he parrots, nodding slowly as he digests the information. Then he chuckles and says, “it’s hard to keep track of the days here. Don’t even know what month it is now.”
“It’s his first anniversary in four days.”
He pauses, lips parting but saying nothing at all. You think you see his eyes beginning to well up with tears, but then he blinks and lets out a sharp breath that sounds like a bitter laugh. “That fast, eh?”
The question goes unanswered. It doesn’t need one.
“They rejected my request for parole,” Enjin speaks again, unable to keep his mouth shut. Not wanting even a second or two of silence.
Your vision blurs. Fuck. You blink quickly and soon feel something wet landing on your cheek.
“I dunno if I’d try again…” he pauses to watch you wipe the tears from your eyes. “Maybe if you urged me to, I would?” he says, somewhat joking yet sounding hopeful. Then he chuckles and adds, “just kiddin’. Don’t— don’t answer if it’s a no. Heh.”
You sniffle, then let out a shaky breath. “Try again.”
He blinks, surprised.
“No one else visits Gris but—” your voice breaks, “...but me.”
Enjin nods slowly. “Okay. Will try again.”
“But don’t come looking for me.”
That finally brings him to tears.
You hate to see him crying.
“I— I don’t want anything to do with you anymore,” you blurt out, voice turning softer and inaudible towards the last word. You hold his gaze. He isn’t moving, only staring at your trembling lips and tear-stained face. You want to reach out to him and hold him so tightly for the last time. You want to trace his lips with your thumb, the scar on his head, his tattoos. You want to kiss him again, to hug him. You want to cook meals for him again, brew his coffee in the morning, make him desserts at night. You want to drink with him again, to get drunk again and have sex until you both pass out from exhaustion.
You want to be in love with him again.
No. You still love him. Despite everything, you still love him. You know you’ll never stop loving him.
But it’s not enough.
You take in a deep breath and—
“Wait,” he starts before you can. “I love you.”
Your breath catches in your throat.
“‘m not saying it to get you back. I know it doesn't matter anymore, but… I love you,” he murmurs your name. Not princess, not babe, but your name.
And you fucking missed it, the sound of your name in his voice.
“Just realized I never said it out loud before ‘n I’m sorry for that.”
You can no longer stop the ugly sobbing anymore. Why does it have to be like this? Why did those things happen?
You want to give him a chance, but it’s too much. There’s still too much pain in your heart.
“I wish you well, Enjin. Truly. I wish you happiness.” You hung up before he could answer.
His lips tremble with an intensity you’ve never seen before. You fist your skirt, fingers turning white so quickly while you stare into his eyes for the next few seconds. For the last time. He hasn’t hung up yet, but he isn’t speaking either.
You swallow hard. “Goodbye, Enjin.”
He doesn’t answer. Until now he still refuses to let you go.
You get up and leave.
.
The coffee shop no longer stands. It was torn down months ago; the lot cleared of almost all the construction debris and hazardous materials.
You cross the street and walk towards what has been your favorite place for a while. Even without the menu stand, the glass doors, or the wall that’s overcrowded with posters, you could still clearly picture how the café looked when you first visited it in January last year. You recall the first time Gris smiled and welcomed you into the coffee shop. You remember all your first impressions—the weird theme choice, the unwelcoming walls, the noisy music, the good coffee and pastries.
The pretty boy with the cute dimples and handsome tattoos. The one who made the butterflies in your stomach flutter every time he served your coffee. The one who brewed you blends you’ve never tasted before—never tasted again.
Your sunflower.
You had good moments here. You laughed with them and then cried from laughing too much. Drank coffee with them, some even spiked. Learned how to use the espresso machine and made coffee for the three of you. Stayed late with Enjin to experiment on a few new coffee blends. Had sex with Enjin in the restroom a few times, which resulted in Gris scolding the two of you and even warning you of getting banned from the coffee shop (which you knew was an empty threat because Gris always welcomed you with a big smile the moment you came in the next day.)
And then there were the bad memories. The armed robbers, who you would later on discover were members of the gang Enjin and Gris used to be in. You had just come out of the restroom, not knowing what was happening, only that they were being accused of stealing something from “the boss”. You recall the feeling of hitting someone at the back of their head with the electric guitar and the bone-crunching sound as the alder struck the skull. You recall Gris yelling at you to get down as the windows shattered. You recall looking at your blood-stained hands, the feeling of sitting on the pool of someone’s blood, on Gris’ blood, as he slowly bled to death.
You remember him reaching for your face, smudging blood on your cheek as he asked you to take care of Enjin and to keep him from making any more mistakes. You remember his beautiful and vibrant blue eyes turning lifeless.
It wasn’t easy trying to be strong for the both of you for the both of you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to give up—you had been so close to leaving Enjin behind, but you held on because you loved him and because you made a promise to Gris. You held on even if it wasn’t easy doing all the work just so you both would survive. You worked day and night, all while he only drank and mourned his best friend’s death. You knew that feeling after all, to lose the only person you have. To have them taken away from you. You held on even if it wasn’t easy getting him out of wherever he was lying or curled up in, demanding he eat and take a bath, only for you to end up feeding him and bathing him like a damn child. And when he had finally gathered his wits and got up by himself, when you thought he had finally started moving on, it turned out it was just because he had decided to take it upon himself to seek justice, taking the life of the person who killed Gris along with a few other members of the gang including their boss.
Then he turned himself in.
You found out only after seeing it in the news two days after.
You couldn’t keep your promise to Gris.
You failed to be a good partner to Enjin.
.
Gris liked your Cinnamon Cardamom Cappuccino blend — 3C, as he named it on their secret menu — so you made one to offer at his grave. You sit on the grass, quiet for a short moment as you stare at the deep brown granite that is his headstone. You ask how he’s doing in heaven.
Only Gris knows what you’ve been up to, trying to manipulate your memories to forget Enjin.
Only Gris knows of your plan of calling Cthoni to tell her you’re withdrawing from their research. It will cost you a lot, you’re only four months into the one-year deal, but you don’t really care anymore. You’re keeping the memories. You’re keeping Enjin in your heart.
You ask him to help Enjin with his parole. You truly wish he would be granted that. He’s not a bad person after all.
You still apologize for failing to keep your promise. You still ask for his forgiveness.
You tell Gris you’re leaving the country. You’re leaving everything behind. You don’t apologize for it. You know he understands.
You uncap the cold ready-to-drink black coffee you bought from the 7-11 store a couple of blocks away from the cemetery. It’s the last coffee you will ever drink.
You take a gulp, then throw away the rest.
It leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.
reblogs and comments are much appreciated <333
written with blood, sweat, tears, and a lot of self-doubt by @pianon0. please don't plagiarize, translate, repost, or feed into ai. thank you! 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
had literally no free time this month but i was able to scrounge together three ishimondo oneshots for AUpril! (find out more on @au-pril-blog) get hypeddd!!!!
if i have the time i’ll try and get out some more but you should know that im a RIDICULOUSLY slow writer so no promises! i may do some art, though, so keep your eyes peeled 👀
also do you like my little drawing they make me so nauseous i need them to explode
edit: 2/3 are posted! check my ao3 god_of_fandoms and hope you enjoy!
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"Hey there, what can I get for you this morning?" you ask the tall, broad-shouldered man as he walks inside the door to the cafe. He's wearing a cowboy hat and a Carhartt jacket, which isn't exactly abnormal around here. There was an abundance of both general cowboy types and hipsters trying to copy the vibes.
Arthur looks at the menu on the board behind you. Lattes, macchiatos, iced Monin refreshers, mochas... Some of them he couldn't pronounce let alone figure out what they were supposed to be.
The place was a little hipster cafe he'd never normally go to, plants everywhere and reclaimed barnwood furniture, a little record shop in the back... He usually just went to the diner but they were closed today, a notice on the door citing some family matter. So, where else could he get his coffee in this small town?
"Uh... Well shit. Y'all sell just regular coffee?"
You laugh and nod.
"Yes, sir, we sell regular coffee." You pointed to the board behind him, and he turned to look at it. "Got Peruvian, Colombian, Sumatran–"
You cut yourself off when you saw the confused expression on his face, pressing your lips together tightly to avoid laughing again.
He turns back to face you, looking completely lost.
"Alright... What kinda coffee do you usually drink?"
"Coffee." He answers without a moment of hesitation. After you give him a raised, unimpressed eyebrow, though, he takes his hat off and runs a hand through his dark blonde hair, thinking.
"Uh... Folger's is what I drink at home," he grunted.
You nod once and turn to pour a steaming cup of the Colombian medium–roast. You hand it to him black—no cream, no sugar.
"I think this would work well for you..."
He looks at it skeptically like you did something to it before picking it up and sniffing it.
…Well. Smells like coffee, at least.
He takes a slow sip, letting the smooth, deep flavor sit in his mouth before swallowing. He looks down at the cup again, like he's contemplating a work of art rather than a hot brew of bean water.
Then he takes another sip, bigger this time. He looks at you, brows furrowing.
"This ain't coffee."
"I'm... Sorry? Is there something wrong with it?"
"No," he answers with a simple shake of his head.
"O-oh... Okay. So... Did you want–"
"This ain't coffee. Y'all got witches brewin' this in them machines of yours?"
Your brain almost short circuits as you try to figure out what he's trying to say is wrong with it.
"Coffee's supposed to be bitter. Supposed to bite ya a little… or at least slap ya in the face... It ain't supposed to taste like... this. I ain't supposed to like it."
As you realize what he means, you suddenly start laughing.
"Oh! Oh my gosh! You're funny, Mister, I'll say that."
A grin slowly spreads across Arthur's face, like making you laugh was the thing that put it there.
He sits down at the bar, holding his cup and taking another drink while you pull yourself together.
"What kinda black magic y'all got goin' on back there anyway?"
"Oh, gosh, nothing really. We do roast our own beans in house, and grind them ourselves of course, but that's it as far as our part goes," you explain as he looks around the place some more.
"Huh. No kiddin'... Didn't expect a place like– well– this... to be serving coffee that tastes like this. Shame I ain't tried it sooner."
"Yeah, a lot of people just see the fancy drinks. Which is fine, we do have a lot of them. But we do regular coffee too, and we're very picky about brands and quality."
After chatting for another moment, Arthur picks up the paper from the corner of the counter and sips his coffee as he reads it.
You start cleaning up the counters and putting things away, the breakfast rush now over and stocking for the rest of the day.
After a while the music playing off the speaker switches, some indie rock song ending and 'Folsom Prison Blues' by Johnny Cash starting to play.
You start humming along to the twangy rhythm of the guitar. Arthur looks up from the paper, slowly, first just because this song playing in this little hipster cafe was surprising to him, but then because you also clearly knew it. He didn't say anything, just watched as you moved around behind the counter and sang under your breath.
Once it's over, you turn and catch him watching you.
"Didn't think a place like this'd play Cash..." he said, the drawl lingering a little.
"We do play a lot of indie music, but we play a little bit of everything, really. There's a playlist on shuffle and all the workers add whatever music they want to it."
"I'm guessing that one was yours?"
"Yeah, it was..." then, taking the opportunity to tease him, "Why, you got a problem with it, cowboy?" you ask, grinning cheekily.
The corner of his lips twitch, just the hint of a smirk playing on them.
"Nope. No problem here. Good coffee, good music... Good company."
He raises his cup as he says it, then drinks the last of it, setting it down for you to take. He stands and heads to the cash register, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a twenty from his wallet.
"How much?"
You shake your head.
"Nope. That first one is on the house... Long as you promise you'll be coming back?"
He gives a slow nod, putting his wallet back in his back pocket.
"Alright, I'll be back, (miss/mister)..." he looks for a name tag but you aren't wearing one.
"(Y/n). And you, cowboy? You got a name?"
"Arthur. Arthur Morgan... Or cowboy works, if that's what you wanna call me."
He takes the twenty still in his hand and tosses it into the tip jar, your eyes widening just slightly.
He nods his head low and touches the brim of his hat.
"You have yourself a nice day now, (y/n). I'll be around."
You smile to yourself as you watch him leave, hoping he would be.
After days of walking, Thorin and Bilbo — who were traveling together to visit their old friends and allies from the Company — had finally stopped at Bree. The inn was filled with the mingled scents of food, ale, and woodsmoke. Bilbo’s mouth was already watering. He ordered the “Special Hobbit” menu, which came with generous portions of everything at a fairly modest price. Thorin, for his part, asked only for a piece of bread, some cheese, and a pint of beer. Before the barmaid left, he requested a room for the night. The young woman gave him an apologetic look.
“We only have one left. And there’s only one bed.”
“We’ll take it,” Thorin replied simply, glancing at Bilbo, who was far too busy eating to pay any attention to what the barmaid was saying. She nodded and told him where the room was. Thorin thanked her, finishing his mug and his plate.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” asked a very full and visibly happy Bilbo.
“Absolutely,” Thorin agreed.
“So? Who are we going to see first?”
“I thought I’d show you the Mines of Moria. We’d find Balin, Ori, Oin there… then we could visit Gloin in the Blue Mountains, and even Dain in the Iron Hills.”
“That’ll be a fine adventure,” Bilbo smiled.
“Indeed. And no dragon this time.”
Bilbo couldn’t help smiling with relief.
“Good. And what if we passed through Dale? We could see Bard.”
Thorin was silent for a second, but he nodded.
“Why not…?”
“And… I’d really love to see the Mirkwood Forest again,” Bilbo ventured cautiously.
Thorin’s expression darkened immediately.
“What would I go there for?”
Bilbo let out a small outraged gasp.
“Thranduil saved you at Erebor!”
“That miserable Elf only saved his precious gems!” Thorin snapped, his voice rising enough to make several patrons in the inn turn around.
Bilbo raised his hands in a calming gesture.
“You know very well that’s not true, but I won’t insist.”
“You’d better not,” Thorin growled, the threat barely veiled. “Let’s go to bed. We have a long road ahead of us tomorrow.”
The Hobbit didn’t push the matter. He followed the Dwarf upstairs, crossed the corridor, and stopped with him in front of a door. He looked left, then right.
“Where… where’s my room?”
“Here.”
Thorin pushed the door open and let him enter. Bilbo brushed past him as he went in, and an odd shiver ran through him. But the moment he stepped inside the room, the Hobbit turned to him.
“Um, Thorin…? There’s only one bed…”
“So?” The Dwarf stepped forward, pulled off his boots and kicked them aside, then dropped onto the mattress with a contented sigh.
Bilbo hadn’t moved an inch. His nose wrinkled as he thought hard. He let out a small, surprised and half-amused hiccup.
“And… where am I supposed to sleep?”
Thorin already had his eyes closed.
“Well, you can always sleep on the floor if you like, Master Baggins.”
A new hiccup — this one genuinely outraged — escaped him.
“On the floor? Absolutely not.”
With a determined step, he crossed the room in a few strides and made a little waving gesture as if shooing away a fly.
“Come on, move over.”
Thorin smirked slyly and shifted as far as he could. Bilbo only just had enough space to lie down, curled up under the sheets. His body threatened to fall off the edge at any moment. He sighed, exasperated.
“You could make an effort, at least!”
“Hm? An effort? Like this?”
Suddenly Thorin turned onto his side too, his chest pressed against Bilbo’s back. The change in position freed up a good amount of space. The Dwarf pulled the Hobbit closer with disconcerting ease, pressing him against his chest. Bilbo felt his warm breath in the hollow of his neck and the powerful breadth of his torso against his back. He blushed all the way to his toes and silently thanked the heavens that he had his back to Thorin.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Like this it’s perfect.”
He remained perfectly still, frozen, when he felt Thorin’s nose bury itself in his curly hair, breathing in his scent. The Dwarf murmured so close to his ear that Bilbo shivered.
“Good night, Bilbo.”
Bilbo swallowed with difficulty.
“Good night, Thorin.”
But as the Dwarf’s large hand, with its thick, short fingers, came to rest over his heart, Bilbo didn’t hesitate for a second before lacing their fingers together — completely unaware that, behind him, Thorin was falling asleep with a smile.
@monthlywritingchallenges AuPril Day 4: Soulmate AU
Bruce & Dick Moodboard where they're platonic/familial soulmates. Bruce is a "cold" king who takes in orphan Dick, where his heart softens for the child and they become family.
I leaned into the whole "Robin is Gotham's/Batman's light" here
