content: you work at the cafe where Allen's a regular. You're not sure if he's actually flirting with you or if he's just polite. Then you have a flare up of eczema on your face and it finally emboldens him to take it to the next step
tags: fluff, sfw, strangers to lovers, modern AU, coffeeshop AU, gender neutral reader, body positive and poc friendly reader, no use of y/n, eczema condition not specified but locations of it a little bit, barista!reader, getting to know each other and opening up, soft, unbeta'd, mentions of nasty experiences with former dates about bad eczema stereotypes and stigma
wordcount: 1.9k
notes: my psoriasis is flaring up rn... and i couldnt stop thinking about allen helping with ointments and then this idea came to mind and i just couldnt help making up the story on the bus yesterday!!! i hope you enjoy and that your skin isnt hurting too bad if you have eczema <3 also happy disability pride month, hope this brings a smile to someones face!!! <!!3
You’ve seen him in the cafe for well over six months now. He started showing up with just his laptop and a polite request for boiled water. Sometimes at the end of the month, he asked for tea. He always wears long sleeves and gloves.
If it’d been anyone else, you’d deduce he’s flirting with you. Allen calls you endearing names when you step by with a fresh cup, answers your curious questions about his choice of drink and the work he does, all with a handsome smile playing on his features as he rests his head in his palm. He genuinely seems to be enjoying the chats you share, and sometimes he’s the one who engages them when you pass him or if there’s a lull in customers.
There’s no rhyme or reason as to when he brings his friends – or when they simply show up unannounced – but it’s very clear by his behavior then that he might just be an extremely polite Englishman to strangers like you and nothing else.
There’s two friends – close, judging by how often you see them – that seems to bring out another side of him. A guy with a blond braid and a dark haired man with a high ponytail. They both seem tired and uptight in their own ways, and always nag Allen whenever they’re the ones stopping by. It seems he’s got an issue of procrastination, and they’re helping him. How much he actually wants that help, you’re unsure of. But based on the biting and complaints he throws at both of them, they’re not always welcome.
You’re scratching at the back of your neck by the hairline where your eczema is, as you observe him with a redhead today, joking around and laughing. His laugh is really beautiful. It’s light and airy and carries well in the cafe.
He has a peculiar scar on his face that you’ve yet to ask him about; you feel you’re being intrusive enough with your above-the-surface type of questions. You’re mostly curious because you have a feeling about it, but you can't be sure just looking at it and you don't want to assume.
He comes and goes, and sometimes you don’t see him for weeks, sometimes months, but he always comes back and looks positively delighted when he sees you by the register, telling you that he’s missed your voice or your smile.
You’re on the fence on reciprocating his advances. If he’s this different to you than with his friends, you wonder if there’s a reason for it. You’ve been burned and hurt before by men wearing masks.
He comes up to the register with his cup and the small plate you served a croissant on, and thanks you again for the day. His friend whistles and wishes you a good night, earning a slap from Allen and a scolding on the way out.
Two days later, you’ve gotten permission to wear a cap at work by your manager and the one customer you don’t want to see announces his arrival with the jingle of the bell. When you look up and see Allen, you wince. You timidly look down and when he comes up to the counter, he politely but with an unsure lilt to his voice, asks for a cup of boiled water and starts to explain. When you look up, confused as to why he’s explaining routine for you, his eyes light up with recognition.
“It’s you! I couldn’t see your face!”
You notice how he almost reaches out for you with his hands, but stops himself and clears his throat. Then he smiles and leans down so that he can get a better view of your face, “how are things? Is there a special occasion for the cap – if it’s alright that I’m asking?”
You sigh and avoid his gaze, trying your hardest to ignore the urge to pull the cap lower. You’re 97% sure that the cap is hiding the eczema that’s flared on your forehead, but the small percentage of fear makes you want to feel sure. He seems to notice your distress and leans away, “hey, sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way. You don’t have to tell me at all, the hat suits you, too.”
The hopeful sheen in your eyes when you look up at him in shock makes him mirror your own surprise. “Did I say something wrong?” he asks, biting his lower lip. You shake your head, and hurry away from the register to make his cup. You’re too afraid to look back at him to notice how his eyes follow your every move, a smidgen of worry and curiosity filling him, too.
You want to talk more with him as you hand him the cup, but there’s a line behind him. You cock your head to the size to refer to it and he immediately apologizes upon realization with a slight bow as he goes for his seat. You mentally reprimand yourself for suddenly being so stunted in your communication with a regular. A regular you actually like.
But men have talked nasty about your eczema before, men you’ve dated. Said it might be a hygiene problem that you could fix, indicating it’s your own fault, or asking if you couldn’t do them the favor of covering it up with makeup – nevermind the fact that makeup would upset it even more.
There’s a lull in customers where you sigh out in relief. You’ve been stealing glances at Allen’s table all morning, keeping an eye on his cup, too. You decide to bring him his refill now, that you have time to talk, too.
“I’m sorry I was a little short this morning,” you start as you pour the water into the cup. He looks up from his laptop and the way his entire face warms up at the sight of you, makes your tummy do somersaults. There’s an innocence to him that radiates warmth, and when he asks if you have time to sit down, noticing the quietness, you decide to be bold and accept.
He closes the laptop halfway and pushes it to the side, “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.” He says and apologizes. You nod, “it’s okay. I never wear caps at work, it was a change you noticed.”
He nods, “yeah but I promise I won’t push it! I don’t know what came over me, truly. I think I was just so excited to see a new side of you, or learn something new about you.”
You gulp at the bold choice of words, your fingers fidgeting under the table to stop them from going to your face in flustered embarrassment.
You smile and look down at the steam rising from his cup, “I have a flare-up right now.”
You expect him to look confused, quizzical or ask you to elaborate but his face seems to fall, “oh.”
You nod, “yeah, it doesn’t look… Well, personally I don’t think it looks that terrible, but I don’t want customers seeing or commenting on it.”
Allen nods and lets his hands go to his cup of water, wrapping around it and warming up his gloved fingers. He’s quiet still, so you continue, “it’s usually behind my ears and my hairline in the back of my neck... other places too, but I do flare on the forehead as well sometimes.”
You take a look around the cafe to make sure the few other customers aren’t looking, before you take the hat off. Allen follows your hands more than he looks at your head, but then he smiles like a lovestruck fool.
“Thank you… for telling me about that.”
You smile and put the cap back on, suddenly embarrassed by the hat hair. It’s not like people run away screaming from seeing eczema, but usually there’s a wince or a stronger reaction than what Allen’s giving you.
“Let me take you on a date.” he says and your back straightens and you feel yourself bristle.
“Eh?”
Is he joking with you?
He smiles as he looks down at his cup. You’re mesmerized by the slope of his nose as you find yourself admiring his features for longer than you should and while you don’t want to admit it, staring at his face makes you relax from his outrageous request. He then seems to decide something with a determined nod and starts to take off his left glove.
You follow the movement like you’ve been entranced. The gracefulness of his long fingers, the way the glove that hugs his hand so snug comes off at his tugging, and then the reveal of a dark, red hand and arm underneath the white fabric. His nails are painted black, but the scarring, the lumps and the cracked scaliness to his skin makes you clench your thigh underneath the table to compose your own reaction. You don’t want to be excited about learning someone else has eczema, Jesus Christ, you reprimand yourself.
You look at his face and his eyes are on the hand he’s rotating, a sad smile on his face. “I get it,” he says and sighs, before he starts to put on the glove again, “the scar on my face is eczema, too, but it reacts better to the ointments.”
You nod dumbly. Still unsure as to the correlation between opening up and asking you for a date.
“It’s embarrassing. Dates don’t want to hold my hands, they don’t want me to touch them or even their food if they find out. I’ve been trying to make myself ask you out for months now, but I’ve been so terrified you’d end up judging me if I were to show you.”
You suddenly can’t help but let out a laugh. It comes from relief at the situation, and you bend your head over the table as you let out a long breath. Allen looks at you with a confused smile, “are you… okay?” he asks unsure and you chuckle again before you look up at him, craning your neck to see him despite the cap.
“I’ve been so afraid of interpreting your flirting, because I was terrified you’d see my eczema one day and screech.”
Allen blushes, a deep and nice shade of red. Then he coughs into his hand and looks out the window, “so you knew I was flirting.”
You smile and reach for his gloved hands, making sure you’re gentle with the left, but still squeezing it nonetheless, “I had a feeling.”
He flinches at your touch but he doesn’t pull away, which makes you let out another sigh of relief, the situation still hitting you. You both let out nervous little laughs, holding hands.
You’re glad you showed him. You’re grateful he showed you, and now you feel that you can comfortably return his feelings. Allen seems relieved too, at the situation at hand. He suddenly starts pulling at your hands in his, and when he leans forward to kiss your knuckles, you think you’ll combust, heat crawling up your neck and to your face. You look down to hide your face with the cap and he whines, “that’s not fair. I wanna see the expressions you make.”
You’re about to say something in return, maybe something cheese if you’re feeling brave, but the jingle of the bell alerts you of customers, and you hastily get up and brush off your apron before you greet them. As you pass Allen you hurriedly whisper, “I’m off in two hours.”
He follows you as you walk up to the counter to take their orders, and he rests his chin in his palm, a lovesick smile on his features as he lets himself stare freely now that he knows there’s an actual chance to be had. He looks forward to getting to know you more.
omg tori im so happy you sent him in, i was hoping so bad you'd see the game !!!! ✨ im sorry abt the delay<!!!33333
these are like, half-modern au kinda, since some of the questions doesn't really translate to the 19th century LMAo
Songs on his iPod:
i think despite his tough-no-feelings demeanor, he really does like songs where the lyrics resonate with him, or put words into feelings he can't articulate well himself. its NOT emo or angsty tho, claims the angsty emo.
rootless tree - damien rice
my demons - starset
sacrifice - zella day (sobbing i actually made a kanda amv with this song once....)
(these are all from my kanda playlist. im probably biased LMAO)
The one place they fall asleep – where they’re not supposed to:
kanda's very reserved with rest. its only in his bedroom with a locked door unless you or alma are there. its too vulnerable and private if not. he fell asleep in a cafe with you once, which was silly, but he'd been overworking himself and your shoulder was right there
The game they’d destroy everyone else at:
im so sorry, but kanda's entire personality in regards to video games is just: skill issue. he doesn't wanna waste his time learning how to fight in a dumb game when he can just as easily cut your throat irl no problem. though if ever convinced, hes flexible enough to beat everyone at twister
The emoticon they’d use most often:
🖕. (if he ever bothers)
What they act like when they haven’t had enough sleep:
he's actually kinder, somehow. not like, allen's mask polite, but he's less bite-y and easy to anger. his baseline is too little sleep generally, but when he goes beyond even that limit, hes too sleepy to fight about every little thing, which translates as sudden kindness.
Their preferred hot beverage on really cold nights or mornings:
green tea, always
How they like to comfort/care for themselves in a slump:
kanda likes to throw his head aggressively onto your lap and lie there with a scowl until you coax his problem out through his grunts. you ask questions and when you've figured it out, you help him process it
What they wanted to be when they grew up:
he thought itd be punk-rock to own his own store. he didnt know what it entailed, but once he was in a independent store with tiedoll and he explained why it wasnt like [insert chain] and when kanda said, "so, basically you're your own boss completely?" and tiedoll nodded he thought.. fuck yea.
but what? what type of store, you ask? fuck if he knows or cares
Their favorite kind of weather:
summer blue skies with those big, cumulonimbus clouds!
Thoughts on their singing voice:
he can sing, and he's good at it, too. he's only shown it once, to prove to allen that "singing's not that hard, dumbass. anyone can do it."
he's well aware not everyone can, but he liked gloating when he pulled out an angelic deep timbre in front of the friend group. if he sometimes randomly starts smiling menacingly, just know he's thinking of that memory
How/what they like to draw or doodle:
hes the type to just write words in cool fonts or styles. especially swear words LMAO
these were so fun omg,,,,, hes so edgy im sorry but im also really not
send me a character and ill fill out these headcanons
“I grieved you.” you let out, all your emotions clawing their way out of your body in strained convulsions and shaky breaths.
“I know.”
He repeats it, several times as he tries to comfort you with his touch. The hand by his chest is still clenched and it takes monumental effort to release the tension and spread out your fingers. You let them travel up past his collarbone, his throat – taking a pause by his pulse point. You need to feel it with more parts of your body – until it finally reaches his jaw, his cheek. His skin is still as soft as it’s always been, showing no signs of decay.
warnings: spoilers for chapter 247 of the manga, mentions of death and grieving
wordcount: 1.6k
content: angst turns fluff, sfw, hurt/comfort, happy ending, genderneutral reader, bodypositive and poc friendly reader, no use of y/n, canon compliant, not beta’d, ive put reader in as a links lover from before he “passed” and just learning that hes back and alive in the recent chapter so their reunion basically, links makes my brain go brrrr like my freezer after ive taken out an ice cream,
notes: I RUSHED TO WRITE THIS AFTER CHAPTER 247 HELLO?????? DID U SEE ALL LINKS BEAUTIFUL SMILES?!??!?! reader’s role isnt described as neither exorcist or science member or nurse so you choose, honestly i cant say much abt this work except that i just wanted to kiss link.,......... <3 and get this scenario out of my beautiful head bcos it has been ROTATING
When Kanda makes the announcement, you immediately latch onto his choice of words, following his eyes to where they’ve trailed to the window.
And there he shows up. The man you’ve been grieving for months now.
You freeze and air gets hard to breathe. It’s like there’s no oxygen around you as your throat constricts and lungs burn. What? How?
Allen reacts first, opening the door and looking at him. Howard Link’s pose is incredibly relaxed and a smile you rarely saw appear on his face is so casually planted there that you almost want to drag out your weapon to make sure this isn’t an Akuma or some kind of clever disguise puppeteered by Leverrier.
But Allen’s eye doesn’t react. He simply runs to him and you gasp when they almost fall off of the balcony.
You stay behind as they all converge closer to him, your hand still wrapped around the handle of the measly dagger that Tiedoll gave to you when you first joined him going rogue from the Order, “to protect yourself.” He’d said.
You help Tiedoll prepare the food, anything to not be close to him right now as you try to process that he’s there, alive. You’re not sure he saw you before you sneaked to the kitchen but knowing him and his skills, he’s most likely seen you before he even approached on Kanda’s behest.
You don’t look at him all through the food and the talk, staying focused on eating and listening to all the information that Allen is giving out. You flinch at the mention of Link being targeted and killed again, tensing up through your entire spine, swallowing your bite thickly and schooling your expression as best as you’re able.
At his confession you audibly gasp and can’t stop your eyes from looking directly at him before it’s too late. You’re overwhelmed by the radiant smile he gives off. It’s like your heart is beating again for the first time since it stopped beating the day he passed away. He catches your gaze immediately, as if waiting for your eyes to finally look at him. You feel heat in your cheeks as he holds it, though you can tell that he’s not looking at you anymore, but through you.
He's only pulled back when Allen pinches his nose. You can’t help but laugh – their antics back to what they used to be. When food is finished, you make Kanda help you clean up. He huffs and puffs but relents in the end, stacking plates and leftovers expertly in his arms. In the kitchen he grunts at you, “I won’t get involved.” He states and you look at him with question marks in your eyes, head tilted. He pouts at your obliviousness with furrowed brows, “talk to the fuckin’ dog.”
Then he leaves you to dry the last dishes he finished washing, the door closing behind him and leaving you alone for the first time since finding out that Link is very much alive and well.
Your hand clenches around the plate in your hands. You’ve seen four new expressions on his face you’d never been graced with before in the span of an hour. Your eyes can tell that it’s him but your heart wavers. You fear you don’t know the man outside with the face of the man you love.
When you reemerge back in the living room, a hush falls over them all. It’s so obvious that it’s painful and you feel like you’re suffocating. Maybe you are.
Link then gets up from his seat on the floor, dusting off his pants before he clears his throat. He then gathers his courage and looks at you and says your name for the first time. your breath hitches and you can only manage a meekly nod when he nods towards one of the rooms to the sides, his eyes begging for you to go with him and talk.
Allen says something that you don’t catch as you walk in through the door, your hand tracing the door frame before Link closes the door behind you.
None of you say anything for longer than you can count. Your eyes are locked on his chest and how it rises up and down with each breath he takes. They’re leveled and controlled, but they confirm that he’s alive. He’s really here with oxygen in his lungs and a beating heart. Your hands clench into fists by your side.
His breathing pattern changes, telling you he’s about to say something. You bite your underlip and raise your gaze to look directly at him – he flinches but remains posed. Out of your peripheral vision you see his fist clench and unclench, reaching out towards you before retracting again. He then wills himself to relax and smile at you.
This is the fifth expression you’ve never seen on his face. It suits him, but that’s not what you’re focusing on, your eyes locked to the way his lips move, tasting his words before he lets them out in the open.
You can’t take this. Your heart is beating rapidly, your hands and your back is sweaty from the strain of all your emotions and the way you clench your jaw is starting to hurt. In frustration you lift your fist to punch him and as it stands high in the air, you catch his gaze – his smile widens. That stupid, handsome smile. Your hand collides with his chest in a much slower and gentler pace than what you first intended and you instantly feel his body heat traveling to you and you sigh, biting the inner part of your cheek before your head follows your hand towards him and rests on his chest. A sob is threatening to leave you but you inhale deeply instead.
Not many moments pass before he wraps his arms around you, his head resting on the crown of your head. Without embarrassment he noses your head and breathes in your scent, hugging you tighter to him. He seems to relax much more now that you’re touching him.
You’re not. Your spine is locked and you’re rigid in his embrace, refusing to take in the scent of him, the feel of him. He died.
The sob that’s been lodged in your throat since you saw him on the balcony finally breaks free and all the muscles that you’d tensed up spasm before they relax. He coos at you and rubs gentle circles into the small of your back.
You move your head from his chest and towards his neck, your lips ghosting over his pulse point. You’re so close that you can feel it beating against your lips and the first tear roll down your cheek, wetting your lips. If he feels the wetness on his skin, he doesn’t say anything.
You whimper softly before you finally push yourself closer to him, your lips pressing into his skin, arms wrapping around him, clenching his shirt as if your life depended on it.
“I grieved you.” you let out, all your emotions clawing their way out of your body in strained convulsions and shaky breaths.
“I know.”
He repeats it, several times as he tries to comfort you with his touch. The hand by his chest is still clenched and it takes monumental effort to release the tension and spread out your fingers. You let them travel up past his collarbone, his throat – taking a pause by his pulse point. You need to feel it with more parts of your body – until it finally reaches his jaw, his cheek. His skin is still as soft as it’s always been, showing no signs of decay. They’re warm, like the rest of him. He’s always been a furnace. He pulls his head away from the top of yours and finally, finally locks his lips with yours.
Your breath hitches at the moment of contact and you stand frozen, eyes still open to be sure he’s real and doing this. His own eyes are closed and his brow is relaxed. The kiss is featherlight, like he’s unsure if he’s allowed this touch. You close your eyes and relax as much as you’re able. It’s only when you push further into him that he redoubles his efforts and pulls you impossibly closer, a whine escaping his throat as he continues to kiss you.
He’s here, he’s alive and he’s kissing you like it’s the only thing he’s been thinking of since he came back from the dead. You chance a look at him again and see how his brows has furrowed. He’s frustrated he can’t be closer to you than this right now and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles from deep within you, a place you’d thought had withered and rotted. Happiness blooms in you as his hands travel up to caress your cheeks.
This is the Howard Link that you knew, you know this now.
It’s just Howard Link without the chains binding him, the one able to express his wants more clearly than when he was shackled and controlled by another will than his own. This is the man that you love, finally able to do what he wants, to love who he wants without the heavy weight of guilt looming over every kiss, every chance meeting at the library, every cake secretly baked with you in mind.
Howard Link feels freer to make his own choices than he’s ever been, and he’s choosing to side with you. You smile into his lips before you run your hand through his hair, messing with his braid. He pulls away and with a breathless chuckle says your name. You hands travel to his nape with a warm smile, "welcome back."
i know allen would be struggling with his birthday; he even hid it from you for as long as humanly possible, dodging the question of birthdays alltogether.
"oh y'know.. it's once a year, like everyone else." he says it as a finality, smiling with his eyes closed and head tilted. its clear its meant to signal you to stop asking, the polite smile clearly annoyed but you pout and defy his will, "sure, al, we all have birthdays. but when?"
he says a date and a sparkle goes into your eyes until you realize.. wait a minute.. thats your birthday!
the pout returns and he avoids your gaze. you reach out for his hand, his left hand, and squeeze it. then you sigh and try to sound as gentle as possible, hoping to sooth him,
"i promise i wont make a deal out of it. all ill give you as a present is a kiss."
he's about to roll his eyes, to deflect you again when he realized the last tidbit of your sentence. he stops in his tracks and stares blankly at you, his pale skin - ever so prone to blushing - turns a deep crimson before he starts sputtering. you can't be serious!
you lean close to him, "oh, im serious. i can even give it in advance?"
he pulls away from you quickly, desperately. but interestingly, he doesnt let go of the hand that wrapped itself around yours. you smile and pull at it. the unexpected movement makes him stumble forward and you lean in to kiss him.
you hit the corner of his lips, more his cheek than anything, but you're satisfied. this will be a good enough step in the right direction.
maybe he won't give you the date tonight, but youll find out soon enough. you've gotten a christmas present early already.
