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simpleeshea · 1 year

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On the clock!

C!Wilbur x reader

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Chapter 4.

Go to work, get paid, but not enough.

“It’s Wednesday, my dude!” I burst into the store door, an empty disposable cup of coffee in my hand.

“It is,” Wilbur confirmed, putting his phone down on the counter as he looked up at me. His face contorted into an odd expression before he gave a small smile. “Why does that matter? You religious or something?”

I give him a quick shake of my head. “No, definitely not.” I slide behind the counter and plop myself onto the stool.

“Really?” he muses, “then what’s with the dressy clothes?”

I look down at my attire, it was true that I didn’t normally wear anything this nice to work (not to say that my clothes weren’t nice in the first place.)

I find myself going quiet at his question. Wilbur didn’t mind, he just passively nodded before picking up his phone to check the time. That was something I admired about my and Wilbur’s friendship. We both had shit that went on in our lives, but neither of us ever asked about that. We decided nonverbally to keep our shit lives and our friendships separate. He didn’t know much about my life outside of work and I didn’t know much about his, and that’s how we liked it. So Wilbur didn’t pressure me to tell him how the rent was getting harder and harder to pay or how I had an interview for a second job during my lunch break.

“So,” Wilbur spoke up, “whose turn is it to restock the shelves?”

I looked over at him and groaned. He had a cheeky smile on his face because he knew whose turn it was.

Laughing he pointed over at me, “It’s your turn,” he said in a sickeningly sing-song voice.

“If you don’t shut up, I will literally kill you.”

“Can we get a threat jar too?” he asked looking over to the nearing full swear jars and poking at my head.

I scrunched my nose at him, “I will bite your finger off.”

He chuckled as he stopped poking my head. Wednesdays were Wilbur’s favorite because it meant he got to mock my pain. Wednesdays are the days that I dread.

“Better get to work stocker!” he said sounding far too amused.

I grumbled before standing up from my stool and heading toward the back storage room and grabbing a clipboard with the list of things that were supposed to be put out today. I glanced over the list before grabbing a few boxes and carrying them out of the storage room.

Wilbur was helping a customer whose card kept declining. I cringed and felt bad for the poor woman because she looked really panicked. Eventually, her card worked and with a sigh of relief, she took her drink and cigarettes and walked out the door.

I begrudgingly popped open the box in my hand, setting it down on the floor, and began to take the contents out of it to place on the shelves.

Wilbur propped himself up on his arm, his cheek resting peacefully on his hand. “You look so funny when you’re mad,” he said with a laugh.

“You just look funny.”

Wilbur reared back in faux pain. “I can’t believe you just said that! I mean I’m genuinely hurt.”

I took my middle finger and shoved it in his direction while my other hand dug through the box.

“Twenty-five cents.”

“It was nonverbal.”

“That still counts,” he argued.

I look up at him, completely fed up with his nonsense for the day and I hadn’t even been at work for an hour. “Wilbur… I am going to shove my twenty-five cents down your throat,” I smile passive aggressively.

Wilbur put a hand on his throat for a moment, seeming lost in thought before laughing. “Why can’t you be angry like this all the time?”

“Because then I have to deal with you being all smiley and sh- crap,” I awkwardly caught myself before swearing.

“Would you rather I be grumpy?” he asked with a smile spread wide across his lips.

“That’s how you normally are.” I crossed my arms and pretended to mope, “I’m Wilbur and I’m writing a book where I’m the main character,” I deepened my voice and mocked him.

He began to laugh and fall into a giggle fit, banging his hand on the counter as he laughed.

I shook my head as I tried not to laugh with him. His laughs were so contagious.

“I’m surprised you didn’t take that chance to make a jab at my height,” he said as he gained some form of composure.

“Nah,” I waved him off, “that’s too easy to make fun of.”

He shook his head, smiling. I looked down at the box on the floor; it was empty. I bent over to pick the box up and chunked it toward the trashcan beside the register counter.

“Careful where you're throwing that thing. You might take someone’s head off.”

“That was the goal, I just missed.”

“Loser. Get better aim,” he teased.

“There’s always the next box… and the next, and the next, and the next,” I shrugged as I turned on my heel, walking toward the storage room again.

This nonsense went on for a few hours. Wilbur poking fun at me and me just grumbling about it or threatening him in various ways. Wednesdays were a very different kind of day for Wilbur and I. Tomorrow it would be back to normal, I’d spend the whole day trying to find ways to make him laugh or listen to him talk about his book, or tell me about how he tried to cook some meal for dinner which almost burnt down his kitchen. I would never admit it to Wilbur, but Wednesdays were my favorite because those were the days he smiled the most.

—

“And what do you think makes you the most qualified for this position?”

I folded my hands in my lap, trying to keep my legs from shaking too nervously. “I’m a great fit for this position because you will never find someone as much of a perfectionist as I am. Those coffees will surely be brewed to absolute perfection.”

“Right…” the interviewer woman wrote something down in her notebook. “And do you have any experience making coffee? And not just the kind you brew at home.”

My breath hitched. “Don’t put too much creamer kiddo, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“But it tastes betteerrrrrr!”

“Yeah, I have coffee making experience.”

“Elaborate please.”

“Me and my parents make frappes and stuff at home.” I would have corrected myself and put all of that in the past tense, but in all honesty, I hadn’t made coffee with my parents since I was little. They never had time for that when I got older.

“Well,” the woman whose name I didn’t care to learn stood up, “It was a pleasure to meet you and you should get an email in about two to three weeks regarding whether you were excepted into the position.” She held out her hand. I stood up and firmly took her hand in mine, her skin cold like ice. I shook her hand once before letting go. Her expression gave me the vibe that she was the type of person to immediately go and sanitize her hands after touching anyone.

I exited the small back room and left the café. “That could have gone better,” I sighed as I sat down in my dingey Chevy truck and slammed the door. I put the key in the engine and started the vehicle as it revved to life (much too loud for my liking).

“Well,” I looked at the small stuffed animal I jokingly kept in my passenger seat, “Looks like it’s time to get back to work.” I blinked hard as I realized I was talking to a stuffed animal and pulled out of the parking lot to head back to work.

A/n

If you can’t tell, brain ain’t braining. It’s late at shit and I’m tired. Aslo if you couldn’t tell tehn I have absolutely no retail experience. I’ve never worked at a gas station so this is probably all super inaccurate.

Also I’m trying to keep things lighthearted with a few mild dips into your character’s background.

#Spotify #dsmp #x reader #mcyt x you #wilbur soot #dream smp #fanfic #gas station #revivbur #revivebur #revived wilbur #wilbur x reader #wilbur x you #c!wilbur x reader #c!wilbur #wilbur mcyt #dsmp wilbur

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simpleeshea · 1 year

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On the clock!

C! Wilbur x reader

Chapter 2.

Big boss.

It was Monday, the only day when all three of us gas station employees worked together. Every other day it was either Wilbur and I or just Wilbur and whatever teenager was working for the month. Surprisingly, what’s-his-shit has actually worked longer than a month with us.

Knowing that Wilbur and… I really need to learn to remember his name, Danny? Danny. Knowing that Wilbur and Danny were working, I didn’t mind running a few minutes late, stopping to get gas before heading to work since the station was out in the middle of nowhere and my tank would not have made the drive… also the gas prices are absurdly high. I suppose we had the ability to do that since there were no other stations for miles to come, just desert, and a blazing sun, and did I mention sand? The sand was a nightmare! I couldn’t step out of my car without sand blowing in my eyes or my hair.

As I stepped out of my rundown— rundown is definitely an understatement— Chevy truck, I noticed that the flickering “Open” sign had already been turned on.

I quirked a brow as I walked to the front door. I pulled on the door but it didn’t budge. I groaned as I realized I pulled the wrong door. Scooting over slightly I pulled on the left door and (thankfully) it opened.

Wilbur was behind the counter and had a sly smirk on his face, not an expression I was used to seeing on him so bright and early.

“What?” I asked quickly, trying to hide my confusion.

“You really are bad with doors, aren’t you?” he snickered as he picked up his book from the counter.

“Hush,” I told him with a groan as I walked up and folded my arms across the counter. “Where’s ole Danny boy?”

“Dallas?” he asked, sounding just as confused about his name as I was. I shrugged in response. “He’s cleaning, big boss man is supposed to be here today.”

My eyes go wide, “Manager Ken!?”

Wilbur nodded slowly and unamusedly.

“How are you calm!?” I began to freak out, quickly heading toward the back room to grab a broom and dustpan. “Manager Ken will kill us if this place isn’t spotless!”

“That’s why I’m letting Damond do it,” Wilbur said as he calmly flipped a page in his book.

“That kid can’t clean for shit!” I announced, catching the boy in particular’s attention as he pulled out an earbud to give me a dirty look.

Wilbur sat his book down before motioning at me with his finger to come close. Wearily, I walked toward Wilbur. He leaned over the counter to whisper, “If he does a shit job…” he laughed breathily in my ear, “then it’s his fault, not ours.”

He leaned back with a smirk on his face before picking his book back up and pulling out his blue bookmark. “Also,” he began, “we both owe twenty-five cents.”

I gave a small breath that could sound like a laugh, “This is why we can’t keep any kids around… they either get fired or tired of the work we give them,” I say quietly enough that the boy couldn’t hear no matter how quiet his earbuds were.

Wilbur laughed under his breath, “Yes well, we are their superiors, aren’t we?” I processed his words slowly as he continued on to say, “It’s our job to give them work to do.”

I understood what Wilbur was saying, it wasn’t any different than what we had been doing for months, except this time we could actually get Daniel fired if he doesn’t do a good enough job.

“When will Manager Ken get here, do you know?” I ask him hesitantly.

“Around noon,” he said plainly.

My face formed a devious smile, “enough time to play mixologist?”

Wilbur’s face lit up from his book. He slowly put it down and took a deep breath, “As long as we don’t get drunk enough that Manager Ken notices,” Wilbur said, giving me his conditions for the game.

“The only thing he notices is how clean this place is,” I told him even though he already knew that for himself.

“Fine, go get the bottles,” he said as he once again had to set his book down.

“Yes!” I fist-bumped the air in excitement as I headed toward the storage closet and rummaged through some of the alcohol choices and even grabbed a few juice options.

I held out a few random bottles and sat them on the counter but just as I did the bell on the store door rang annoyingly. Wilbur gave me a look of panic before quickly swooping the bottles away and under the counter.

I froze in place, noticing Wilbur’s expression. A hand shocked me as it was placed on my shoulder. I turned around to slowly see Manager Ken. “Heyyyyy, Mr. Ken! How’s it going?” I ask nervously.

“Fucking fabulous,” he said under his breath with a stern expression before it formed into a soft smile. “Where the hell is Dan at?” he asked.

“Is that what his name is?” I asked, still trying to solve the mystery.

“Is it?” he asked before eventually shrugging.

“Anyways, he’s cleaning the restrooms I think,” I told him truthfully, still feeling a bit shaken by almost getting caught— not that he would honestly care, he has always said we can drink on the job as long as nobody is hurt and we pay for the alcohol later.

“Really? He’s fucking cleaning?” he asked almost shocked. “This place looks like a damn mess, there’s no way he’s been cleaning.”

“That’s a dollar,” Wilbur mumbled under his breath.

“Yep,” I said popping the p, “he’s doing all of the cleaning since Wilbur and I cleaned yesterday.”

He turned around, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me. My body froze in fear as I looked at his terrifying gaze. “Well,” his expression softens, “good job then. These kids need to learn what a good work ethic looks like. Damn kid didn’t even remember to clock the fuck out yesterday.”

My eyes went wide as I realized that I had forgotten to do that for him yesterday… but hey, it wasn’t my job in the first place.

Manager Ken’s face was stern as he thought about how annoyed he was with Daniel. He whipped around and turned to face Wilbur, “How much do I owe the fucking swear jar?”

“Dollar seventy-five, Sir,” Wilbur said calmly, looking Manager Ken in the eyes as he spoke.

Manager Ken gave a nod before pulling out his wallet and dropping his change into the already almost full jar.

“Safe to say I’m not winning this month,” he said quickly, stumbling over a few of his words as it seemed like he was trying desperately not to swear.

Wilbur nodded to the much older man. “You off already?” he asked.

Manager Ken nodded, “Just wanted to check in.” He waved before quickly shuffling out the door and hopping into his lifted truck and starting the engine.

And just as quickly as he came, he was gone again.

I let out a sigh of relief as Wilbur quickly pulled out the bottles. “You look like you could use a drink,” he said with a smirk.

“Most definitely.” I nodded before grabbing one of the styrofoam cups next to the fountain drink machine and holding it out to Wilbur to fill. “That man scares the shit out of me.”

Wilbur chuckled dryly as he poured a mix of various alcohol into my cup. “That’s another twenty-five,” he said softly under his breath.

I shook my head and laughed, “I’m going to need you to start swearing so I can win this month.”

“No way,” he began pouring his own drink, “All of that change Manager Ken just put in his jar is mine for the taking.”

I scrunched my nose at him and narrowed my eyes jokingly. He shook his head, trying not to smile. I picked up my styrofoam cup and swirled the liquid inside around before taking a whiff. “This smells like shit.”

“It probably is shit,” he laughed, “but that’s the beauty of this game, isn’t it darling?”

I laughed much louder than what he had before holding up my cup toward him. “Cheers?”

“Cheers.” His cup gently tapped against mine before we threw back our heads, taking a quick swig from our horribly mixed drinks.

As I swallowed and looked back at him, he seemed to be laughing at my sour expression. I shook my head as I sat my cup down on the counter, “Yep, that’s definitely shit alright.”

Wilbur laughed harder as my expression didn’t get any better. His hand banged against the counter as his laughing fit continued. “It wasn’t that bad,” he said through laughs.

“But it was!” I said quickly. “Did you mix our drinks differently?”

Wilbur, now much more composed, shook his head. “I mixed them exactly the same.”

“Gimmie your cup,” I snatched his cup from the table and took a quick swig, my face scrunching up just as it had before. Wilbur couldn’t help but laugh and giggle as he watched my expression sour. “Nope, still gross.”

“I told you,” he said through laughter.

“I’m sorry-“ I said accusingly, “You’re the one who purposely poured a ton of vodka in my cup last time!”

“That was just one time,” Wilbur said, his laughing getting louder.

“Yeah! The one time we decided we were going to see who could finish their cup first!” I said with faux anger.

He wiped a fake tear from his eyes as his laughter calmed. I watched as Wilbur placed a hand on his heart and gave me a genuine smile, “I apologize, I promise to never pour that much vodka in your cup again.”

I nod, feeling that his apology was genuine enough to except. Slowly a smirk slides onto my face, “Want to get drunk and work the kid to death?” I ask through a laugh.

“I thought you would never ask,” Wilbur smirks as he takes his cup and downs a giant gulp of it. He wipes his mouth as he sets the cup down on the counter.

I laugh at his show of drinking abilities before shaking my head and grabbing one of the cans of half-used cheap beer and taking a quick drink from the can.

This is going to be fun.

A/n

Drunkburrrrrrrrrr

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