#pretty sure his patron will do something to make sure he works on full capacity but at the same time

[emo-nova]

As I browse the wonders of AO3 for some good Jon whump cause apparently I like to see my favourites hurt, I see a tag with Jon using the cane either before or after the Pretienss incident. And I have to say, I love that headcanon.

I definitely see Jon using it after though, mainly because using a Cork screw will most definitely fuck something up in someone's leg.

[cryptidcalling]

Panza posting! Just about his personality and hobbies a bit, should be pretty short compared to my normal oc posting

Panza is a very warm and charming person while also being quite imposing. He may be a far more humble emperor than the rest of his bloodline, but he still gleefully indulges in the luxury that comes with being royalty. Fine fabrics, expensive outings, golden shimmering jewelry, and of course spoiling his friends and favorites of all varieties. I wouldn't call him lazy, because he does get up to quite a lot of stuff and has imperial duties to perform (mostly meeting with advisors and approving things like treaties or budgets, and occasionally hosting valuable guests for various political reasons). That being said, he certainly knows the value of relaxation. He's a man who likes to take it easy, not get too stressed or caught up in the small details until they really matter. He's a big-picture kinda guy. He and Vesper help balance each other out, because Vesper's very detail-oriented. When he's not working Panza spends a lot of his time enjoying quiet but skillful activities. Painting is a particular favorite of his, but he's also a big reader and, in the last few years, he's taken an interest in learning to play a few instruments (which surely has nothing to do with learning about his General's love of dance). He also loves a good board game, especially ones that are more strategic like chess or GO, and it's fairly common for him to let his opponent win if he thinks it's the right call. He's very skilled when it comes to the art of socializing. Fittingly, the last of Panza's main interests is planning and hosting elaborate events. Galas, auctions, musical events, he's a patron of the arts and delights in planning and executing a successful social gathering. He doesn't indulge in this hobby as often as he'd like since they're very expensive, but he certainly hosts enough for his events to have a reputation among other nobility and rulers. Despite his warm and kind demeanor, Panza can be rather ruthless when he chooses to be. He's not afraid to put his foot down and make hard decisions for the good of his empire. However, nothing can draw his wrath quite like hurting or upsetting his General. He tries to keep that quiet though, knowing that Vesper doesn't want attention drawn to something like that. I won't get into it much, but Panza's got a somewhat strained relationship with his mother the Empress Dowager. She no longer holds any real political power, but due to the rules of succession, she remains one of his advisors. She deeply disapproves of how he's running things and thinks it's only a matter of time before things start falling apart. She was highly focused on political ruthlessness and imperialism while Panza has dedicated a lot of resources to opening peaceful negotiations, granting some power and independence back to those they've conquered (not full independence, but they're allowed to put in place their own rulers and self-govern to some capacity. There are rules, but that's for a different post), and he's also moved their military focus from war and outposts to handling crime and safety on ESR controlled planets. Panza still treats her with kindness and patience, but internally he finds her very irritating and wishes she would go and mind her own business now that he's in charge.

[coolcattime]

The noir magic au has had me in a chokehold since I first read it. I hope it’s alright with you coolcat but I just had to write that bar scene.

Another day, another dead end. They were getting nowhere these past couple of weeks, so they made plans to see if money could get them anywhere. She is fine with that. Now, anyway. It was rough the first few times having to deal with the conflicting morals of wanting to do it all by the book and making deals with people who are known to break the law. She’s made peace with it, it’s just information she always reasons. It’s fine.

Tucker had already been stating his grievances about how it felt like losing having to pay for information that might not even be new Sonja, I bet you she’s gonna make us spend way too much for info we’re carrying ourselves! He made sure that she knew his exact feelings for the entire twenty minute walk to the bar. He’s being very fussy for a man who’s about to enjoy his night drinking his weight in whiskey.

For an early Thursday evening the bar was decently full. Not the almost max capacity of a regular weekend night, a horror show trying to find or do anything in that building. It was nice right now though, with the last rays of a setting sun they both entered through the glass door, the bell above ringing at its movement.

Tucker makes a beeline to the first free booth in sight, and Sonja can’t help but feel disappointed when he chooses the bench facing the door. She heads over to the counter and waits for Jordan to finish serving the person sitting a couple of seats away from her.

“Is Capsize in yet?” She asks quickly as he rushes to grab a bottle of tequila.

“Hi Sonja! I’m doing great thanks for not asking. You’re doing great too? Wow so glad to hear we’re both having a great day today and you’re gonna buy an expensive drink to make it-“ There’s a fake smile plastered on his face, one typical of those working customer service jobs, although this smile and tone are greatly exaggerated.

“Jordan, I really need something from her. It’s important.” His faux cheeriness falls instantly at her exasperated response. He walks away for a moment to deliver some shots to the people down the counter. As he makes his way back he looks to a clock across from his bartending area, a worried look betrays what’s usually a neutral expression.

“Yeah, you and half the people sitting here. Look, she’s running late today, okay? I don’t know when she’ll be in.”

“Okay. Then could you bring Tucker his usual and me the…um” She trails off thinking back to the last drink she had. It had been ordered on her behalf so its name escapes her. “It had a blackberry after-taste. Turned my eyes gray for an hour..?”

“Oh that’s an expensive one, yes I’ll bring it to you right away.” His mood brightens at getting to run her tab up so early in the night. She’s not too peeved, on their first meeting Capsize had told her that the drinks are on me lass, don’t you worry about it. Even if that conversation was ages ago now, the drinks always were so she never did. Proof be damned, as sweet of a gesture it is, Sonja’s sure the informant does this for all her friends.

Sitting down across from Tucker, she laments being stuck having to listen to the bell ring every time a patron walks in. And walk in one does. Bell rings and she turns her head to look. It’s a woman, short red dress and a white jacket, she’s pretty but not who she’s waiting for.

Soon enough they get their drinks and a small basket of chips to go along with them. They sit in silence, neither wants to talk about the case so openly and going over evidence would just lead them both back to frustration. Tucker sips his drink slowly, she doesn’t get a chance to taste hers. The bell rings again, and she turns her head to the side to see a small group of college kids who head for a pool table in the back. As she watches the group settle into a game, her eyes pass over a well dressed individual who meets her gaze. He smiles as she grimaces.

“Tucker, I want you to take a deep breath for me. This is going to be painful.” She looks back down to her untouched cocktail, mentally preparing for the proverbial torture currently walking towards them. Not like he could actually do them harm here, shame the reverse is true though.

“Well well, I saw you admiring my new suit. Real cute right, do ya like it? You’ll never guess who paid for it.” Thomas “the man who has this city in his back pocket” Syndicate. What a stupid last name she remembers thinking all the way back when she first read it in his file. And because their day couldn’t get any better here he is standing before them. “Your precinct! These are your holiday bonuses I’m wearing.” She hopes he’s lying, knowing what he’s capable of, she understands he’s not. Tom makes a show of it. Doing several poses in what is a very expensively tailored pinstripe suit.

Tucker says nothing. Opting out of playing along with whatever Tom’s game is today. She follows his lead and takes a chip, which gets snatched out of her hand, ending up in the mouth of the mobster before her. Unbeknownst to them Jordan keeps as close of an eye to the trio as he does the clock.

She can wait the whole night if need be. They’ve been getting close to nowhere city with this case, nothing to lose sitting at a booth drinking good and eating chips. Tom opens his mouth again and it’s an immediate realization that, no actually, she will be losing something if this goes on for any longer. Her sanity. Here she was hoping to keep that for a couple more years.

He says he should sit here at their booth and join them for a drink, that it’ll be a grand ol’ time. A mob boss, a p.i, and a cop all sitting in a bar together. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, she’s just hoping the punchline doesn’t get any worse.

The bell rings again and in walks Not her. She had barely turned her head to the door this time. Perhaps if she had kept her eyes on it for a second longer she’d have seen a familiar figure slip in before the door could fully shut. Perhaps if Jordan hadn’t crouched down to clean up a spill he would’ve seen her too, stopped her before his days without incident sign went down to a zero.

Tom is too busy making a grab for her drink to see hands grab at his shoulders. There’s a surprised yelp from him as Capsize throws him into Tucker’s side of the booth, pinning him to the bench. They all yell her name as drinks go spilling on the table with Tom's hands waving in a panic frenzy unsure of what to do. Having him now pinned on top of Tucker, she screams at him, hands tightly grasped on his white dress shirt. None of what she’s saying is discernible, slurring her words and having chosen volume over sense, Sonja has a hard time making out what she’s screaming. Over the chaos of the scene the rest of the bar gets quiet.

What feels like hours but is actually just seconds, Jordan rips Capsize off of Tom. One of her arms is being held in an uncomfortable position to her back, while a hand has her by the neck. He says nothing as he leads her away from them, more focused on keeping her contained than anything else. Sonja now notices the injury as her bloody arm attempts to claw at Jordan.

“Tell your Dianitee worshiping bastards to give me my brother back!” Is the last thing they hear from her as she’s led to a room beyond the pool table. In that moment she and Tucker meet eyes. There’s a look of shock on his face that she matches. This is it, their break.

“Capsize is incredibly apologetic for the disturbance she’s caused, the next rounds on her!” Jordan says as he walks back into the bar, all eyes now on him. Conversation starts up again as he makes his way to their table. He motions to Tucker and Tom “As an apology for tonight I’ll be covering both your tabs. As for you,” He turns to her now. “Can you do me a favor, and follow me?” It’s a question meant as a statement. He goes back to the counter, leaving her no room to argue. Handing her a glass of water, he tells her that she’ll find a closet with a medkit to her right and an injured Capsize on the third door down from it.

Back at the table Tom stays seated next to the private investigator. Still confused at the event that just transpired.

“Tom, if I asked you to look at some pictures, would you?” He takes a short breath before letting the grip on his shirt go. His and Tucker’s eyes meet.

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because for once in my life, I actually believe you’re an innocent party in something.” He stares confused at the investigator sitting beside him, mouth slightly agape.

“What are you talking about, when am I ever-“

“We should continue this somewhere more private.” Tucker motions for him to stand up and they both make their way through the same door as Sonja

(This is all I have, I hope you enjoyed reading <3)

Holy shit this is so good! Of course I'm good with you writing this!!!

I love the way you've written all the characters.

Jordan is just the right amount of worried and done with everyone. He's so clearly in control when the choas happens in a way that I love.

Sonja is a great, I just love everything about her portrayal. Her looking at the door whenever someone comes in, just the mounting annoyance at Tom (and no Sonja, Capsize almost certainly buy expensive drinks for all her friends, go be gay).

I love Tom. He's one of my favourite character types: someone is being really annoying and overconfident unaware that they're about to get their shit wrecked. He's both so fun and I also am so glad he gets pinned to the bench and his suit ruined (also I love his seeming offence to being called innocent in something).

Yes to Capsize! She deserves to just so absolutely feral! She is perfect and I love love love her.

Obviously, Tucker is quieter than the rest of the characters, but I do love just how done he is with everyone but the moment there's information he gets immediately to work.

[original ask]

[procrastinatorimagines]

Hostage

Fandom: Chicago PD / One Chicago

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Warning/s: hostage situation

Word Count: 1,727

Requests:  Can I have a jayxreader imagine where reader likes Jay, but thinks him and Erin are a couple, she talks to Kim about it, and so she kinda avoids them both, then she somehow gets In like a hostage situation and Jay is panicking about it and when they go in he goes to her to check on her and she just brushes him off and ignores him more 😔 and when they get back to PD he corners her In locker room to ask why she’s ignoring him and confessions are made 

   // AND // 

Hi! Could I request a Jay x reader in which goes crazy with worry when reader exchanges herself in a hostage situation (exchange wasn't planned beforehand)! Thank you!

It was strange, the things you thought about when you had a gun pointed at your head, and you’d know, this wasn’t exactly the first time. 

When the drug exchange Intelligence organised had gone sideways in the backroom of a bar in Canaryville and a patron had been taken hostage, you’d decided to do the smartest and most well thought out thing you could think of: you offered to take her place at the other end of the barrel.

Needless to say, this wasn’t the turn of events your unit had planned for, and you just knew the exact conversation you’d be having with Voight about your recklessness later. If there was a later. 

But a civilian was safe and out of harms way, you’d done your duty.

Your Sergeant had sent you in with Jay to make the deal, though you weren’t actually partners, but Jay had the Canaryville insight you needed to make an introduction and Erin had spoken to your suspect in an official capacity the previous day, so Voight had paired the two of you up together. 

Now, you couldn’t help but think about the conversation you’d had with Kim, your actual partner, that morning about the whole situation, despite the gun to your head and Jay panicking in front of you, unable to give up your covers but trying his best to talk down your erratic suspect. 

The whole situation being your feelings for Jay. Oh yeah, you had it bad. And the make it even worse, you were pretty sure he and Erin were together anyway. Kim had told you she wasn’t sure, but everyone had noticed the tension between Jay and Voight recently, and his not so subtle warnings about keeping things professional with Erin. He always swore it was, but you couldn’t help but wonder.

So you’d decided to try and avoid them both, sort out your feelings, but apparently that was too much to ask for when you’d found yourself partnered up with Jay. 

“Listen man, we can work this out okay, we have the money, we showed it to you,” Jay tried to reason with Barney, the suspect in question with the very much loaded gun. He’d been jumpy from the get go, twitching during the entire deal, and Jay had wanted to pull out. You, however, had had to be stubborn, still annoyed about him and Erin even though you’d had no right to be, and so you’d insisted you stay. 

Voight was so going to chew you out for this.

“Nah, nah man I don’t like this, something’s not right,” Barney shook his head, his gun hand very much as unsteady as the rest of him - was he high? Not that it mattered in the moment, you didn’t have to be a sniper to find your mark when the barrel of your gun was firmly pressed into the side of a person’s forehead.

Jay took a deep breath, eyes wide with worry as he looked to you, “take the money,” he blurted, hands still out to try and show Barney he wasn’t a threat.

“No man, the deals not happening-” Barney tried to tell Jay again, but he only shook his head.

“I’m not talking about that deal, okay? Take the money and give me back Rachel,” he offered instead, still using your cover name in an attempt to keep the situation from going nuclear.

You blinked, surprised by his offer, you hadn’t expected him to go quite so off the book. Barney seemed to hesitate too, “the money for the girl?” He clarified slowly, other arm slacking a little from where it had been wrapped around the top of your chest and shoulders.

Jay nodded immediately, slowly and deliberately reaching for the bag of money on the table and dropping it at his feet, Barney’s eyes following it with eager curiosity. He may have been suspicious, but he wasn’t very bright. 

The whole point of the exchange was to see the drugs and make the bust, not that pointing a gun at someone wasn’t cause for an arrest enough, but you’d needed to see the product to link it back to a bigger supplier, without that, you were back to square one and out a fair amount of money. 

But Jay didn’t seem to be thinking about that right now, he seemed to be entirely focused on you.

“I kick you the money at the same time as you let her go, how about that?” Jay negotiated, not really hiding his concern. Part of you wanted to object, this wasn’t exactly the objective, but you weren’t in any position to argue, if you’d just listened to Jay in the first place this wouldn’t have happened. 

Barney mulled it over before nodding, the large bag of cash being too good to resist as his grip on you started to relax. Jay kicked over the money, gesturing for him to let you go and take it. 

Hell no, you thought. As soon as his grip on you had relaxed enough you aimed a sharp elbow to his gut, throwing another one into his nose as he stumbled back, spinning around and disarming him before he knew what was happening. 

Intelligence was bursting in in seconds, Jay rushing to you to make sure you were okay. “Y/N, Y/N are you okay?” He reached a hand out to your shoulder but you brushed him off, shaking out your arm and rubbing your elbow.

“Fine,” you basically snapped, surprising him. Honestly, you were more annoyed at yourself at this point, but for some reason you were taking it out on Jay. You knew it wasn’t fair, but you needed some space right now, heading past him to Kim as Erin cuffed Barney, trying not to look at Jay’s confused and hurt face. 

-

A tonne of paperwork and an ear full from Voight later you found yourself sat in the locker room at the end of your shift, head in hands as you thought about the day, unable to make yourself move. 

You’d let your personal feelings for Jay interfere with your job, something you’d wanted to specifically try to avoid by avoiding him and Erin in general, but it clearly hadn’t worked. What were you going to do?

“You still here?” A voice came from behind you, making you jump as you looked back to see Jay wandering in, heading for his locker as he regarded you carefully. 

“Just heading out,” you replied coldly, forcing yourself up to grab your things out of your locker as quickly as you could.

Jay, however, had other ideas. As you slammed your locker shut and turned to leave, echoing a generic ‘night’ in his direction as you did, he stepped quickly into your path.

You nearly collided into him, blinking in confusion. “Jay-” you began but he cut you off.

“You’ve been avoiding me for days, and today- Y/N, I don’t understand what I did, I thought we were at least friends, but you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder and I need to know why,” he said, clearly getting something off of his chest that he’d been debating saying for a while.

You took a breath, not sure what you’d expected really, of course you couldn’t have kept it up forever, but you weren’t really prepared to answer him. “I- I’m not- look, I know I messed up today-”

“It’s not just about today Y/N, but if I’ve done something to offend you I’m sorry, we need to talk about it though, sort it out so it doesn’t affect our job again,” Jay explained, expression softening as he added: “you could have been seriously hurt today, and I couldn’t handle that.”

“I’m sorry,” you swallowed, mind racing to come up with something to day besides telling him the truth, “it’s not you, really it’s not, I’m figuring something out... it won’t happen again,” you promised. 

“If something’s wrong, I’m here if you need to talk,” he offered, “I’m worried Y/N, I care about you and I-” Jay stopped himself, as if saying something he shouldn’t have.

“I’m good Jay, and I don’t want to keep you, if Erin’s waiting upstairs-” you slipped up, wincing in realisation as Jay gave you a puzzled look.

“Erin? Why would Erin be waiting, she went home about an hour ago I think,” Jay told you, “you almost sound like Voight.”

“Is he... wrong?” You dared ask, kicking yourself for even doing it, definitely not being subtle anymore. Though, you hadn’t exactly been subtle before. 

“About me and Erin? There’s nothing going on between me and Erin, she’s not the one I... I just, no, I don’t like Erin like that,” Jay fumbled an explanation, looking a little sheepishly at his feet.

“Oh,” you replied, sounding a little too happy about that fact as you thought about his words, “but you do... like someone like that?”

Jay looked back up at you, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t you know?” He asked, looking at you in a way you couldn’t quite describe. 

You looked at him questioningly, mind trying to figure out who he was talking about as he looked at you, and then it dawned. Was he talking about you? He couldn’t be, could he? No, surely not. But the way he had said that, the way he was looking at you...

“Oh,” you gasped as he cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s not like I expect anything-” he started but you cut him off with a surprised laugh. Well, he’d been honest with you, the least you could do was be honest back.

“Jay, that’s kind of why I’ve been avoid you,” you said, clarifying quickly when you saw his face fall, “not because I thought you liked me, but because I thought you were with Erin, and I liked you, I like you, and I didn’t want to be weird or awkward, which I guess it exactly how I ended up acting really, but...” - breath god damn it - “I feel the same way, is I guess what I’m trying badly to get across.”

There was a pause before Jay smiled, you loved that smile, “can I buy you a drink?” He offered, gesturing towards the door. 

You smiled back, “I’d like that.”

[smol-and-grumpy]

Good Morning - Chapter 2

Coffee shop!AU

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, owner of Dean’s Beans is living a humble and quiet life. Roasting beans and selling coffee in his little shop is what makes him happy. When she walked into his shop four months ago, his life changed, but is it for better or worse?

Chapter Warnings: None. Just Dean being adorable and flustered.

WC: 1804

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Tuesday, September 1st

 Dean’s working the front again like he always does in the mornings. Mainly, because he lives just above the shop and secondly, he wants to spare Benny the travel time. If someone would ask Benny why Dean never lets him work the early shift, the dude would say that the arguments Dean’s bringing up are all lies. Benny would say that it was because Dean doesn’t want to share preparing coffee for her with anyone else. 

He thinks his friend is exaggerating. But maybe, yeah, there’s some truth to it. She never comes in during the day. Not at night either. They’re open till eight, but he’s never seen her coming in apart from the mornings.

While Dean works the machine, his phone starts to vibrate in his pants. With one free hand, he fishes it out.

Liz.

He’s got no patience for the woman, at least not when he’s working, but maybe it’s about Ben. It usually is about Ben when she calls. 

Dean picks up, wedges his phone between his shoulder and head to be able to still work with both hands. 

“Liz,” He breathes out.

“Dean, you’ve got to talk to him,” Liz says meekly.

He knows exactly who she means by him.

“What about?”

“He’s not happy. He’s closed up and we have a fight every morning before he has to go to school. It’s draining my energy!”

“Why can’t Gordon talk to him?” Dean asks, and he thinks it isn’t too much of him to ask to get Gordon to talk to Ben. Gordon is Ben’s stepdad after all and he and Liz have been married for quite some time now. The dude has spent more time in the house with Ben than Dean ever had. 

“It will only make it worse.” 

Dean’s putting the lid on the cup and hands it out, taking the money in exchange, and letting it slip into the register. He only nods at the customer, but the man understands, nodding back at him.

“You know that you’re the only one he listens to,” Liz continues and adds, “We had a fight this morning. Every morning actually since the school year started.”

The bell chimes and Dean’s still trying to find a polite way to talk to Liz. It’s hard to form words sometimes without sounding too rude. While he’s still thinking about what to say, he looks up and sees her walking in. 

“‘K, Liz, have him call me, alright? I got work to do, bye.” He hangs up before Liz could say anything and lets the phone slip back into his pant pocket before taking another order, “Good Morning, what can I get you?”

While Dean prepares the order for the man in the front, he can’t help but take quick glances at her every now and then. 

She has a backpack strapped around her shoulder instead of the usual laptop bag. He shouldn’t notice these little things, yet here he is and it’s weird, isn’t it? The way he already knows her habits, the way he knows that when it’s warm enough, she wears a shirt or a blouse, combines it with some kind of a jacket when the mornings are cool. Sometimes, leather, which makes his head spin. Sometimes it’s a jeans jacket, which is really cute and it suits her. Sometimes, she’d wear a cardigan that makes her look so innocent and pure, it almost gets his heart to explode from all the clenching that it does.

There were times when she would wear a long-sleeved shirt for three or four days in a row and Dean kept wondering why. It was not exactly cold out. 

Now, when the mornings start to get cooler, he notices that she wears a thick jumper that’s way too big for her. It makes her look more fragile. Makes her look like someone that needs protection. Maybe she does? Dean doesn’t know. Didn’t allow himself to go there and question it. All he knows is that it makes him want to protect her.

What he also knows is that when she’s running late to his shop, she’d show up bare-faced and her hair’s usually in knots or a ponytail because she probably overslept. There’s no make up on her face whatsoever, but there’s always a glint of lip gloss on her lips. Which is not really fucking fair to him because he’d like to kiss those glistening lips. 

Right now, Dean’s serving the customer before her, but he feels her eyes on him. It doesn’t make him work on the order any faster, though. Almost spilling hot milk over his own goddamn clumsy hands as he does. Finally, he manages to put the lid on the cup and hands it over, “Thank you, and have a good day!”

With a grin, she steps closer to the counter and he turns into a stupid teen again. His face is tilted down a little, his cheeks are flushed because they feel like they are burning up big time, and there’s a smirk on his stupid face, can’t really help it.

“Good morning,” He mumbles, can’t really bring it out louder, “The same as usual?” He manages to ask, is a little proud of himself to push the word over his lips without a stutter.

She nods with a smile, “Hi, Dean. Please,” 

Oh, she’s greeting him by name now. That’s progress, right? He absolutely loves how his name sounds rolling off her tongue. Smooth like fucking honey, and he absolutely wouldn’t mind to hear it more often.

“Double?” Dean asks, just to make sure. 

Double is her go-to when she needs to wake up. A One-shot is normally only reserved for a couple of days a month, he guesses that it’s when she’s on her period. It’s absolutely stalker-ish of him to know these facts, and Dean knows that he shouldn’t even notice but he does.

“Uh, do you do triple?”

He chuckles, “I don’t think that would do you any good if you have to work, you might be shaking the whole morning and your eyes are going to cross.”

“Good thing I’m not working in the office today, then.”

He lifts his eyebrows, wants to ask more, but he knows that it’s not his fucking place, “Right,” He says, “Just this one time, okay?”

Smiling, she nods, “Thank you.”

As Dean prepares the three shots of espresso, he risks a glance, sees her watching him with a small smile.

“So, no office today?” He blurts out and he feels absolutely stupid. She’d think he’s weird for asking about her personal life, won’t she?

“Nope, my office has maxed out on capacity and I’m working mostly from home unless I do have to go in for meetings.”

He lifts one eyebrow, “And why aren’t you home now when you don’t have to be anywhere?”

Dean can feel her change in demeanor. Her shoulders are tensing and she bites on her bottom lip. It’s just really quick and she probably thinks that he didn’t notice, but he did. 

He pours the three shots into a big cup, proceeds to pour some milk into the jug and he doesn’t look at her, because he’s afraid that she’ll close up to him now that he has gotten her to talk some more. 

“I don’t really have good wifi at home.” She says simply and Dean believes her, although he has the feeling that there’s something else she doesn’t tell him. But he takes that explanation because it’s a valid one. 

He knows himself how wifis can be a pain in the ass in the city. The wifi in his apartment above the shop does the same sometimes and he should really buy a new router, but he just doesn’t seem to spend enough time in there and the wifi in the shop is good enough for him to do his administrative work. 

Dean is warming up the milk, the sound is noisy and he can’t concentrate on her because he has to be careful not to make too much foam and spill it over his own hands again. 

When he pours the milk into the cup, he has a sudden lightbulb moment. And he looks up, sees her staring. 

Dean grins.

“What?” She asks with clear irritation on her face. 

“I was just thinking,” He says, as he picks up the cocoa powder and sprinkles it over the foam of milk, “You can work in here. We have a pretty good wifi connection and you’re right at the coffee source.” He shrugs nonchalantly, doesn’t want her to see that he’s excited about the prospect of her doing her work in his shop. At least he doesn’t want to seem like he’s more excited than he should be.

“Oh, I can’t,” She says and pauses, “Or can I?” 

Dean raises an eyebrow as he finishes putting the lid onto her triple espresso beverage, “Yeah, you can. There are a couple of people coming in to work from here, some stay a couple of hours, some the whole day.” He shrugs and it’s not even a full lie. He really has people working out of his shop, he doesn’t have people who stay the whole day, though. The most that someone stays is about three hours, so it’s not really a lie. He’s just twisting the truth a little. 

“Okay, I might take you up on that. But this week I’ve rented out an office desk space downtown already, so maybe I’ll be here next week?”

“Sounds great,” Dean smiles, couldn’t not smile because there’s a sudden feeling of joy logged in his chest. 

She hands him a five-dollar bill this time and Dean actually doesn’t want to take it. She notices the irritation on his face.

“For the muffin last time, Dean.”

“I can’t take it.” 

“Do it.” 

“Fine, but here,” He grabs the little paper bag packed with a muffin and holds it out for her, “Another one.” He hopes she doesn’t see how much he’s blushing. 

She grins, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dean answers with a sincere smile, “Oh, and do I get to know your name?” 

His heart is thumping fast in his chest and his throat feels dry. God, he definitely feels like a teen again. 

“My name?” She asks, her grin grows cocky, he likes that a lot.

“Yeah,” Dean huffs out a breath, “You know mine. It’s only fair.”

She actually laughs, god what a nice sound. It’s indeed a good morning.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s only fair. I’m Y/N.” She’s still chuckling. 

“Alright, Y/N, have a nice day and thank you,” He holds up the five-dollar bill. 

“I’ll see you, Dean.” She nods before she leaves and hell, yeah, he hopes that he’ll see her soon.

Chapter 3

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

[thatfanficstuff]

Need You - Geralt of Rivia

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Warnings: just canon typical monster fights and stuff

A/N: I don’t know what this is. Enjoy!

***

You stepped into the Rotten Pig and ran your gaze over the patrons. It was a horrible name for a pub but setting eyes on the cliental told you how they may have arrived upon it. No witcher. Damn it. You’d been trying to find Geralt for weeks. Every time you thought you’d caught up to him, you’d discover he’d left days before.

A familiar tune caught your ear and you followed it across the room. You grinned when Jaskier came into view behind a rather rowdy group. If anyone knew where Geralt was, it would be the bard. You leaned against a pole, arms crossed over your chest as you listened to him perform.

“Nicely done, bard,” you called as he finished.

He turned with wide eyes and grinned when he saw it was you. A moment later he was in front of you shaking your hand enthusiastically. “Y/N! I haven’t seen you in an age. How are you? Any tales you’d care to share with your favorite bard?”

“What do you need my tales for? Geralt is far more interesting than me.”

Jaskier’s smile fell into a sour look. “Yes, well Geralt doesn’t appreciate me like you do.”

You huffed and sat at a nearby table. He took the seat across from you. “He likes you. He’s just grumpy.”

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. He’s worse since you left. Downright miserable he is.”

Part of you was happy to hear it. After all, Geralt had been the one to declare that he didn’t need your help after you saved him from a particularly nasty clawing. You weren’t about to stick around where you weren’t wanted. Even if you did make more money with him at your side. For some reason people hesitated to hire a lone female to rid them of their monster problem. It didn’t help that your gear had you looking like anything but a witch.

“Where is he, Jaskier?”

“In the swamp. Bloedzuiger keeps attacking people traveling on the road.”

You curled your lip. Bloedzuigers were basically giant leeches that spat acid. “Well, that won’t make a very pretty ballad will it?”

The bard tilted his head from side to side as if he was considering it. Before he could say anything, the door slammed open. Geralt filled the opening. He was dirty and bloody but appeared mostly unharmed. Your gaze trailed him as he walked over to the man sitting at the end of the bar. A merchant if you’d tagged him right. A merchant who suddenly looked very nervous.

“Bloedzuiger’s dead. So are the drowners. I’ll take the rest of my pay now.” Geralt’s deep, rough voice sent a chill through you. Gods, you’d missed that voice.

“I paid you up front, Witcher. Even made a point of telling people that I’d done so. You aren’t getting more out of me now.” Sweat beaded on the lying man’s brow as his gaze darted around the room. Probably looking for someone to back him up.

Geralt hummed. “I wouldn’t kill a ghoul for what you gave me up front.”

“That’s not my problem. I paid and you did the work. It’s not like you can bring the creature back to life.” The merchant seemed very proud of himself. As if he’d pulled some great trick on the witcher.

You sighed and stood. Geralt didn’t need your help. He had his own ways to get his payment, but none of them would endear him to the townspeople. “He might not be able to, but I can.” You couldn’t actually, but they didn’t know that.

Geralt turned with a lifted brow. He ran his eyes over your length and back up. The corner of his mouth kicked up ever so slightly. “Y/N.”

“Geralt,” you responded with your own twitch of the lips. Your gaze shifted back to the man at his side. “Now, about that payment.”

“You’re Y/N? The mistress of night and slayer of injustice?”

What fresh misery was this? You turned your head to look at Jaskier who gave you a sheepish smile and a little wave. Damn bard. Geralt’s smile grew a bit wider.

“Yes, that’s me apparently. Money? Or would you prefer to be in a ballad yourself? Strictly in a slain enemy capacity of course.”

He tossed a bag of coins on the bar. “I don’t want no trouble. Times is tough, that’s all. You can’t blame me for trying to save some coin.”

Geralt hummed again and snatched the bag from the counter. As he ambled to the table, you motioned the barkeep for food and drink for the three of you. The witcher sat beside Jaskier and you took the spot directly across from him. Neither of you spoke as you just looked each other over.

When your ales were placed on the table, Geralt broke the silence. “It’s been awhile. You look…good.”

“You look filthy. How was the swamp?”

“Damp.”

“Of course, it was.” You rolled your eyes at his simple answer. Jaskier’s gaze kept darting between the two of you as if waiting for something monumental to happen.

Three bowls of stew were placed on the table and Geralt lost his patience with you. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

You arched a brow as you took a bite of your food. “Maybe I was just passing through.”

The look he gave you said he didn’t believe that for a moment.

“Fine. I need a favor.”

He paused with the spoon partway to his mouth. “What sort of favor?”

“Striga.”

He grunted. “That’s not a favor. That’s a job. A big one.”

You grimaced. “For what they’re paying, it’s definitely more like a favor.”

His amber eyes studied you. “Then the answer’s no. Besides, I’m in the middle of something.”

“You’re still looking for Yennefer.” Your heart twinged as you said the name. No matter how many times you warmed Geralt’s bed he always went back to Yen. And it hurt every single time.

The silence stretched. Finally, Geralt tore his gaze from you. “I haven’t found her yet.”

You pushed yourself to your feet. “Well then, I guess there’s no reason for me stay. Jaskier, good to see you again.”

Geralt grabbed your wrist as you passed him. “Sit. Down.”

With a sigh you took the seat beside him. “What?”

His gaze locked on yours again and his grip didn’t loosen. “You won’t go after the striga on your own. Promise me.”

When you didn’t answer, his hold tightened. “Swear it.”

“You won’t hear a word about me fighting a striga. I promise.”

He held you a moment longer, his thumb running along your pulse point. “Be careful.”

***

The thing about strigas is they were fueled by a need to feed. They didn’t care who they killed only that they got to eat. They were also strong and vicious. This particular beast was tormenting a poor village. The money they’d managed to get together wasn’t much, but it was everything they had. You needed to kill the beast to spare them any further suffering.

You checked the potions on your belt and your weapons one last time. The men standing in front of you shuffled their feet nervously. “Remember, no one goes out tonight. No matter what you hear. And if anyone asks—”

“Your name is Yvetta of Nilfgaard,” recited one of the men.

“Very good. Now go.” You watched them hurry off to lock themselves in their homes. You had promised Geralt he wouldn’t hear word of you hunting the striga. Yvetta was another matter entirely.

The cemetery that spawned the creature sat at the foot of some nearby ruins. As far as you’d been able to tell, that was where the striga stayed when she wasn’t hunting. As the sun dropped to the horizon you opened the jar of pig’s blood you’d brought with you and splashed it around one section of the ruins. This was the area you had prepared earlier. An intricate trap ready to be sprung with a touch and the whisper of a word.

A scrambling of claws came with full dark and you drew your dagger. Taking a vial from your waist, you dumped the contents on your blade all the while hoping the creature wouldn’t get close enough for you to have to use it. After all, you were no witcher, just a witch that tried to right some of the wrongs in your world.

You strained your ears, but the sounds seemed to have stopped as suddenly as they started. You sucked in a breath and pushed all your senses to their limit trying to locate the creature. The searing pain at your back came with an unearthly shriek. It had snuck up behind you. There was nothing worse than a smart monster. Thankfully, your armor had blocked most of the impact. You’d be bruised for sure, but that was better than dead.

You fell forward and scrambled away before turning over. The circle was a short distance away waiting for you to finish the spell and you backed toward it as quickly as you could. The striga tilted her head as she looked you over and you got the feeling she was trying to figure out what you were up to. Your hands slid in the dirt and you curled your lip. Fantastic.

Finally, the power in your circle buzzed along your skin. You slapped your palm down and recited your word of power. A blue glow surrounded the area you were in and the striga immediately howled in panic. She lunged for the nearest opening in the wall and was bounced back. You kept your eyes on her while you withdrew another vial. If you timed things right you could take her down without her getting near you again.

Another word and a toss of the vial had a burst of flame shooting up from the floor and burning the beast. It screamed in outrage and pain. And then it turned those angry, beady eyes on you. Well, fuck. You tried to get to your feet, but the striga was too fast. She lunged, pinning you to the ground. You plunged your dagger into her side and she lifted her arm as she screamed. One swipe of those claws across your throat and you were done.

You grasped desperately at your waist trying to draw another vial but the beast was too heavy and had you pinned too thoroughly. You closed your eyes and braced for the impact. Instead, warm liquid covered you followed by another screech from the striga.

The weight was suddenly gone and you opened your eyes. Realizing you were covered in blood that was not your own, you wiped a hand down your face and pushed yourself up. There, at the other end of the small room you’d blocked off was Geralt fighting the striga who was now missing part of her arm. It laid a short distance away from you where he must have severed it to keep her from clawing you.

You got to your feet quickly, weaving slightly from the pain in your back. Geralt fought the beast, his eyes black from some potion he’d consumed before the battle. Your fingers found the vial you’d been searching for earlier and you launched it at creature. It exploded across the striga’s back and you yelled the elder word for stop. The creature immediately froze and Geralt took full advantage to end the beast. The striga was no more.

You looked between it and Geralt who stood over it panting. You wondered briefly if you could sneak away without him noticing. He was going to be pissed. After a moment, he put his sword away and turned to face you. You expected him to yell at you. To tell you that you were an idiot and he was never helping you again.

What you did not expect was for him to eat the ground up between you with several long strides. Before you could even think of reacting, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck and he pulled you forward. His lips slammed into yours and tension flowed from your body as your hands found his chest. The kiss was long and needy. When he finally pulled back, his jaw was still tight. 

“You lied.” His already deep voice had dropped even lower. Yeah, he was pissed.

“Technically, I said you wouldn’t hear about me fighting a striga. I’m fairly certain you didn’t, so no lie.”

“Y/N.” That was nothing more than a growl. He released you and paced away from you. “Why would you go after the striga alone? You know how dangerous they are. Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Geralt, these people have nothing. Less than nothing. Do you really expect me to stand aside and let them lose their lives as well? I had to try.”

He spun to face you, hands clenched at his sides. “And if you failed?”

“Well, then they at least would know someone cared enough about their fate to try to change it.” This all seemed perfectly reasonable to you, but every word you spoke seemed to make Geralt angrier.

“And what was I to do if you died?”

You sighed. “You would find another witch, Geralt. As memory serves you were on your way to find one the last time I saw you, so why are you here?”

He licked his lips. “Because I need you.”

You lifted your brows but said nothing. He didn’t need you. He needed Yennefer. You were just a convenient substitute for when she wasn’t around.

He sighed and tore his gaze from yours. “Yennefer hasn’t been in my bed since White Hall. No one has other than you.”

That was the first time the two of you slept together. “Don’t lie to me, Geralt. It doesn’t suit you.” It would take both hands for you to count the number of times he’d left you somewhere to run after Yennefer.

“I never lie.”

It was true that you’d never known him to lie before but if what he said was true, you’d suffered so much heartbreak for nothing. You shook your head, not even wanting to discuss this right then. “Let’s go back to the village. I need to get cleaned up.”

He grasped your arm and turned you back to face him. His hand cradled the side of your face. “Why are you crying?”

“Am I?” You moved to wipe the tears away, but he beat you to it. You licked your lips. “I’m not a fool, Geralt. I know where I stand in importance to you. And I tried to be okay with it because I love you. But I can’t do this anymore.” You took a step back. “So, thank you for your help and maybe I’ll see you around someday.”

“No,” he growled as he grabbed you and pulled you back to him. “You are not saying goodbye.” His lips slammed into yours and you couldn’t resist kissing him back. He tangled his fingers in your hair and held you in place as he pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours. “I don’t deserve you. I told myself to keep my distance, but fuck it. I don’t care anymore. I need you, Y/N. No one else just you.”

“What about me?” came from the darkness, startling a laugh out of you.

Geralt growled. “Jaskier, if this ends up in one of your songs you’ll wish that drowner had eaten you.”

“But what an epic tale it would be. The white wolf and the mistress of night.”

You shook your head and looped your arms around your witcher’s neck. “No. This one’s about Geralt and Y/N.” And his lips found yours again.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 4

Thomas X Reader

2306

Summary: Flashbacks and First days.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

[ Nine months before Somme]

“Why are all of the songs you sing happy?” he asked, mouth half full of slimy porridge.

Y/N glanced up from her rations, “What do you mean?”

Thomas shrugged, “You always sing about fighting or beating the odds no matter how bad it seems. Or about how angry everyone is about the war. Why don’t you ever sing anything that’s sad?”

She put her spork down, “You want me to sing a sad song during war?”

He didn’t answer right away, only shoveled a couple more mouthfuls down his gullet. After a swig of stale water he continued.

“I dunno. I feel like we should be allowed to be sad sometimes. Singing all these happy songs feels like we’re pretending that all the bullshit we see everyday isn’t real. Like we didn’t just watch several men lose their legs or that artillery didn’t just rip a man in half.”

Y/N let out a long sigh, “Thomas, I love you, but dear God man I’m eating.”

His heart skipped a beat. This was something he wished more than anything was real. That went beyond the comradery of soldiers. Yet, he schooled his features into something more neutral. Despite the fact that he craved to hear the words again but it was their spontaneity that was precious to him. 

Thomas was barely able to scramble together a reply, “I just want to feel again.” He blinked, not exactly sure where the admission had come from. Though he couldn’t take it back now.

Over the next few days he’d catch her humming a melody he didn’t recognize. Some parts she would work over again and again. Others would be there and gone, carried away on the breeze. When she sang it to them for the first time it was after a rough day. 

They had lost a handful of people to a tunnel collapse in the northeastern sector and all the hard work they’d done over the past six months was completely scrapped. One of the members of that team had been the youngest in their company. He had a fiance with a baby on the way even if he couldn’t yet grow a full beard.

She’d been perched on a piece of rubble that had fallen from a church. Her voice was clear and perfect as crystal. The song was about a soldier going home to find his wife bleeding on the floor. She’d ended her life to be with him after receiving a call that incorrectly informed her that his company had been massacred. 

The men of the 174th wept that night the hardest they had since the war began. All the pent up rage and fear leaking out onto their pillows in the dead of night. For those who couldn’t be silent, they wept with their heads held between their hands in an attempt to muffle the noise. It was the army though and no one ever questioned crying men.

Thomas hadn’t cried. He was more angry about the deaths and couldn’t quite settle down enough to listen to the words. It wasn’t until she’d sung it a second time it had unraveled him. She’d changed the ending. The first time the wife wasn’t saved and the soldier had to move on without her. This time, they lived into their greying years with the knowledge that life was unbearable without the other.

“Why is it the ‘happy’ ending?” she asked him once.

Thomas shrugged, his eyes still swollen. It was one of the few times they were alone and she’d sung it for him. He didn’t mind being the only audience but it had made the unexpected turn in lyrics all the more powerful for him. 

Thomas’ voice cracked as he spoke, “Don’t ever sing that in front of Hopper.” He elaborated when she raised her eyebrow, “If you sing a single note of that in front of him he’ll figure out you’re a woman.”

Y/N froze, “How did you know?”

He smirked, “You never bathe with the other men. Your uniform is always too big. You’re almost a head shorter, to the point I’m surprised no one has said anything. And your face does the thing”

“What thing?”

“That soft thing that everyone thinks is cute.”

He swore he imagined it but her cheeks turned a light pink, “Did you just call me cute Shelby?”

He shrugged, “Just keep the singing away from Hopper.”

〜

[Present Day]

Y/N awoke the next morning to the raucous laughter of dozens of men floating up the stairs. With a bewildered groan she checked the small window to her room to find that it was at least past noon at this point. On Saturday.

She cursed to herself as she quickly dressed in trousers. Her leg almost didn’t lift high enough to get inside without pain shooting up her back. With an audible growl she shoved her limp foot through the hole and grabbed her violin case. A passing glance in the mirror told her that her hair was wildly out of control, but if the singing had already started it was too late to fix it now.

Y/N practically hopped down the stairs on one leg. Twinges still assaulted her with every step, but it was better than just hobbling around on a bum leg. Which she’d have to do anyway on level ground.

Upon descending into the bar, she was confronted not by the milling groups she’d seen at lunch time the previous day but a completely packed room. Fully grown men were pressed shoulder to shoulder all staring up towards the front of the bar. A woman’s voice lulled over some lyrics Y/N recognized as a folk song that had become popular again after the war. Nostalgia always popped up in weird places.

With some luck, and her short stature, Y/N squeezed her way close enough to the bar that she had enough elbow room to play. Standing in front of the bar was the woman she’d seen at the opera...and the restaurant. Once she was done with her current song she waved to grab her attention.

Grace’s eyes practically bulged out of her head when she noticed Y/N, “Uh..Y...Yes? Can I help you?”

“Oh, this is weird,” she mumbled to herself. Speaking louder to be heard over the crowd, she lifted her violin case, “Thomas told me I was supposed to help you out on Saturdays. What would you like me to do?”

Grace’s eye’s cast about wildly. “Did he hire you?”

“In a way. Did you need help or…?”

“Yes. Yes. Set up over at that end of the bar. Do you know Black Velvet Band?”

Y/N nodded as she moved. “I know most of the popular songs. But if I don’t know something I can usually figure it out after the first verse as long as it’s nothing weird.”

For the next several hours, they entertained the patrons of the Garrison Pub. Grace could usually sing several songs in a row, but eventually she needed a break and that’s when Y/N would go from a supporting role to the main role. After Grace had rested and filled orders, she would once again relinquish center stage.

The patrons were eating it up, and at one point Y/N had caught sight of Jerimiah. She waved in a small pause in the music and damn near killed the man. He had turned ashen when he’d registered who she was and had begun to sway only to be caught by Danny, who’d stopped by after an errand. 

He’d quickly left, returning a couple hours later with almost the half the platoon they’d served with. The bar, already almost at max capacity, was now so overflowing with people that the party had begun to spill onto the streets. Someone had gone home and grabbed a portable skillet and had offered to cook anything people brought him. Soon the smell of grilled meats wafted through the slums of Birmingham. And the Garrison Pub was serving every single one of those thirsty people.

At some point a couple of men had constructed a makeshift stage for the women to perform on and had urged them outside. Now the dancing had started as women came to find their husbands up to their ears in drink and food. Children ran amok, mimicking some of the dances with others finding whatever they could to play with as music brought this part of the city to life.

It wasn’t until the sun had begun to set that someone caught sight of Thomas Shelby and his family approaching the Pub. Word spread quickly, and most continued their revelry even if it was subdued. Finally, Thomas made it to the foot of the stage. Everyone waited with baited breath to hear what the gang leader had to say.

“So, allow you two to play music for one day, and it becomes a feast?”

Y/N finally put down her violin after hours of playing. Her back practically screamed at her to sit down, but this was the first time she’d played to a crowd like this in years. She’d missed it.

So she did what she always did. “That’s what you get for sticking us both up here. Hell, between the two of us I’m pretty sure we could play so well the pearly gates themselves would open for us.”

“After all the shit you’ve pulled?” He raised his eyebrow skeptically. A soft murmur went through the crowd as people shared confused glances. She knew Thomas.

Y/N couldn’t help but grin, “Oh, they couldn’t bear not to have us play for the angels themselves. But here we are instead playing for these hard working men and women, and I think we’ve done a good job filling their hearts with hope again.”

He chuckled, “Fine. Just make sure the Garrison stays busy.”

“As you wish.” Y/N shrugged, her arms complaining as she lifted her violin once again.

Grace stared at her new companion with unveiled wonder, “He lets you talk to him like that?”

Y/N flashed Grace with one of her signature wicked smiles, “We were army buddies.”

“But they don’t allow women to fight.”

“Eh, who says they had to know?”

Grace’s mouth fell open as Y/N started up another song, one that Grace didn’t recognize. But the entirety of the 174th sent up cheers, their glasses raised. 

It was a fast paced one that made it hard to sit still. Y/N braced herself before she began to dance on the small stage, tapping her feet in time with the beat as the 174th began to sing. Their voices rose over the general din. There wasn’t much melody in it, but those men sang from somewhere buried deep inside. It was as if the hope that had carried them through the worst days of hell sprang to life to answer the call of music.

At the edge of the crowd in the shroud of darkness, the barest outline of Thomas Shelby could be seen. Even if he didn’t scream the lyrics along with his brothers in arms, he still sang. It was then that Grace understood why Thomas had been so adamant about there being no music in his pub.

If Grace wanted to truly understand Thomas Shelby she’d have to learn about him not as the gang leader, but as the man who survived the worst part of human history. Who was he before and what had happened with this woman that had changed his life forever? It was a way out, another option that didn’t rely on giving herself to the enemy. Holding onto that hope, Grace closed her eyes and tried to decipher the jumbled lyrics.

〜

Finally the Garrison Pub closed. Grace sat slumped against a table as Harry mopped the floor. Y/N curled up on one of the few benches in the corner. After everything was well and tidied up, Grace got up to leave.

“You coming?” she asked.

Y/N shook her head, “Actually I’m staying upstairs.”

Grace’s brow furrowed, “But...why? I mean your dress was lovely, and you were playing in one of the most expensive places in town. Can’t you afford a better place?”

“This suits me just fine. Besides, you of all people should know that a pretty dress is just a costume; at the end of the day it doesn’t mean nothing.”

Grace froze, “What do you mean?”

Y/N fixed Grace with a tired gaze, “It’s just how it’s always been. You may love rolling around in the dirt, but a bath and pretty dress later no one would ever know.”

She let out a deep sigh of relief but just as she was about to leave Y/N stopped her once more, “Hey, since you’ve been in town longer do you know any good music halls? Operas? Theatres? I’m looking for work that isn’t just on Saturdays”

“Oh, I can’t stand Opera so I wouldn’t know about that. But I think there’s a new place opening up on the other side of the river.” Grace waved dismissively then shut and locked the door behind her.

Y/N slowly stood and finally let herself limp over to the bar and poured herself a drink. She mulled over the possibilities of why the hell Grace was at the opera if she hated it and wasn’t dragged there by family. So far none of the possibilities looked good and it was getting to the point she’d have to tell somebody. 

The wad of money Thomas had shoved at her still burned a hole in her pocket; she hadn’t gotten a chance to return it today. A goal for tomorrow then.

[rosesnink]

The Fall And Rising Of A Rose

A/N: I’m struggling to bring myself to write the current chapters of The Cursed Heiress, so I decided to write some one-shots that gives boosts to some small plots I do not have the chance to explore in the main series. I’ll start with some characters we’ve met/will meet and sometimes the characters before and after meeting Joanna. I reccomend listen to Dynasty by Miia while reading for better experience! 

Summary: A visit of Mr. Sinclaire to the house of ill repute changes a poor woman’s life...forever. 

1813

Ernest was certain that this time he was at a bed, though he could not tell which one was. There was a woman, one whose face he could not see. She was naked and giggling, such a pleasant sound that made his heart race rather rapidly. She had some scars on her chest, though he couldn’t identify them because the vision was blurry. Her hand brushed his chest as she mounted atop him, her smile the most enthralling thing he’s ever seen, her rich lips now swollen and red, probably his fault. He didn’t know what was happening. He knew he was in the dream, but the Ernest in there wasn’t quite him. It was someone more different than him, though he couldn’t tell the difference between them. The woman leaned to kiss him and he did too, meeting her partway, her lips tasting like morning breath and blueberries from his garden back at Ledford Park. It felt incredible and his version of the dream hummed in delight.

“Mmm, we should do this more oftenly, my queen.” He mused.

“Hm, I think the grown men of the court would not like it.” She whispered as she kissed his jaw, waking goosebumps on his body.

So he was with a queen? He wondered which queen it was and how the hell did he win her over, his position being so low. Alas, he didn’t think that there was a queen out there who was redheaded. Not that he studied of, at least.

He pulled her closer to him, pinning her on the bed, but she out strengthened him and pulled away coyly, making him chuckle as she dressed in a very expensive and rich dress, red and off shoulder that showed her cleavage and started to coif her hair in a very complicated way.

“Shouldn’t you call your ladies in waiting?”

“My dear Ernest, a lady has more refined jobs in my chamber than something as easy as dressing one self. Last time I checked, women are killed by childbirths, sickness, old age and offended men, not dressing themselves.” She turned around him, some strands of her hair still out, her long hair showing. He shrugged, giving her a point. He couldn’t see her eyes or nose, but he could see her lips, a smirk tugged at her lips “Don’t tell me you’re capable of everything but dressing yourself! What are you, five?”

“I assure you, I can dress myself rather fine. I’m just impressed that a woman of your status is able to dress herself with such rich silk and difficult garments.”

“Back in the village, I was undercover. My poor mother had to learn to do work she was not used to!”

“I can imagine your poor mother trying to figure out how to put a frock or the corset on.” He mused.

She laughed before throwing him a pillow, thing that made him laugh.

Whoever this woman was, she was special. No woman ever made it to his bed than Roselyn and they weren’t clearly married. He got up and spun her around, kissing her lips as he adventured to lift her skirt with care and picked her up “Must you really spend three hours fixing yourself up for these grown men?”

“I must look good so they see me as their queen. Especially when introducing them to our Liz.”

He kissed the nape of her neck “Surely a woman of your talents will think of something...” He pleaded her.

She giggled again before kissing him, his hands undoing the pins on her hair and throwing her to bed, happy and--.

“Sir? Are you awake?” A rather familiar voice woke him from his curious dream.

He blinked and saw her again. He quickly got up and started to dress himself, aware of the situation at hand.

“It… happened again, didn’t it?”

“Yes… and I know the speech already. You needn’t worry, sir, your secret is safe with me.”

“Good, that’s… that’s good.”

He noticed she had her worries too, her mind drifting awa too. He fished some coins and gave it to her. She smiled at him and nodded in gratefulness “You don’t need to, sir.”

“I know, but you deserve it.”

“For what, doing my job to content you at night and keep quiet at day?” She questioned.

“For putting up with me. My time here has been most educational and I wish you well in your career. May I put good word with a friend of mine? He is looking for a housemaid and he’s growing desperate.”

She got up, looking at him with surprise “You’d do that?”

He nodded.

“…It’s not that I am not grateful for this job, but I could really use the money…”.

“I shall speak with your future patron straight away.”

He finished getting dressed and went to the door when her words stopped him “Marianna Howard.”

He spun around to look at her better “Sorry?”

“My name, my true name. It’s Marianna Howard, not Rosemond. But please, call me Mari.”

“Very well, Miss Howard. I give you my word that you will have a job at the end of the week.”

She smiled at him, bowing her head respectfully.

Then, he left.

Three weeks later

The blonde woman threw up again, shaking her head as she went right to check as she begged her body to bleed… but nothing came out “Come on, bleed, bleed for fuck’s sake! FUCK, NOT AGAIN!” She wailed as she shuddered, leaning against the wall and falling sobbing quietly.

Mrs Wayward, the cook, rushed to her and caressed her shoulders “What is it, Mari?” She looked at the cold stone and gasped “You’re…I…”.

“Pregnant? It seems so.”

“Who’s the father? It cannot be Mr. Chambers, he doesn’t even fancy women that way!”

She looked at her intensely “Promise me on your son’s life that you shall keep this secret to your grave.”

“My god… it’s an aristocrat’s child!”

“Give me your word!” She begged.

“…You can count on me. I shall not tell a soul, not even my dear husband.”

They talked and soon she had to tell Mr. Chambers about her state on her knees, pleading him not to ask too many questions or fire her. Lucky her, her patron was a sunshine and told her she owed him no explanation whatsoever and that she’d have his support should she were to raise this child on her own. She knew that he had his suspicions, but kept his word on not ask around and soon forgot about his musing once Mr. Byrd came to visit, his only focus him.

On the 18th of April, she gave birth to a girl who she decided to name ‘Girl’, in case she died or had to sell her should she be a sickly kid. But she grew strong and thrived, growing the same untamed hair than her father and his eyes too, just as his full lips. Though she had too her capacity to charm a man and Mr. Chambers grew fond of the child, buying her a doll and a brush of her own and raised her salary so she could maintain her. With the changes in the world, she would send her to work soon at a factory. Until one day, her luck would turn around…

April of 1816

“Mama, it’s sunny outside!” Her three-year-old daughter called “May I play with the other girls in the park? Please?”

Mr. Chambers knocked on the door, looking away first, ever the polite man and then beamed at the young girl “Happy birthday, beautiful! How many years do you have now?”

She signalled him the number three and he gasped “How old!” He knelt down on her and handed her a few coins “Here, buy yourself something at the center. It shall be my present to you.”

“Thank you, sir!”

She bowed her head to him “You are too kind, Mr. Chambers.”

He smiled “It’s nothing, really. Your girl is delightful and you have been my saviour all of these years. It’s the minimum I could do for you both.” He heard three sharp knocks and smiled “I’ll get that, you go and have the day off with her. I was about to, ah, dismiss you for the day anyways.”

She giggled “Of course, sir. Have a good day with your… dear friend.”

They strolled around the streets, trying to avoid rich neighbourhoods as they saw a nice tavern and beamed at the bartender, who greeted them “So, it’s the kid’s birthday, I hear?”

“Yes!” The girl beamed.

“A birthday cake and some drinks, coming up!”

“Oh, I don’t think we can afford—.”

“Don’t worry, the nice lady has paid for it.” She signalled a redheaded girl a few tables away from her, dressed in a rich, very expensive violet gown and the prettiest tiara she has ever seen. She smiled at them and raised her glass.

“Who is that woman, Mama?” Her daughter asked.

“Someone who is nice enough to pay us a birthday cake, apparently.”

“We should thank her!”

“I don’t think it’s safe to—.” Too late, because she already approached the woman and started talking to her. Her demeanour was regal, almost royal, and her hair was flawlessly coiffed. She must be a high aristocrat, though she had never seen her before. Perhaps she was some poor girl who was hidden until she was of age? She was pretty hard to miss.

She approached them both and bowed respectfully before catching her daughter “Excuse my daughter, madam. She still needs to learn some etiquette manners.”

“You needn’t worry, Miss Howard. Your daughter is delightful and lovely. I always thought that expressing your gratitude to kind strangers is what makes you a proper lady, no matter how above your station they are.” She extended her hand “Lady Joanna Mills of Edgewater, but call me Joanna, please.”

“Oh! You’re the firstborn daughter of the Earl of Edgewater!” She gasped before bowing a bit lower “I am so humbled you’d look twice at someone of our characters…”

“You needn’t worry. A few months ago, I was just like you. I’m new to this noblewoman thing. Besides, I’ve been dying to meet this girl and you for some time.”

“Wh-what you could possibly mean?”

Her face was unreadable, but she looked down to the girl and smiled warmly at her “Why don’t you take the cake with you and share it with your friends? One of my men shall be with you.”

She nodded before bowing to her and ran off with her guard trailing not too far with the rather big and lavish cake. Marianna focused on the woman, now unsure of how to approach this.

“How do you know who we are?”

“Because I know the right people.” She said nonchalantly, looking at her in the eye “You see, people know me for being an acknowledged Foredale, but I’m the legitimate daughter and heiress from the Crochanes.”

Marianna gasped “Th-that’s impossible! They are a fantastical, fictional family, almost like an Arthurian tale.”

“Ah, but you see… all those stories are real.” Her eyes glowed and instead of blue, her eyes were now amber, to then blue. Her hand caught hers and stood her on her seat with firm strength “Calm down, ma’am, I will not hurt you. I come here in peace.”

“What—I—and the eyes—.”

“Breathe, Miss Howard. In and out. Good girl.”

“So… may I know why someone as powerful as you wants to do something with my daughter?”

“You see, your child is a special one, it’s almost an insult to her destiny that she is unnamed.”

“Wh-what do you mean destiny?”

“During centuries, Queens from the Circle, thanks to their magical abilities and special connection to the Ancient Gods, were able to foresee many things: especially their children. They come in either visions or dreams: premonitory dreams. The current Queen dreamt of me being her successor…”

“…And you dreamt of her being your successor!” She gasped “I can’t believe it… my child, royalty!”

“And I believe we have an acquaintance in common.”

“What do you mean?”

Ernest Sinclaire, master of Ledford Park.

She blushed deeply and looked away “I—I mean, he—we weren’t—he doesn’t—”

“—Know that you two have a daughter? I know. And I won’t tell a soul, for it is not my secret to reveal. But he must know.”

Suddenly, her head started to spin and Joanna seemed to notice. She lunged towards her and caught her before she could fall and felt how strong her hands were. She gasped for air before giving up…

She didn’t know if it passed down days, hours or weeks, but her daughter’s voice woke her “Mama, wake up!”

She opened her eyes to find herself on a very comfortable bed and Lady Joanna tending to her. A guard got the girl out of the room as she took a seat and looked seriously at Marianna.

“Today’s swoon hasn’t been the first one, was it now?”

“Uh… no. But it’s just exhaustion.”

“It is not. You see, your bad conditions on birth and previous pregnancies, with your poor treatment has taken over your body; your womb is almost rotten and with the poor health here and how unhygienic and the conditions you live in are slowly killing you.”

“No…”.

“Sadly, yes. I’ve seen people die before and it’s the very similar motives. You’re dying, Miss Howard, and it is too late to turn back. I can take care of the girl once you’re gone, but you must put in order your other affairs. Not even me can do something about it; my hands are tied with this matter.”

“You know the remedy, don’t you?”

“…It’s difficult to explain.”

“Try me.”

She sighed before starting to explain: the Dracarian Empire was an advanced society (over 200 years old advanced!) everything they had, the humans would achieve it in the 2010s! But that knowledge was a precious one and giving it to the humans was dangerous: many had died for possessing such properties and had risked their identities, too many things had been lost.

“So, if I gave you the remedy, you’d be accused of witchcraft, I’d betray the Queen by revealing the secret we share and you’d be hanged; your girl? Ernest would meet her before she were sent away, somewhere he could never see her again. Do you want that? Or do you want your daughter to be raised in one of the richest, most advanced and privileged societies in the world, to one day to become the greatest Queen, she who shall bring peace and so longed thriving society?”

“Of course I want that. But I don’t want to leave her all alone.”

“She has her father, a man with a heart of gold. And she has me: once she’s under my wing, she shall never starve or ask for anything again. I give you my word, once you’re gone, she will be provided for and will have a loving, caring and beautiful family.”

“Do you promise?”

She looked at the girl, giggling and teasing the guard, who took it very well for a scary guy.

“You can count on that. I never back up my word, and neither will Ernest. His word is beyond reproach.”

“I know. How much time do I have?”

“A month. Make it count, Mariana.”

“I will.”  

[wickedmilo]

SOUNDS LIKE A YOU PROBLEM | MILO & CHLOE

PLACE: A dive bar TIMING: 10:49 PM SUMMARY: After realising he has run out of money, Milo approaches Chloe and asks her to pay for his drinks. WRITING PARTNER: @chloeinbetween ​ CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction, alcohol, references to emotional abuse, drug manipulation (Leanan-Sidhe kiss), chronic illness

There were a lot of things Chloe hadn’t done for years, banned because the only thing allowed to be a detriment to her health was the fae feeding on her. There were a lot of things she wasn’t supposed to do now either, against medical advice or the general opinions of the town on what wasn’t and wasn’t safe. Drinking a glass of whiskey by herself in a bar that was too dingy to have a crowd on a weeknight probably fell into all of the above. Which was why she was doing it. Her fingers drummed against the sticky linoleum of the bar, looking at messages on her phone that she had no plan of answering. Her old messaging app had kept all the old messages from before she’d been taken, so in her worst moments she scrolled through the texts she’d received demanding to know where she was, and why she’d abandoned them. 

It was hardly surprising in pits like this that she didn’t notice the young man sidling up to her curiously. Not until he was much too close. “Can I help you?” Chloe asked, looking him up and down. 

Until very recently, Milo had no reason to concern himself with boundaries. The circles he usually ran in had far more important things to worry about, like who had the drugs, and where they were going to use them. He was too used to stumbling, getting close to strangers, or sharing paraphernalia with people he didn’t recognise. Being forced to avoid people, Humans, was new. A habit he was being forced to form. That didn’t mean his other habits, the ones he had been establishing for years, weren’t demanding his attention though. Which was why he had made his way over to a quiet bar, a bar he knew didn’t often draw in the crowds. As depressing as it was to drink alone in a shadowy corner, that’s exactly how he had been spending his night. Up until the moment he had reached into his pocket for the crushed bills he usually kept there and realised they were no longer present. He shouldn’t be surprised, he had been handing them over for hours. But everybody knew running out of money was anxiety inducing, even when you didn’t have habits to maintain. 

His bank account was empty, that had been the last of it. He wasn’t stupid enough to assume he counted wrong when he had withdrawn the remainder of his funds. And he hadn’t been to work since his official time of death. He could make a run for it, but even in his inebriated state he knew being chased down and potentially tackled by a bartender would only end in said bartender being drained of blood. There didn’t seem to be many options ahead of him. So instead of eyeing the door, he began to eye his fellow patrons. It was very easy to single out the person least likely to punch him in the face, and he pushed himself out of the booth he had been slouching in, getting far too close before he could hold himself back. His limbs felt heavy, his entire body clumsy, and uncoordinated. But he pushed on. “Yeah, actually-” He insisted, a familiar rush of longing creeping up on him as her scent began to permeate the space. Taking a hesitant step back, he swallowed his craving, willing himself to stay where he was. “You can pay for my drinks.” Maybe it wasn’t the smoothest way of asking the woman for money, but his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity and pathetically, it was the best he could do. Maybe she would take pity on him. “I mean- I’ve probably had the worst fucking month of my life, and I… shit, I mean I have no money. What do you want me to say?”

“Excuse me?” Chloe replied, twisting in her seat to look him over. There was a buzz in her head, but it did nothing to numb the immediate annoyance at his request. If anything, it removed any social insecurity, Chloe was no longer interested in being careful with her words. A fae would be more eloquent than that anyway. She pushed her drink further onto the counter so that she would not knock it, and looked him up and down. There was a loose, chaotic way of his movements, like he didn’t quite know how to hold himself together. He was drunk, drawling, obviously. Her lip curled in disgruntled annoyance. “Why the hell are you at a bar if you haven’t got any money?” Chloe snapped back, looking right back up at him. 

“I really don’t see how that’s anyone’s problem except yours. And the bartender’s. How disrespectful do you need to be to expect something like this from other people?” She rolled her eyes pointedly at him. There was another thought, biting at the corner of her mind, after another moment of looking at him, the sentence slipped out before she could stop herself. “Can’t have been too shitty a month if you still have the capacity to make bad life choices.”

Milo knew the moment the woman turned to face him that she wasn’t about to hand over her credit card. Even if it hadn’t been obvious in her tone, it would have been obvious in the way she was looking at him. Letting out a huff of breath in response to the question, it was a sharp reminder of how important it was to take shallow breaths. He didn’t need the oxygen, and breathing in too deeply was only going to put her in danger. Each intake brought with it a wave of tantalising scent. “I had money.” He countered, an edge to his own voice. “I drank it.” Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he would do if somebody approached him and asked him to pay for their drinks. Maybe in the morning her reaction would feel reasonable, and valid. Right now though, in this moment, it was infuriating. It didn’t make any sense. 

“And it isn’t disrespectful to be a total dick when somebody asks you for help?” He demanded, twisting the situation to frame himself as someone to sympathise with, someone to feel sorry for. He fell silent again, his eyes narrowing as she carefully observed him. Even with so much alcohol in his system, it made him feel vulnerable, and exposed. He didn’t like it. Shifting awkwardly on the spot, he felt a spark of genuine anger when she eventually commented on his life choices. Did he really look that bad? “Oh, yeah?” He snapped. “You’re here drinking alone too, you know? Seems like we’re both making shitty decisions. I’d like to see anybody go through what I’ve been through and not want to drink themselves into oblivion. Haven’t you ever heard of coping mechanisms? Fucking crutches? Maybe I just need a fucking break.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Chloe replied, matching his edge just as harshly, even though her voice croaked with the effort. There was a way he looked at her that made her skin crawl, like he knew more about her than he should, or that he wanted more than her money. Perhaps what was left of her life, she though, and shook the thought away. He didn’t have the charisma to be like Lydia. He was pitiable. Still a threat, maybe, but under her anger she understood just want this looked like. 

There was a knife edge difference between drinking to cope and drinking to lose herself, and Chloe was terrified of landing the wrong edge of the line. 

Then he opened his mouth again and her sympathy was quashed immediately. “Only if they’re not a dick in asking for it. You didn’t even ask! You demanded. You look young but not too young to know the difference.” If nothing, her barbed comment only seemed to raise his hackles even further, his voice raising. Her hands curled tightly around the edge of the barstool. “I’m not pissing off anyone else though, am I? I don’t think you’re in a place to throw rocks, dude. Oh fuck off, do you really think you have a monopoly on suffering?”

Milo glared at the woman, irritated by the tone she was taking although he had a feeling he might look back on this conversation and feel it was entirely justified. “I’m trying to make it an us problem.” He muttered, thinking of every time Dani had ever called him a smartmouth. “I didn’t ask for shit.” He added, his glare only growing in intensity. Clearly it had been a mistake to approach her. She must have known he was likely going to ask her for money regardless of how she chose to begin their initial interaction, but technically he was being honest. “You asked if you could help me, and I said yes, you could pay for my drinks. If anything, you offered.” 

Noting her voice growing in volume, the last thing he wanted to do was cause a scene. But he also felt as though he had every right to be angry. He hadn’t done anything wrong. “I didn’t come over here to piss you off. I actually have better things to do.” He snapped, running a clumsy hand through his hair as he struggled to reign in his frustration. “You know what? Yeah, I really fucking do have the monopoly on suffering right now. Why do you think I’m even here? I had friends, and a fucking family, and I’m really fucking tired. So forgive me for not realising I was nearly out of cash. And forgive me for thinking that maybe someone might actually take pity on me and offer to help me out. It’s whatever, okay? I’ll fucking go-” 

“I’ll remember next time to be clearer with my sarcasm as you don’t seem to get it. I fucking doubt that,” Chloe snarled back, eyes creased in a frown, back straight. She couldn’t say whether it was the alcohol or the attitude that was giving her a headache, but she was pretty sure he was the problem either way. But somewhere in his furious tirade, Chloe heard the hints of something that… well, nothing justified treating people shittily, but something awful, something Chloe understood a little too well. 

No friends. No family. Alone in a dark place with an unhealthy coping mechanism and a need to drown your thoughts in a buzz. Chloe hadn’t had access to alcohol for the last few years, but… well, there had been something available to take the edge off. Chloe shivered. “Wait.” She said curtly, jaw flexing, unable to believe she was about to say this. Maybe because in the biting harshness of his features she saw snippets of Todd and Sammy, young lost men who had found the wrong source of comfort in their troubled lives. Chloe already knew it was fantastical to think she could fix things, but if there was a kindness to be offered…. On the other hand, he was an asshole who had pissed her off, so she almost let him walk away just to teach him a lesson. “Just this once, okay? So you don’t end up in jail on top of whatever other shit you have going on. Now get the hell out of here.”

“Maybe don’t engage strangers in conversation and you won’t have to.” Milo countered. She had spoken to him first. He wasn’t about to take responsibility for something that wasn’t his fault. He was just turning to leave, his hands balled into fists, when he heard the woman call out to him. Surprised, but too irritated to show any gratitude, he faced her once again, a frown still fixed firmly in place. He hadn’t been expecting her to change her mind, and he was in too bitter a mood to be honest about just how much the gesture meant. Taking the bills she was handing out to him, he was careful to only take the amount he needed, leaving a few of them behind. There were other ways to find money if he became desperate. Right now, it seemed like the very least he could do to acknowledge she was offering him help. Crumpling them in his hand, he sheepishly caught her eye. He knew he should say thank you, but he was stubborn. Too stubborn to admit he might have been unfair to her. So he left, instead. Without saying another word. Maybe one day he might feel guilty about that fact, but it wasn’t as though he was ever going to see her again. Something, he thought, that might very well be for the best.

[yoursummerfrost]

Renfri

odihfgohdg y’all know what I’m about xD Many Thoughts about Renfri under the cut

(Give me a character to answer questions about)

Why I like them

Listen. Listen. I love everything about Renfri. I love her ferocity and her rage and her ruthlessness. I love her righteousness. The world has wronged her and she’s not going to stand for it. And I love how she’s still so charismatic and really connects with Geralt, when she finds someone she thinks can finally understand her. She has a substantial capacity for cruelty, as do all of us, and she doesn’t suppress it--but that doesn’t negate her capacity for connection, either. She can bond with her men, she can attune with Geralt. She’s so fucking human.

Why I don’t

I mean, she was indeed gonna slaughter a town full of innocent people. 

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

I guess she’s technically in two episodes? But of course s1e1 is where she really shines. My fave scene with her is when she finds Geralt by the river the first time and tries to convince him to kill Stregobor, and in return he tries to convince her to leave town.

Favorite season/movie

Renfri Lives AU spinoff series when?

Favorite line

“Magic doesn’t work on me. Silver does, though.” Silver’s for monsters.

Favorite outfit

Her armor in the fight scene is so fucking choice

OTP

I mean, I’m deeply obsessed with Yennefer/Renfri. One thing I love about it is that they are both two people with a lot of rough edges, but their relationship to their own roughness is very different. Yennefer is driven by this soft core that she’s desperate to rekindle in some way, and her greed is so expansive--the world never gave her anything before, so now she wants everything, but getting a mythical Everything can’t actually make her happy. And Renfri is so single-focused, so fixated on anger, that the idea of reaching for something besides it is so foreign that it’s terrifying. Renfri is spiteful because she believes she’s been ruined for everything else; Yennefer is spiteful because she’s desperate to prove that they aren’t.

Brotp

I mean, I also ship it non-platonically, or rather in some kind of messy blend of the two, but Geralt and Renfri, man. What excellent narrative foils. Where Geralt is resigned, has internalized his supposed monstrosity and all the things someone else created in him, Renfri is furious and vengeful. And it’s so incredibly tragic. The two of them occupy equally untenable extremes. Geralt tells Renfri to “leave Blaviken, and finally live” which is a load of shit--not because he’s being patronizing or whatever, like I’ve seen it characterized--to me, he’s speaking as one trauma survivor to another. But because Geralt’s not off finally living either: he’s caught in a different trauma pattern, deeply unhappy, and alone. 

I think about this relationship a lot as, like, the kind of thing where it’s not precisely “healthy” in the sense of, Renfri and Geralt aren’t the right people to give each other their ~best lives~ or whatever, but sometimes you need someone who’s gonna slog through the mud beside you and call you out when you stop moving or are pushing too hard and need to rest. And when you finally get out of the muck you can never quite look at the other person without still kind of picturing them covered in filth, just like you can never look at your own hands and see them as clean. And there’s a really, really specific combination of love and grief that comes with that. 

Head Canon

I’m a big fan of GNC/nonbinary Renfri

Unpopular opinion

Mmm not sure how unpopular or controversial this actually is, but I felt like her story arc was a very well executed tragedy, and that her death had appropriately far-reaching ramifications to the story/Geralt’s character arc that made is narratively justified (as opposed to being like, an empty man-pain thing). I’m angry about her death in the sense of like, I love her and fuck Stregobor and I wish on a personal level that it hadn’t happened, but as a Teller of Stories I am not angry about the narrative choice, if that makes sense. Specifically in the show, because I haven’t read the books yet.

A wish

All that being said, I don’t really have a wish for future seasons, but I do wish the fandom would create all the wonderful Renfri Lives AUs and all the different-setting AUs etc.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

I feel like her arc is... pretty finalized, obviously, and outside of weird retconning I don’t think they could really do anything to fuck it up?

5 words to best describe them

Feral, righteous, biting, clever, charismatic

My nickname for them

I frequently tag her “feral princess baby of my heart” XD

[moonelf19]

I dont watch CR anymore, mostly cause the pairings that seem to be coming about have little to no chemistry, but I do keep up with the widofjord crumbs you slap down. Thank you. You give me wee bits of hope xD

I mean you don’t gotta explain why you stop watching, you do you boo.

I don’t care what ships become ‘Canon” personally, I enjoy good player interactions and ignore twitch chat and blacklist stuff that I don’t like so it’s all gravy to me haha

Sometimes stuff I didn’t like before I change my mind on later, too. Like I really didn’t enjoy the idea of Jester being in love with Artagan until Matt went on talks to explain that it may be meta to say it but that relationship is intentionally wholesome, and now I’m on board full speed ahead baby. Artagan is a big ol low wis Archfey in love with a leetle blue sapphire what more do I need. Jester deserves a wholly devoted God who has changed as a person because of her Obstinately Goodness.

Beauyasha has certainly been a “stop and start” “hot and cold” kind of ship, but after Yasha’s breaking of her chains and letting go of Zuala she has been way more obvious about her interest in Beau. And part of the rocky start was just the nature of Yasha’s low charisma and Ashley being gone/quiet compared to the rest of the table. I’m willing to be patient to see where it goes because I think it has the capacity to be both super soft and tender but also spicy and hilarious (Yasha looks at the mirror above Beau’s bed “that will be useful” and absolutely renders Beau mute was hilarious)

Beaujester has dwindled a bit. I suspect the players talked about where the characters are at and maybe Marisha decided that she is going after Yasha instead of Jester? Maybe Laura reminded them that Jester canonically has been in love with Artagan this entire time so her other relationships kind of orbit that? I’m not sure. But there’s still a lot of devotion there, whether or not it’s romantic. And like. Who care’s whats canon man, enjoy what you want and screw everyone else!

I’ve never understood the deal with Caleb or Fjord + Jes so I’m not touching that. Not going to yuk peoples yums so you know.

As for Widofjord... It’s not just me that sees it. My 100% hetero, doesn’t-notice-details brother thinks they are super soft for eachother. He doesn’t ship, he doesn’t care about the romantic stuff, he watches CR because he loves DnD and the storytelling. And he will sometimes roll his eyes and look at me and say stuff like “ok, that was pretty mushy, even I know that” like yea dude, Travis and Liam are soft for eachother IRL, Fjord is protective of Caleb, Caleb adores Fjord, what more- what more could I need? Really? Their body language? Seeking each other out? Caleb taking Fjord to the academy with Veth? Telling Fjord his backstory on the boat? Fjord telling Caleb he sees a good man? “We’ll make it work.”?? Fjord going starry eyed anytime Caleb so much as casts a cantrip? Caleb cradling Fjord’s head and soothing him after he dies???? Fjord breaking out of his fake voice to call for help for Caleb??? Buying Caleb a super FREAKING powerful magic item with the last of his gold after buying a ring of fire resistance with the first half of his gold and considering giving it to Caleb????? Fjord jokingly patronizing Caleb saying “Yeah cast Caleb’s pretty lights” and Caleb summons green lights? Fjord cajoling Caleb to get onto a bed so Caleb does? Caleb gave Fjord a hammock and referred to it as a sex swing and Fjord intends to use it? Fjord’s small hopeful voice after Caleb has finished showing them the tower, reminding Caleb that he said there was something about windows he was going to show them, Fjord saying “you said, downstairs, maybe something for me?” and pointing to himself and then trying not to look disappointment when Caleb doesn’t have any more surprises for him- surprises and little secret gestures like the reminder of their blood pact under a stack of books, and the too-thick pane glass portholes because Caleb knows Fjord gets nervous about windows.

IDK MAN. I don’t know what to tell you. They are pretty devoted to each other. It makes more sense than it doesn’t, you know what I mean? Either they are SUPER good friends who adore each other or they are mutually pining. Either way I love it and I love them.

Also Veth/Yeza, the Bernattos, those Three? Super good. A+. Veth trying to figure out how to merge her two lives. Yeza being one part excited about the change and one part hesitant because he knows he isn’t as capable as his wife and is worried about their son. Except Luc is now The Mighty Nein’s son too, they will stop at NOTHING to protect him and make sure he is happy. Luc is probably the safest little 4 year old in Exandria, for all that he is also in the most danger by proxy. Veth adoring her husband, Yeza “heart-eyes-for-my-BA-wife” Bernatto.

Ok anyway that’s how I feel about that thank you for the ask, I answered right after drinking my coffee so it got away from me srry

[rose-mori]

alright!! ♥︎ could i get a bigby x fem! reader fic, however the reader themselves is a “mutt monster”? (very much so like how Jersey can shift into the Jersey Devil) and Bigby finds this out through following her around and kind of approaching it like “Oh, so this is what goes on during your freetime?” - @monstercoffin

The first request I got! I kind of went in a different direction and the type of being the reader is was kept vague but I hope this entertains nevertheless! Thank you for your patience I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I should really be heading out now” She stares at the office exit from her seat in front of Bigby’s desk before facing him again. Bigby looks up from his paperwork and frowns as he notices not only the way her frequent glances at the door hold a sense of restrained longing but also the way her leg is bouncing anxiously and how she’s constantly shifting in her seat uncomfortably, not to mention the longer she’s seated there the more shallow her breathing seems to get. He’d never known her to be an overly anxious person before but ever since they’ve been spending more time together he’s noticed she tends to get into an uncomfortable and almost panicked state nearing the end of the day. He’s asked her about it before but she always rushes off with a flimsy excuse. When she starts digging her nails into the arm rests of her chair he stops trying to assess her and decides he won’t let her get away without an explanation this time.

“Are you in some sort of trouble I don’t know about?” With his brows knitted, eyes full of concern, and his frame leaning towards her as he was already slouched over his paperwork, his gaze holds an intensity that she isn’t equipped to deal with at the moment.

“No! Of course not I just- It’s really getting late and I don’t want Snow to come in and get on my case about distracting you or how I-“

“We both know Snow is gone for the night and that doesn’t explain why you acted like this all the other times.” He sighs as he gets up out of his chair and walks over to the other side of the desk. Crossing his arms and leaning against the desk he examines her further. She can’t make eye contact with him for more than a second and her body language suggests that she’s experiencing physical discomfort. She realizes that he’s analyzing her and gets up quickly, causing Bigby’s eyes to widen and then furrow his brow in confusion and frustration. “When are you gonna stop keeping me in the dark?”

She can tell he’s starting to feel hurt. She can hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. ‘Just tell him it’s not that big of a deal really’ one side of her thinks but the other reminds her that Snow has been really cracking down on Fables whose true forms aren’t that of a human, monitoring them closer than ever before and sending them to the farm at the slightest infraction. She understands why Snow is doing it but there must be a less intrusive and stressful way of going about that right? Hiding her true form from Bigby felt wrong. She feels a deep pit in her stomach whenever she has to stammer some lame excuse out and watch him get continuously more suspicious but what is she supposed to do? If Bigby knows then he’s put in a compromising situation, he either keeps it from Snow or informs her, and that’s a burden she doesn’t want to place on him.

He notices her contemplating and softens his gaze. “Please, trust me.” He says earnestly. Her heart almost stops.

“It’s nothing really. It’s just a personal matter.” That’s not enough for him to relent and she sighs. “Look, I can assure you I’m not in any danger whatsoever otherwise I would tell you right away okay?” Bigby pauses for a bit at this.

“Fine”

She sighs in relief.

“I’m still not happy with you keeping things from me.” He makes his way back behind his desk.

“I know I know it’s just embarrassing and not something I want to talk about is all.” She gets up and gives him an apologetic look. Bigby just hums in response. “Anyway I should probably get going now, it’s getting pretty late.” She waves as she rushes out, leaving Bigby in the dark yet again.

————

————

It’s been another quiet day in Fabletown. Bigby finds it odd but not unwelcome, at least not completely. Contrary to popular belief, Bigby did not get to find time for himself during rare times of peace, instead he has to go through all the paperwork he otherwise can’t get to due to being too busy trying to either talk or knock some sense into the residents that tend to not listen, depending on how hostile they are. However, it seems Snow has a touch to rival that of King Midas’ when it comes to keeping people in line which leads Bigby to where he is now. Just doing paperwork.

His admiration for Snow’s abilities is slowly starting to turn to annoyance with every file. Thinking back on it, this was a majority of what Bigby did before everything with The Crooked Man. Perhaps the constant action during that time has lessened his patience for the norm. To make things even less interesting, (Y/N) is not here today. Snow advised her to not come since there really wasn’t much for her to assist with after she spent the last week finishing organizing all the paperwork to make it easier for Bigby to go through. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t stop his mind from trying to figure out what she’s hiding. Leave it to her to make him lose focus, although he wishes it wasn’t because he was worried.

As if on cue he catches her scent, and decides that he could use a breath of fresh air and some sun. She’s a few blocks away, that’s a good distance for a walk.

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Her scent led him to a bar, and a small one at that. He’s heard of it before, it’s gotten popular in the short amount of time it’s been open. With all the talk about this place it definitely takes Bigby by surprise when he sees how little the maximum capacity of the place probably is and further more the lack of people there. Just one glance around the room and he can’t see her but her scent is strong. There’s no denying she’s here somewhere. The few patrons that are there seem awfully wary of him. He can’t pinpoint if it’s just them reacting to him normally or if there’s something they’re hiding. A terrible thought flashes through his mind and he holds back a scowl. He can’t afford to jump to conclusions, and it seemed genuine when she said she wasn’t in trouble. Bigby calms himself down before taking a seat in front of the barkeep. “Small place you got here.”

“Smaller the place the lower the rent.” The man says. No offer for a drink, the usual for most places that want Bigby to leave as soon as possible.

“It’s funny. I’ve heard so much about this place that I expected there to be customers.” Bigby looks around the almost empty room to emphasize his point. The barkeep scoffs.

“If you want a more lively atmosphere I’m sure you can find another place with one after you fuck right off.” He turns his back on Bigby.

“Haven’t heard that one before.” Unamused, Bigby looks at the bookshelf against the wall. It looked out of place in what was probably the smallest dive bar Bigby had ever seen. “Why have a bookshelf in a place like this?”

“Christ, is there something wrong with having a bit of decoration?” The barkeep says with a lot more venom than before and now Bigby knows he’s probably onto something if that struck such a nerve. He gets off the stool and make his way towards the bookshelf.

“I don’t look too much into interior design myself but I think the place would probably seem a lot bigger if you didn’t have this taking up so much space.” As he inspects it he notices how dusty most of the books are, all except one. He rolls his eyes. “Really?” He mutters under his breath.

“H-Hey, what’re you doing?”

Bigby smirks as he looks back at the barkeep. “This is the type of shit Mundies come up with in mystery novels. You could’ve at least hidden it with a spell and make me work for it a little, maybe even invested in a duster.” He turns back to the bookcase and pulls the book, which turns out to be a lever. The bookcase moves and opens up a much more lively bar filled with creatures of all sorts. “So this is why everyone’s coming here.” He walks in and ignores all the shocked patrons. There’s not a single human looking person in there but her scent is undeniable.

“Bigby?!” He hears a familiar voice behind him and turns around to be met with something that doesn’t match his image of who the voice belongs to.

“Uhh? (Y/N)?” He says with cautious confusion.

“Why are you here?” She asks clearly upset and embarrassed. Not only is her cover blown with him but everyone in the establishment is staring them down.

“I uh-“ Now it’s Bigby’s turn to be embarrassed. He doesn’t really have a reason to be here other than tracking her down. (Y/N) groans before he can answer.

“I can’t believe this, let’s go outside.” She transforms back into her human form before taking his arm and leaving the building.

————

————

“So that’s why you’ve been running off?” He walks closely next to her on the sidewalk heading back to the offices.

“If I’m in this form for too long I get so uncomfortable to the point that I can’t stand it. I don’t know how you manage Bigby.” She sighs. Bigby glances down at her before shoving his hand in his pocket and pulling out a pack of Huff n’ Puffs.

“You should’ve told me.” He says with a cigarette between his lips. He puts his pack away and grabs his lighter.

“I didn’t want to put you in a position where you’d be withholding something from Snow that she would want to know about.” She frowns and keeps her gaze at her feet.

“I appreciate the sentiment but I’d prefer you didn’t keep secrets from me, I worry for you.” Bigby snaps his lighter closed and shoves it back in his pocket. She blushes and turns her head away from him.

“Well lucky for us that’s the only thing I wasn’t being honest about.” (Y/N) looks back at him with a serious expression. “Please don’t tell Snow.” Bigby frowns and she starts getting apprehensive. She turns in front of him and stops him, she looks up at him with pleading eyes and grips his shirt. “I can’t afford glamour to help make keeping this form less straining and I know once she hears how hard it is for me to keep my form for long she’ll keep an extra watchful eye on me and I wouldn’t be able to stand that.”

Bigby stares down at her wide eyed as she pleads her case. When she’s finished, he tosses his cigarette to hold her by her shoulders and calm her down. “I won’t tell Snow I promise.” (Y/N) immediately sighs a breath of relief and releases all the tension in her body and her grip on his shirt.

“Thank you Bigby.” She smiles up at him sweetly, catching him off guard yet again. He uncomfortably adjusts his collar before putting a hand on her back and turning her around to continue walking.

“Don’t mention it. Besides, now I know we have a lot more in common.”

[copias-thrall]

The Band Onstage

Suey finally gets to go to a show 

(Start at the beginning)

*public sex; rough sex*

Tonight is Mary’s gig at Regency. You’d put it in your calendar, but Mary still had texted you this morning.

Mary [6:12am]: Rgcy 2nite 8

Mary [8:03am]: Guitr 6 pls

You wanted to make fun of him for forgetting the most important thing, but the only reason it’s here in the first place was so he could see you while getting in some extra play.

And it allowed you some extra play.

It’s definitely one of your horny days. No matter what you do, it seems like every position you sit in presses on your clit in a delicious way. You usually just take a nap on your lunch break, but today you’re really going to have to do something about the fact that your focus is throbbing between your legs.

At 11:59am, you slam your laptop shut and hurry into your room. It’s a veritable minefield as usual—Mary always complains about tripping over your outfit detritus (“Can you not tread all over my shit, please?!” “Christ, if you care about it so much, why is it on your floor!?���)—but it’s a controlled chaos. You rummage around for your vibrator, which could be anywhere (Mary has the tendency to just toss it when he’s done with you), but should be on your small table. Or next to your pillow. Perhaps under the bed.

After a hasty search, you finally find it when you shake out your duvet. You go to settle in—then think maybe some porn, too? Which means you have to go back out to your laptop. 

Ugh. Why is everything hard.

You shuffle back out to your living area and quickly get your viewing pleasure set up. The video starts, and you spread your legs, pressing the toy to your clit in morse code bursts. You’re just getting into it when—

bonk!

The neck of Mary’s guitar, which had been propped up on the other end of the couch, beans you in the temple.

“Ow, fuck!”

You set your vibe aside and, grumbling, begin to carefully maneuver his instrument out of the splash zone. You’re pretty worked up at this point—which will be your excuse to yourself later—so when your hand slides down the neck, you can’t help but think of the way Mary’s hands deftly manipulate it when he plays.

And, fuck—you love Mary’s hands.

Sliding your hand back up the neck, you pretend to be Mary pretending the guitar is you.

Doooown twang. Uuuuup, twang.

You hastily reach behind you and fumble around for your vibrator, pressing it in between your clenched thighs so you can grind against it as you stroke the guitar. Mary’s hands, hands on you, tongue in ear, on your neck, on your clit …

Fervently you rut against the buzzing toy, Mary’s guitar now clutched to you, as the stimulation finally sets you over the edge. You cry out—one hand shooting to grip at the couch cushion—as the continuous vibrations make you cum hard and then eke a demi-orgasm out of you before you can reach down to yank it away. You lie there for a minute—one hand still grasped around the guitar neck, the other pressed down on your cunt as you wait for the spasms to subside.

Taking in a deep breath, you stretch languorously … and notice how sticky you are now. Ugh—the crotch of your lounge pants is beyond hope, but you’re pretty sure you have a clean pair in one of the piles in your room. 

You extract yourself from the couch and begin to shimmy off your pants; you realize you’re still pretty slick—fuck, are you going to have to shower or will a baby wipe do?!—when your eye lands on Mary’s guitar, now prone on the couch. Your lips spread in an involuntary grin. Clambering back onto the couch, you straddle the guitar. Tentatively, you lower your pussy onto the strings and start to slide up the neck. 

Ok, you’re definitely going to need a shower.

It ends up feeling pretty weird, so you straighten back up, swipe your hand through your wet folds, and begin to smear that and what’s already on the strings the rest of the way up. You make sure to spread it out evenly all the way up, and—when you’ve exhausted what’s between your legs—you rub the crotch of your pants up and down the back. Only once you’re satisfied, do you climb off and gingerly take the instrument to secure in its case.

You decide to stretch out your lunch break—no sense showering now and then later. Turning on your email sound notifications, you hop into the shower, where you wash your hair with the good shampoo & conditioner and lose the fight against the patriarchy by shaving things.

A little bit of product in your hair, and you wrap yourself in an old, but comfortable robe. No use putting on clothes when you’re just going to take them off in a few hours!

You finish out the rest of your (long, boring) workday with minimal tantrums, though in your mind you’re already fucking Mary post show. Despite having already showered, you’re still running woefully behind to hand off Mary’s guitar to him at 6pm. You wrap your rain trench around you—you’d originally intended to wear your vintage one with the faux-fur collar, but you don’t want Mary seeing your outfit just yet—and head off to the club at a speed prance.

The door to the club isn’t locked, but when you wander in, it’s just a handful of staff—the bouncer leaning on the bar, the bartender counting his till, and some servers wiping down tables. The bouncer straightens.

“Doors at 7:30, honey.”

“Oh, um,” you stutter, “the band?”

“You can meet the band after, just like everybody else. For now ….” He starts to move in your direction, but then Mary appears—stiff and stomping towards you.

“What was it I said to you, Jimmy?” he snaps.  “I said ‘A girl with a guitar.’ Does she look like a groupie to you?”

Jimmy rolls his eyes and puts his hands up before sitting back down. Mary practically rips the case from your grasp.

“You’re late,” he hisses at you. “It’s nearly 6:30!”

“Well ‘hello’ to you too, asshole. I was working til half past 5.”

Mary puts down the case, opening to check the contents—as if you’d bring him an empty case. Satisfied, he snaps it back shut.

“I said 6 for a reason! Soundcheck is in 5, and now I’m gonna have to do tuneups on the fly. Maybe next time skip on the primping, ok?”

You flick his ear.

“Fuck, ow.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Don’t be fucking late then!”

You snap your fingers in front of his face.

“I’m sorry—am I the one who forgot his guitar? Am I the one who begged me to be here with cunnilingus?”

“Well, if you don’t wanna be here, then leave. No one’s fucking forcing you.”

You glare at him, then count to ten.

You go to squish his face between your hands, realize he’s in full corpse paint, and instead rest them on his shoulders

“LOOK at me.” He does, pouting and eyebrows furrowed—your grumpy skeleton. “I do want to be here … but if you disrespect me like that again, I’m fucking walking. I don’t deserve to be talked to like that. Am I understood, Gorrey boy?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

You quirk your eyebrow at him.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he says more sharply.

“Good,” you say, giving him a quick, light peck on the lips. “You’ll do great,” you say in quieter tones. 

“Thanks,” he says, leaning into you a bit. You push him away, playfully.

“Go! You have to go do soundcheck!”

He trundles off—muttering what sounds a lot like Pain in my ass—and when you look up you can see the hard eyes of the band on you from the platform stage. You form your hand into the bird and wave at them before sauntering out of the bar. With an hour to kill, you head to a cafe where you can nurse a tea and plug in your phone.

When 7:30 rolls around, you make your way back to the club. There’s a line, but when Jimmy sees you, he grins and waves you forward.

“You must have magic nipples or some shit to put ole’ Mary Goore in his place,” he says as he lets you in the club.

You wink at him. “They’re beer-flavored.” You hear him guffaw as you make your way in.

Now that the space is filled with people, it seems like a much bigger venue. It’s not at capacity yet, but there are enough patrons milling about for it to be lively. You luck out with a stool at the bar where you can easily see the stage. You shimmy out of your trench and grope around under the bar until you find a hook to hang it on.

You order a wheat beer from the bartender, who winks and tells you that the first one’s on the house. You beam in thanks, making a note to tip him extra when you settle up. As you sip your beer and do some people watching, you become aware of the two women sitting next to you. They’d been talking about “the band” (Mary’s is just the first opener) since you sat down, but you only tune in when it becomes clear they’re discussing Mary’s band.

“… totally slaps, of course, but they’re all so hot,” says the redhead with blond streaks framing her face.

“Ugh, right? But the lead guitarist especially can step on me,” says the bottled black-haired one with red lowlights.

Oh, you think, that’s Mary. It’s not like you don’t know Mary has fangirls. You’re not even particularly bothered by it—but reading comments on the internet is viscerally different than encountering it in the wild. It’s just: surreal.

You scoot your stool a little closer to the women.

“Hello? Hi. Yes, I’m sorry—but I couldn’t help but overhear you guys. That’s who I’m here to see too.”

You mean the band, but Black Hair says, “Oh! So you’re a Dead Girl, too?”

You squint. “I’m a …?”

Red Hair chortles. “Did you just get into them, then?”

“I—”

“I mean … they’re all hot, 10/10,” sighs Black Hair, “but ‘Dead Girls’ are Mary’s—that’s the lead guitarist—girls.”

Before you can say anything, Red Hair leans in conspiratorially.

“But don’t get your hopes up—I heard he’s got a girlfriend.”

Black hair tilts her head back and rolls it back and forth “Why. So unfair.”

You hide a smile behind your hand, wondering if you should say anything. Maybe you can get Mary to sign their … whatevers. 

Red Hair pats her arm and leans in to stage whisper, “Don’t worry—I heard she’s fat and ugly. I’m sure you have a chance.”

“Ugh, why do they always go for the fat chicks? Is their self-esteem that low?”

“He probably feels obligated to her or something. Doesn’t know he’s got options now.”

Their casually cruel description of you leaves you stunned and feeling cold for a minute. And ok—your arms aren’t the firmest and maybe spanx are a lost cause

—which is as far as you get before you remember that you’re actually awesome and that this particular self-loathing train lost the caboose full of fucks a long time ago. 

You scoot even closer to the women.

“Do you want to know something?”

The two of them look at you expectantly, heads tilted.

“It’s just—I know who his girlfriend is, and she’s such a bitch.”

You have their attention now, and they bring their stools in, too.

“Really?”

“Do tell!”

“OMG,” you say. “You are way skinnier, um … ?”

“Molly,” says Black Hair Molly.

“Katrina,” says Red Hair Katrina.

“Suey,” you say, introducing yourself with Mary’s pet name for you.

“So, what’s the tea?” asks Molly.

“Well … she thinks she’s amazing, and she bosses him around like whoa. I don’t think his bandmates like her very much.”

“Ooo,” squeals Katrina, “the salt!”

“Oh shit!” exclaims Molly. “Is she here?”

You exaggeratedly scan the room. “Hmm. I don’t see her in the crowd.

“So you think I have a chance?”

You scan her up and down, as if appraising. 

“You can give it a shot.”

Katrina and Molly look at each other and start giggling.

Suddenly the lights dim, and everyone screams as Mary’s band takes the stage. The lead singer introduces them, yelling, and they dive into their first song. You don’t get to say much to the women after that—Mary’s band is loud, and some of the die-hard fans are screeching along in unison. 

You’re not sure, but you think you can see Mary searching for you. You suddenly curse your spot at the bar. About 15 minutes in, however—as the lead singer is introducing the band members—Mary finally looks over your way. You give a small wave and he locks eyes with you; you give him the middle finger and suck it into your mouth seductively.

He doesn’t get a chance to respond before it’s his introduction, and he’s playing a complicated riff.

“OMG. Was he looking at us?”

“He was totally looking at us!”

You roll your eyes and turn around to order another beer. 

Their set lasts about 45 minutes before they’re thanking the crowd and packing up their gear. The bigger bands will have roadies, but Mary and his bandmates have only themselves and the techs from the venue to rely on, so you know you’re in for a bit of a wait. Katrina and Molly are clapping and screaming their heads off, which—you can’t fault them for. People should appreciate Mary’s band.

“Do you think they’ll come out and mingle?” asks Molly.

“They’ll have to if they have a merch table,” says Katrina.

“Should we go wait there, or … ?”

“Just chill for a bit. You don’t want to seem so thirsty! Hit them up after the initial rush when they’re bored.”

Way sooner than he should be, you see Mary stalking over to you. You can hear the excited utterances of the women next to you as he comes close, but they fade into the background as Mary crowds into your space, leaving no room for the Holy Ghost. You gasp as he winds his hand into your hair.

“Fuck. Look at you,” he murmurs into your lips. “Look at this tight little number you’re wearing—I might have to ruin it later.” You’re wearing an electric blue halter dress with a neck collar. Your tits need a little help staying up these days, so instead of being backless, the lace of your razor bra is showing.

He steps back. “And what the fuck are these?” he says as he runs a hand up your stockings and under your dress. You’re wearing dark blue, wide-net tights that have felt flowers sewn on. They were a present from a college friend one Christmas, so they have a few holes due to the passage of time and chub rub—but you just tell people that makes them punk rock. 

When his hand brushes between your legs, he feels your naked cunt. The pièce de résistance of your ensemble is a pair of crotchless panties you have on that were a gag party favor from an anti-Valentine’s soirée a friend-of-friend had thrown.

“Oh shit.” He crowds in close again and spins you 180º so that he’s between you and the bar. His finger traces your slit. “You make me so hot, do you know that?”

He takes your hand and presses it to the growing bulge of his crotch.

“Do you feel that? Do you feel how hot you make me?” He leans down to bite your neck as his finger slips between the lips of your cunt. Your head lolls to the side and you catch eyes with Katrina and Molly, who are quiet and looking pale.

Oh. Right.

You smile at them. “Such. A. Bitch,” you say at them.

Mary brings his head up, one hand still fingering you. “What?”

You smirk at him. “I was telling Kat and Molly over there that your ‘fat and ugly’ girlfriend is a fucking bitch.”

He looks over, seeming to notice them for the first time. He doesn’t even falter.

“She fucking is,” he says as he pulls his hand from your cunt and outstretches it toward them as if to shake their hands. “Hi.”

They don’t answer. They don’t return the gesture.

“No? Ok.”

He turns back to you and puts his other hand on your neck.

“You put your fucking pussy all over my guitar.” He squeezes a little. “I’m supposed to be doing fucking soundcheck and tuning my strings and shit, and the only thing I can think about is how much my instrument smells like sex with you.” 

He leans in to whisper in your ear. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, little girl.” 

To them he says, “Excuse me. I have to go fuck the shit out of my girlfriend now.”

As he’s pulling you down the back hall, you look over your shoulder to wink at Katrina and Molly. Mary follows your gaze.

“Thanks for coming out!” he yells back. “Buy a t-shirt!”

His grip around your wrist is insistent—sure to leave a bruise—as he leads you into the greenroom.

A chorus of “Mary, where were you?” and “Mary, what the fuck” ring out as he maneuvers you through the room. You grimace at them as Mary all but pushes you into the adjacent bathroom. He locks the door behind you and ignores the banging and shouts behind it.

“Come here,” he demands.

You move, but not fast enough to satisfy him, so he grabs your arm to pull you to him. He licks his lips before diving down to assault your mouth. You open readily for him as his tongue shoves its way in. He tastes like his bitter makeup.

“I’ve been on edge for goddamned hours because of you,” he says when he comes up for air. “Our big gig,” he continues as he molds your pliant body stomach down and sideways over the sink, “and I have to spend our entire fucking set smelling your juice on my guitar.”

You giggle and look over your shoulder at him. “You’re welcome.”

He rucks up your dress and gives your ass a swat. You gasp, and he swats you twice more.

“You fucking bitch,” he says, but there’s no heat to it.

He drapes himself over you and mouths at your ear.

“Tell me I can fucking have you,” he snarls as he ruts against you. “Tell me I get to fuck you now.”

You turn your head again, straining to have your lips touch his.

“Fuck me, Goore,” you rasp.

Magic words spoken, he’s spreading your legs wider and ripping another hole in your stockings. You hear him as he fumbles to undo his belt buckle and drag down his zipper—and then he’s pushing into you without preamble. You gasp at the sudden intrusion as he breathes an Oh fuck into your skin. He wraps one arm around your middle and the other he braces against the wall as he begins to pound into you.

You scrabble at the wall for leverage as you squirm to find the right angle. Mary doesn’t let up at all.

“You feel so good. So tight, so wet. Fuck, is this what you wanted? Me half-crazed out of my mind?”

Well yeah, you think, something like. What comes out of your mouth is a long moan, and you squeeze your muscles hard around him.

“Shit, fuck!” he cries out as he almost stutters to stop. You push back into him, your clit throbbing and desperate for pressure. 

“You asked for it,” he growls, He grabs the meat of your hips—fingers digging into your love handles—and begins to slam himself into you faster and faster. The new angle is hitting your G-spot deliciously and you cry out,

“Oh fuck, yes Mary—RIGHT THERE DON’T STOP.”

He’s making little grunting noises as he slams into you, and you know you’re going to be pretty sore later—but right now you’re trying desperately to get a hand between your legs so you relieve the heavy pressure pooling between your legs.

He’s wheezing when he says, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna fucking cum. Ughn, take it, bitch.” And then he thrusts into so hard he hits your cervix and you cry out. He’s growling Uhn uhn uhn as he empties into you, thrusts slowing. When he’s done, he drapes over you, kissing behind your ear. The shift  stings a little, and you flinch slightly.

“Shit. Did I hurt you?” he asks, as he straightens up and eases his soft cock out of you, petting down your back.

You turn your head so he can hear you. “Maybe a little?” you say. “But I’ll forgive you if you finish me off.”

He complies quickly, sprawling under you so he can lap at you with his tongue while a finger gently enters you and presses at your G-spot. You let out a loud, shaky moan at the sudden dual sensation—you’re still pretty worked up and you see bursts behind your eyes. He works you up to a full precipice—while you clutch against the sink and pant into your arms—until your climax sparks and breaks. You clench around his finger, and your pussy pops against his relentlessly flicking tongue. 

He slows down when your body slumps and you start twitching at the feeling of his tongue on your now oversensitive nub; then he wraps himself around one of your legs—stroking your inner thighs—as he waits for you to come down from your orgasmic high. When you do, he stands up and peels you off the sink. After that, the two of you hurriedly clean each other up—there’s a green room full of annoyed people bitching at you through the door, after all. 

“Hey,” he says as you allow him to kiss the back of your neck. “I’m in so much shit. I really need to pull my weight with the equipment … but I’ll see you back out there in a bit?

You turn to kiss him; his paint is smeared all to hell, which means it’s probably all over you. Smoothing down your dress, you spin around with arms wide.

“Do I look like I lost a fight with the makeup section of Hot Topic?”

He snorts. “You do, actually,” he says while crowding into you. “But don’t ask me to clean it off. I want everyone to know who fucked you.”

You push him away. “You’re fucking gross, Goore.”

He gives you a vulpine smile. “You adore it.” 

(You do.)

You steel yourself to the walk of shame through the greenroom—more than just Mary’s bandmates are in there—putting on a devil-may-care attitude like a cloak. Head held high, you leave the bathroom, smirking at the men particularly like the cat who got creamed. There’s some eye rolling, a few wolf-whistles, and an ironic slow cap. A woman in another group raises her hand up, and you high-five it, before spinning around to curtsey as you leave the room.

When you get back to the bar, the two women are gone and there’s someone in your spot. You make your apologies as you retrieve your stuff, and you order another beer for yourself and a whiskey shot + chaser for Mary, before settling your tab. The next band has been playing for a bit and your beer is half empty by the time Mary and his bandmates materialize again. They’re smiling and talking to the fans who begin to mob them. Mary shakes a few hands and signs a few CDs before making a beeline to you.

“You’re a mess,” he says as you hand him his drinks. He shoots the whiskey immediately, slamming the shot glass down onto the bar.

“Well, someone, got impatient,” you retort.

He leans in close. “Can you blame me? Fuck. What did you do to my guitar. I should be pissed.”

“I did exactly what you think I did. Got hot thinking of you, decided to show my appreciation.”

“Fuck,” he rumbles in your ear. His free hand starts to slip up your thigh again. “Do you wanna—”

He’s interrupted when one of his bandmates comes over.

“Christ, Mary. Leave the poor girl alone for a second. We gotta man the merch table. Amps don’t pay for themselves.”

Mary sighs, his hand slipping from under your dress to around your waist.

“C’mon,” he says as he leads you to their table with his very put upon-looking bandmates. He arranges you on his lap, much to their consternation.

“The girls are our biggest fans, Mary! We need to keep up the fantasy that we’re available!”

“She should be with the other girlfriends!”

“I don’t give a shit,” Mary spits. “This isn’t a fucking K-pop group. They can deal with us having actual lives. If they only like our image, then what’s the point?”

You’d wanted to beg off at first—feeling a little like ornamentation for all to see—but you’re pretty pliant from the beer and the orgasm, so you let Mary keep you where you are. You have a few more shots and lite beer chaser as the night wears on, and you get into joking around with their fans and even one or two of his other band members—your ribald humor fits right in. You’re well into a lengthy discussion with the woman from the greenroom about pockets when Mary taps your arm for your attention.

“We’re gonna pack it in for tonight, Suey.”

“Ok. Do you wanna head back to mine, or … ?

 Mary sighs. 

“We’re apparently having a ‘band meeting,’ so I might not be able to tonight … but tomorrow?”

You feel a stab of disappointment before pushing it down. “No, I get it. Duty calls.” You lean down to whisper in his ear. “I’m going to go home and touch myself while thinking about you. I want you to think about that later when you’re alone.”

His hand squeezes your thigh hard.

“Can you do that for me? Can you be a good boy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says softly.

The next morning when you wake, you check your phone to find that you have a text from Mary: it’s a blurry picture of his half-hard cock drooling cum. You text him back full of praise.

When you get yourself set up for the day on your laptop, your first order of business is to make a folder entitled “SueysSpankBankFodder” next to Mary’s.

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

[spicyfloaty]

Give & Take | Chapter 6

pairing: kacchako

genre: slowburn/fluff

words: 3.2k

summary: Ochako's grades are slipping. Bakugo is dangerously nearing suspension, or worse, expulsion. A certain twist of fate pairs them together for tutoring sessions. He teaches her math. She keeps him from getting suspended. A simple exchange, but what if this only brings them closer than necessary?

header credits: @alexbenedetto

[READ ON AO3]

Chapter Five

Chapter Six: Bakugo Drools In His Sleep 

Bakugo manages to show up for the next couple of sessions, all of them, thankfully. Ochako’s almost used to the routine of bickering with him for at least ten minutes before their actual sessions start, then to be followed by more bickering in between topics. As much as it was tempting to shove an entire pencil case down his throat whenever they would argue over the littlest of things Bakugo would deem worthy of being remotely upset about, such as times when she would forget to round up a decimal or factor a term, she can’t deny the fact that she was still learning nonetheless. 

Ochako had also grown accustomed to the close proximity they would consistently share, it didn’t look like Bakugo had any intention of finding another desk to use, let alone another pen. They were all so familiar to her now, though she must admit that there were still moments when she would need to exert a considerable amount of effort to force all thoughts pertaining to how close he was to the most hidden and secluded areas of her brain. Something she still has yet to get used to was Bakugo never failing to immediately take off the second her alarm goes off.

She had never needed to use his number during the last weeks and Bakugo had never needed to use hers. She’d know this since she has been checking her phone out of habit now just in case he does. It’s not like she wanted him to text her or something like that, she just didn’t want to miss anything important that could come up at any moment.

“You’re gonna end up spraining your wrist if you keep checking your phone every five seconds.” Kit points out, leaning against the counter. They were in the middle of a self-proclaimed break since there weren’t any new customers coming in the cafe during this time of the evening, this only gave Ochako more time to habitually check her phone for new text messages.

“Waiting for a text from your boyfriend?” Her coworker grins at her as if he’s caught her hand inside the cookie jar. 

She swiftly sets her phone face down the counter, she might have to check it for cracks later, “No! I mean--He’s not my boyfriend.” She sputters out, blushing from behind the counter.

Kit’s grin only grows a mile wider, “So there’s a he?” He presses. Ochako feels cornered against a wall, her face must have been giving all the stoplights in Japan a run for their money and it does not help her intentions of trying to convince Kit that this he wasn’t someone of importance.

“Well yeah,” She begins, but Kit’s eyebrows skyrocket through the roof, “but it’s not what you’re thinking!” She quickly adds.

Kit pushes himself off the counter and turns to face her with the full force of his skepticism, “Right.” he glances down at her phone, “So is there a reason why you’re waiting for this he to shoot you a text?”

Ochako only gives him the same answer that she gives herself whenever she asks the same thing, “I just...don’t want to miss anything important, that’s all.”

“I don’t know, ‘Chako,” he points at her face, “from the looks of it, you are missing something,” he smiles, “or someone.”

She shoots him a glare that fully conveyed the two words she had locked and loaded inside this look, Shut Up. Math wasn’t the only thing she had been learning from Bakugo and if she does it just right, she’d also be able to replicate the bone-chilling scowl that he pairs with it to complete the expression.

Kit holds both hands up in surrender, “Okay, okay, I’ll drop it, geez.” he concedes, “Since when did you give death glares?”

Since Bakugo Katsuki, that’s when, is what she would have said if she had wanted to continue this interrogation from her coworker, “I don’t know, I just naturally got better at it for some reason.” she observes, “How was it?”

“Terrifying.” Kit echoes out as he makes his way to the doors upon spotting a group of people beginning to approach the cafe, “Ready, ‘Chako?”

Ochako straightens herself up, promptly adjusting her cap while giving her phone one last glance, “Ready when you are, Kit.”

Kit cheerfully greets the group of newcomers, two girls from the lot giggle after he gleefully escorts them to their tables. Ochako discreetly chuckles at this, her coworker was conventionally attractive, yes, but she can’t help but think of him only as an older brother. Her crushing on Bakugo would be a more plausible scenario than her crushing on her coworker. She physically pauses from handing a customer their change the moment she realizes that she could have worded that comparison better, forcefully shoving the thought behind her head

Her shifts during the weekdays had always been the tougher ones since she had school immediately before. She had always been arriving to work late, bustling through the evening commute just to avoid passing the thirty minute grace period her boss had given her, but thanks to Aizawa’s schedule, she was being dismissed from class two hours early to give her more leeway time for her job and less of a workout/marathon whenever she rushed to the neighboring town.

Ochako was cleaning the countertop when she hears someone clear their throat, she looks up to see a woman smiling at her, “Hi,” she begins in a honeyed voice, “I was just wondering when I’ll be seated, I’ve been standing here for forever now.”

Her tight-lipped smile makes her stomach drop to her feet, she glances towards Kit’s direction and notices that he was busy serving two tables near the back. Her eyes flicker to the other tables and seeing as to how all those tables were occupied, she gulps.

“I’m sorry about that, ma’am.” Ochako says gently, “There aren’t any available seats yet, but I’m sure there’ll be one soon.” she gestures towards the exit, “You can sit at the waiting area outside in the meantime.” She offers her a sweet, apologetic smile, but the woman’s smile quickly twists into a frown.

“I’ve done enough waiting as it is and you’re gonna send me back out there to do that again?” She sneers.

Ochako had dealt with customers like these before but it doesn’t make it any easier whenever she gets lucky and encounters one again, “I’m really sorry, ma’am, but we had already reached our full capacity,” she tries to explain, “Would you like your order to go so you won’t have to wait any longer?” Her effort to make the situation better was ignored, the woman’s scowl deepens into a grimace.

“This is ridiculous! I want to be seated at a damn table!” She raises her voice just enough so that a few people seated at the front tables curiously look their way, “I’m not asking you to do the impossible here, young lady.”

You kind of are, she thinks to herself. Ochako can’t just make random seated patrons disappear into thin air just like that, she can’t exactly just make some of them go away either just to satisfy the impatient customer in front of her. She quickly scans the cafe once more, praying for a table to miraculously become available.

“Hello?” A hand snaps in front of her face, “Are you deaf? Or just dumb?”The woman icily asks.

Ochako would have snapped right then and there after that comment, but another thing she’s learned from her tutoring sessions with Bakugo was to know when to respond to a rude remark and when to just ignore it and keep a level head. She observes the lady one more time, noticing the business attire she had on. Maybe she’s just having a rough day at work, she assumes. The woman might also be tired and hungry, which would explain why she was having this kind of reaction over a mild inconvenience.

“There’s really nothing I can do about the seats, ma’am,” she begins, “but I can offer you a complimentary snack on the house while you wait for one?”

Ochako knew that the cafe doesn’t do complimentary snacks so this would come out of her own pocket if the lady were to accept her offer, but she brushes off the concern. She felt like it was the right thing to do.

The woman rolls her eyes, “Oh, save it for someone who cares, I’m gonna have to call your manag--”

“Sorry for the wait, ma’am, right this way to your table.” Kit arrives with semi-perfect timing, flashing the woman one of his million dollar smiles. She visibly blushes at the sight of him, but she is quick to compose herself as she follows him to the newly vacant table. Kit looks back at her and mouths Sorry about that, but she shakes her head and mouths a Thank you back at him.

A few busy hours go by and it was already the end of their shifts. Ochako let out a strained yawn as she stretched her arms behind her head, another day at work had left her bone tired as usual, but today had just sucked the soul out of her. She changes into her casual clothes, but leaves the top of her uniform on since she forgot to bring an extra shirt today.

“I’ll walk you to the station?” Kit offers as she exits the break room.

“Oh! You don’t have to.” She immediately declines, “I’ll be fine on my own.” It was pretty late at night so she understands that Kit just wanted to make sure she got home safely.

“Alright.” he smiles, “See you next week, ‘Chako”

She bids him goodbye as she made her way outside, the hum of jazz music inside the cafe now replaced with the myriad of bustling pedestrians and the chorus of cars huddled in traffic. Her legs were heavy, but they still managed to carry her all the way to the station. She would have slept through the entire train ride and missed her stop if it weren’t for the sweet old lady that tapped her on the shoulder to wake her up.

Ochako finally arrives at the dorms, her thoughts drifting to the soft embrace of her bed. She hobbles her way to the common room, but what she sees stops her dead on her tracks.

Bakugo’s sleeping figure is slumped over the table just in front of the couches, his back steadily rising and falling to the rhythm of his breathing. It was already past ten when she had returned, why wasn’t Bakugo sleeping in his room?

She approaches the couches with the intention of waking him up but she notices the open notebook beside his head, slightly covered by the explosive, blonde mess of his hair. She takes a closer look and the word Round Face catches her eye. Curiosity takes over and she takes a seat beside him, peering at the mysterious pages covered in Bakugo’s handwriting.

Her heart begins to race, eyes slowly widening at the realization that dawns on her as she reads its contents. They were notes. Notes on the things they went over during each session and the points she had gotten wrong. He had also taken note of the concepts she was having a hard time on, a list of sample questions and problems that he had most likely thought of by himself was scrawled beside them, some of them he had crossed over in thick, harsh lines.

She looked over to Bakugo in disbelief, he was still very much asleep. The warmth in her belly spreads to her chest and curves the corners of her mouth into a small smile, Oh, Bakugo. Ochako brings her attention back to the notebook and was about to flip to the next page when a hand grabs her wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bakugo hisses. She quickly turns to face him, his eyes were hazed by the sleep he was still coming out of, but his glare, even with only half of its power, still held the same flaming intensity.

“I was uh,” she struggles to explain herself. She spots a trail of drool on his cheek and in a moment of pure, utter stupidity she continues, “You have, um, something on your…” She points to his cheek.

His eyebrows knit together, using his free hand to touch his face. He must have felt it because he instantly lets go of her as though he had touched the surface of a burning kettle, briskly wiping his cheek with his sleeve, red tinting the tips of his ears.

He was probably in the middle of an insult when his gaze dropped to her shirt, “What’s that?” He asks pointedly. Ochako follows his line of sight, her eyes landing on the name tag still very much attached to her shirt. Crap, I forgot to take that off.

“Oh, this thing!” She blurts, hastily taking the pin off, “Gunhead started making us wear these now.” She laughs nervously, Bakugo still staring daggers into her soul. Before the silence gets too stretched out or before Bakugo could pick up where he left off with that insult, she tries to change the topic, “How about you, Bakugo? Have you been interning somewhere too?”

She hears the tiredness in her voice, her body was weighing heavier by the minute. Bakugo’s eyes dart away, “It’s none of your business.” He bites back.

Ochako internally sighs. She didn’t have the energy to fire something back at him and her patience tank had sadly already ran out of steam just from her shift at work today, “You know,” she starts, bringing both of her hands to her lap, “I was just trying to make conversation, but if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine.” She breathed out as she stood up from beside him.

Her quirk was no match for the gravity pulling her to the ground as the weight of the day grew heavier with every step she made her way towards the staircase.

“Jeanist.” A low, gruff voice says.

She pauses, turning around to face Bakugo. His eyes were focused on the walls, but she gives him an expectant look when they briefly meet hers.

“I worked with him for a while,” He continues, still refusing to look at her directly, “but he’s not taking any interns right now.”

“I see.” She replied. Ochako’s mind goes blank on what to say next.

“How did you end up in an agency like Gunhead’s ?” He suddenly asks, breaking the silence that she had failed to fill. She almost takes offense to this question, was he thinking that someone like Ochako would be too frail or girly to be associated with an agency like Gunhead’s.

Before she could give him a piece of her mind, he adds, “He’s not even in the top 10, you could do better than that.”

Ah, only Bakugo would consider hero rankings when choosing an agency to intern for.

Ochako walks a few steps closer to where he was still sitting, “You.”

A look of confusion instantly twists his face, “Huh?”

“I chose his agency because of you.” She repeats more clearly.

One of his eyebrows shoot upwards, “What the fuck did I do?” He asks as if she had just accused him of stealing the last of her savings.

She had forgotten that she had to be more specific when talking to Bakugo in particular, “Do you remember our fight last year during the sport’s festival?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t need any more words than that to prove it because the way his expression hardens, jaw tightening at the mention of the memory, already told her that he was telling the truth. He stares her down the same way he did in that arena, carefully studying her in anticipation of what she’ll do next.

“After that match,” she continued, “I realized the number of possibilities that could open up for me if I got stronger.” Ochako looks up at him with complete sincerity, “You helped me realize that.”

Bakugo’s gaze linger on hers for a few moments before grinning, “Guess you’re not as much of a dumbass as I thought, round face.”

She smiled at this, only he could make a compliment sound anything like an insult. Despite this, Ochako knew that this comment from Bakugo was worth more than most compliments combined.

“Even with all that training, I still did pretty bad at this year’s festival.” She jokes, looking back at the events that took place months ago. Compared to her first tournament, she had successfully made it past the first round, but only to be defeated minutes after the second one commenced.

“No you didn't.” Bakugo says flatly, his eyebrows could knit scarves with that puzzled look on his face.

Ochako challenges his confused expression with one of her own, “How would you know?”

“Because I watched you.”

This catches her off-guard for two reasons. One being the fact that for Bakugo, whatever he saw during that match was enough proof for him to say that she did well. The second reason being that she didn’t expect Bakugo to care about other people's matches unless he thought that the people fighting were people he found interesting enough to stay for.

“Too bad I didn’t get to beat your ass again.” He teases, crossing his legs as he leaned back into the couch.

Ochako’s hands prop on her hips, “Who says you beat my ass the first time around?” She fires back.

Bakugo scoffs, “Tell that to the medal, round face.”

“The one you refused to accept?” She grins, pleased with herself.

“Tch, whatever. I won that fucking match and your cocky ass knows it.” He barks.

It does, Ochako thinks to herself, “I almost got you though.” She points out. Sure, Bakugo won that fight, but he’s got to admit that her plan had almost won her that match. Not that she expected him to, though.

To her surprise, he mutters, “Yeah.”

Before she could stop herself from blurting out the next idea that popped inside her delusional, tired, brain, she spits it out, “How about a rematch, then?” She hoped that he wouldn’t take it seriously, but she knew better than to think that Bakugo won’t take anything seriously.

His chin tilts upwards, a calculating look masking his face, “You’re on.”

“But,” he lifts himself from the couch, taking a few steps until he was right in front of her, “You have to ace that exam first before I can even consider giving you that rematch.” Ochako remembers the upcoming exam they had for Ectoplasm’s class scheduled weeks from now, it was going to be focusing on the concepts she found the hardest to understand, but deep down she was confident that she’ll be fine once the time comes.

Bakugo walks past her, the sudden electricity from their arms brushing each other almost jolts her awake, “So you better not fail, dumbass.”

“How can I?” She calls out, “The great Bakugo Katsuki is tutoring me.”

“Tch, shut up.” He bites. He was already a few feet away from her, a few steps onto the staircase, when she hears the faint sound of his voice mutter, “Night, round face.”

Ochako smiles, somehow thinking that maybe today wasn’t so bad after all, “Good night, Bakugo.”

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - 3 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 7.2k

-------------

Geoff drags him out Sunday night, reminds him that he promised to play guitar for karaoke at the SandTrap for at least an hour until their regular guy can get there. 

“Besides,” Geoff rasps as he pulls Shawn into local-filled pub on the beach, “you need to have some fucking fun, dude. Stop wallowing over Maya.” 

“I’m not wallowing,” he insists, but he sounds a little too defensive even to his own ears. He re-adjusts his grip on his guitar case, following Geoff towards the stage. “Just, you know, processing. It’s a lot to process, dude.” 

Geoff takes Shawn’s guitar and sets it down next to his bass on the stage. He gives Shawn a look, amused but sympathetic, then jerks his head towards the bar. “C’mon,” he says, clapping Shawn on the back, “Let’s grab a beer before they need us on stage.” 

Shawn doesn’t argue, just lets Geoff push him forward. He takes the first empty seat at the end of the bar and nods at Meghan, the new bartender who started a few weeks ago. She smiles and he thinks maybe she blushes. He wonders if she’d flirt with him, if he tried. Probably. It could be fun, if it sounded at all remotely like something he wanted to do. 

Instead, he orders two beers and listens to Geoff talk about the woman at work he’s trying impress until they’re summoned to the stage. 

Maya scans herself in the reflection of a too-shiny BMW in the SandTrap lot. She hasn’t seen herself in these shorts since she was in her mid 20s, probably. She found them in the bottom of a box as she unpacked from her storage unit that was shipped over from Manhattan. 

She tried them on as a joke initially. But… they looked great. Especially a couple wine glasses in.

She’s heading for the SandTrap tonight because it’s just… time. Truthfully, she hasn’t left the house really since her run-in with Shawn at the farmer’s market last weekend. She’s been in and out to surf but has otherwise gone full hermit. When she realized this morning by looking at a paper that it was Sunday, she felt a sting of shame. 

So the SandTrap. 

It’s a dive on the beach. Their food is terrible, their service isn’t great, but the music is consistently awesome and Avila is so tiny that the nightlife is limited at best.

Just a drink or two, just to feel like she’s been out. It’ll be fine. Sure, she opened a bottle of shiraz to give herself the courage to get out the door, but this is an adjustment period. She shouldn’t judge herself. And she’s been trying to get him off her mind all week. She needs this.

But the shorts may have been a choice too far. I mean yes, she looks hot. CorePower Yoga and regular pilates were her vices while she was working. She’s in excellent shape. But the little cutoffs with her platform sandals and the drapey tank top? She’s too old for this.

But it’s too late. So she chews on her lip, tasting chapstick and wine, and walks inside.

It’s not the busiest night, and Shawn prefers it that way. The crowd is mostly locals chatting, exchanging a laugh or catching up about their weeks. No one’s too drunk, so the singing on stage hasn’t been awful. Besides, he’s likes watching his friends make idiots of themselves, and he likes listening to the ones who actually manage to carry a tune. 

He’s reminded of what fun is, for a little while. 

He can’t help but laugh at one of the locals’ rendition of Never Gonna Give You Up, and Geoff catches his eye from across the stage, an approving smile spread across his lips. 

It’s not like Shawn needs anyone to take care of him, but it’s nice having Geoff around. He’s never had an older brother, but he thinks Geoff fills the role well. 

Cheri claims the last song of the hour before the band goes on break and Shawn passes guitar duty back to Beckett, the kid who regularly plays the gig. The barista picks Careless Whisper as her anthem, and Shawn loves her for it. 

He loves this song. This song makes him want to pick up the saxophone, but he’s not sure he has the lung capacity for it. Either way, he finds himself melting into the chords, into Cheri’s pretty voice that soothes him even with the saddest lyrics. 

He’s caught up enough not to notice the woman who broke his heart standing in the back of the bar.  

Oh, come the fuck on.

She’s able to actually chuckle to herself because of course he’s here. Of course he’s on stage in those tight black jeans bobbing his head as he looks around the dimly lit dive bar. His fingers move deftly against the neck of the guitar she’s known almost as long as she’s known him. She wonders if he remembers the nights he spent holding her between his legs, kissing her neck and shoulders while she tried to learn to play. She hasn’t thought about that in a long time. She got really good at not thinking about that.

Maybe she should take this as a sign and just leave. Maybe she’s done enough just by getting out of her yoga pants to come tonight. Maybe she can count this as a brisk walk by the beach… a little tipsy and in platforms. That’s fine, right?

But then he’s getting off the stage and settling into a stool by the bar and he clearly hasn’t seen her so maybe she’s safe? She recognizes the song the band plays next and it’s giving her a conflicting sign. She has to stay through the end of it, at least. The woman singing has a nice voice.

A woman he doesn’t recognize gets on stage after Cheri, and Shawn’s glad he’s not accompanying anymore, because he kind of hates the song she picks. It’s Ashlee Simpson, an artist he hasn’t heard since college, when Maya would blast her music in her car as they sped through Toronto in search of a hot club or some chicken nuggets. Whichever they’d run into first. 

The song makes his heart beat faster. Too much reminds him of Maya these days, including the woman herself. She’s somewhere in this town, breathing the same salty beach air he breathes, watching the same sun rises he watches. Buying the same Starbucks, listening to the same radio stations. 

He takes a sip of beer. Forces himself to stop thinking about it. About her. He used to be so good at not thinking about her at all. 

Ok, new plan. She’s going to sneak up to the bar behind him and get herself a drink then retreat to where she can stay out of sight. One or two cocktails and she’s out the door, no problem.

Problem: the floorboards are warped by decades of sea salt air and bad weather. She catches an edge and rolls her ankle, crashing into the man standing in front of her with a wince. She apologizes quietly but knows she’s made a scene.

He’s caught up in his effort to push her from his thoughts when he hears a bit of a commotion at the other end of the bar. A barstool screeches, a beer bottle topples onto its side. 

When he looks over, he’s not even surprised. She’s always popping up when he’s trying to forget her. 

Maya slumps into a stool in defeat, now very sure Shawn’s seen her. She can’t bear to look though. She needs a fuckin’ drink.

Maya’s face looks red as she slips around the man to settle at an empty barstool. Shawn feels his own face turn a similar shade of crimson. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know when she got here or if she’s seen him, but for a moment, he’s stuck. 

It’s like a video game, where you’ve got two choices, and one choice moves the story along while the other sends you down a dead end, or over the edge of a cliff. Shawn doesn’t know which decision is which. None of his options now feel right. Staying in his seat and ordering another beer feels like a dead end. Getting up and saying hi feels like flirting with the cliff. 

He decides dead ends are boring. 

He plucks his wallet from his pocket and tosses a couple bills on the bar before moving down to the other end. He approaches Maya from behind, makes sure she can’t spot him before he’s leaning his forearms on the bar next to her and getting Tom’s attention. He’s the kind of bartender that responds to familiar faces, so Shawn’s pretty sure Maya isn’t making much headway. 

The bartender is busy and Maya is impatient. She’s staring at him and leaning most of her weight into her elbows that are propped on the bar but he’s definitely ignoring her in favor of chatting with some patrons she assumes are regulars. She’s about to go full New York Woman and start clearing her throat loudly when she feels a wall of warmth settle in behind her.

She doesn’t have to look. She knows what he feels like even when he’s not touching her.

The hair on the back of her neck stands up under where the rest is clipped up at the back of her head. He’s not so close that she can feel his breath. It’s probably a blessing. 

“Shawn, buddy!” Tom exclaims when he makes it back to the end of the bar. “You looking for a whiskey sour?” 

“Hey man,” he says with a smile, “Yeah, please. Whiskey sour and a scotch, neat.” 

Tom nods, turns away, and Shawn finally risks a look down at Maya. 

“That’s still your drink, I hope,” he murmurs with a smile, forgoing any sort of formal greeting. 

She turns and lowers back into her stool. His curls are frizzy from the humid air. His eyes are warm and soft. She swallows.

“Yeah. I still drink like an old man,” she confesses, “I think working on Wall Street made it worse.”

She remembers what he tastes like when he drinks whiskey sours. Her mouth waters completely against her will. She squeezes her fingers into the lacquered bar top and drops her eyes to his chest.

She doesn’t even look surprised to see him, which makes him think that she showed up when he was still on stage. And that she knew he was gonna approach her. He hates how predictable he is, but he couldn’t stay away. He’s drawn to her, whether he wants to admit it or not. 

She makes him laugh. She always has. And her drinking like an old man joke is one of the oldest they share. His heart flips. He feels inexplicably comfortable and out of control, all at once. 

He laughs. Her skin sizzles with the sound. She licks her lips and lifts her eyes to face him.

“Wall Street, eh?” He didn’t know that. “So does that mean you’re rich? Are you the wolf?” 

He’s flirting with her. He can’t fucking help it. He’s never not flirted with her. It also gives him something to do besides stare at her, like he wants to. He wants to sit her down and take a proper look, find all the things that have changed in twelve years and commit them to memory, so that he can know her just as well as he used to. 

He keeps his gaze on her fingers, instead, watches her nails dig into the bar because it’s the safest place to look. Anywhere else, and he’ll be lost. 

Maybe he should’ve picked the dead end.

He’s laughing, he’s joking. She can see the hesitancy in his eyes -- it seems he really doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing either. It’s strange. They used to say whatever came flying into their heads without thinking. 

She looks sheepish. “I never even saw that movie,” she confesses, “But I did meet a couple of the guys represented in it.”

She’s so lame.

“I do okay, though. Financially.”

A gross understatement. Maya has more money than she’ll ever know what to do with. Part of stepping away from the office was brought on by realizing in a sweeping wave of guilt how relatively little she’s given to charity in the last decade and change, too caught up in her own life. Another thing to work on.

She sounds like she does whenever she’s trying to be modest, like she totally is rich but it makes her uncomfortable to admit it. He feels stupid for asking the question in the first place. You’re not supposed to ask people about how much money they make, and here he is, hasn’t seen the woman in twelve years, and he’s asking if she’s fucking rich. What’s wrong with him?

She makes him crazy. He decides to blame her, even though it’s totally unfair. 

“I shouldn’t have asked,” he murmurs as he drops his gaze to the drinks that appear on the bar in front of them. His fingers curl around his whiskey and he swirls the glass in smooth circles. 

Maya wants to scramble all over the place to make him feel comfortable -- it’s an instinct. Her working environment has largely dulled it over the years. She couldn’t get anywhere in New York finance if she was always tripping over herself to make the men around her comfortable. But Shawn brings it out of her easily like it was just at the surface.

“It’s okay,” she laughs, and it feels as light as her head does, “You’re not exactly a stranger, Shawn.”

Not exactly a stranger. Understatement of the year. He feels like he knows her better than he knows himself. But he thinks of all the things he doesn’t know anymore, and the feeling goes. He’s not exactly a stranger, no, but he might as well be. 

“What are you doing for work these days?”

He’s watching the ice spin in a vortex, when her question breaks him from his trance. He smiles to himself, then gives her a sideways look. 

“I’m, ah, I refurbish and make guitars. And basses and other strings too. And I just started working on my first piano, actually.” 

He feels sick, telling her what he does like she’s an acquaintance from the street. He hates that she doesn’t already know. He hates that there’s any time in between them at all, when looking at her makes him feel like he was hers just yesterday. 

He remembers the last time he kissed her so clearly. It doesn’t feel like it was years ago. It feels like minutes. Seconds, even. He’s dying to kiss her again, but he knows he can’t. He shouldn’t. 

He sips his drink instead. 

Maya’s nose twitches as she tamps down a goofy smile. Of course he’d find a way to get even closer to the music. She used to joke that if he could climb inside a guitar and live in there, he would. It seems he found a way.

She watches his adams apple bob as he swallows. She finds herself swallowing around nothing and turns the glass between her hands.

“Of course you are,” she murmurs. It’s a little gentler and warmer than she intends it to sound. It feels like a brush of a hand against someone you’ve loved since you were a kid.

“That’s… that’s amazing, Shawn.” She finds she keeps saying his name. She hasn’t said it in so long. It feels nice.

The way Maya says his name makes his head spin. He tries to find solace in his whiskey. He takes a sip, then another, attempting to ignore how his skin buzzes pleasantly at the sound of her voice. 

She uses his name and ‘amazing’ in the same sentence and he feels like a freshman in university again, eager and hopeful and dying to be as impressive to her and she is to him. He’s always preened in the light of any compliment she’s been gracious enough to give him. Seems like that’s still the case, all these years later. 

He finishes his drink and slides it away from him, the alcohol pulling him down onto the barstool next to hers so he can order another. 

“I’m not the wolf of Wall Street, but it suits me,” he says as he turns on the stool to face her, one forearm pressed along the edge of the bar so his fist is curled near her elbow. If he wanted, he could stretch his fingers and touch her, feel her skin beneath his fingertips once more. 

He doesn’t. He doesn’t do a lot of things his body tells him to, lately. 

As Shawn drinks, Maya drinks. She slings back gulp after gulp of scotch until her glass is empty. She shouldn’t have another, probably. She never drinks this much anymore. She doesn’t know what she’d be like drunk now, especially around him. There’s no telling what she’ll do or say.

Fuck it. She orders another scotch.

She admires his hulking frame as he sits beside her. He continued to fill out and bulk up a bit in their time apart. Every curve of muscle suits him beautifully. She thinks about what it would be like to draw him again like she used to. The thought has her back in her fresh glass of booze.

They’re quiet for a moment, both sipping drinks like they’re thankful for something to do with their hands.

And then—

“I could show you around the shop, some time. If you wanted.” 

He says it without thinking, without considering what having her in his personal space might do to his heart. But he can’t stop being reckless now that he’s confronted her and they’re actually talking again and she’s not walking away from him like he used to think she might. Now that she’s looking at him almost like she used to.

He wants to close himself off to her, but he’s like a hungry flower in the sunlight. He blossoms and blooms and basks in her warmth because it’s the only way he’s ever known to be around her. 

She perks up when he offers to show her the shop. He wants to see her again. He’s not just being his unfailingly polite self. He wants to be around her, he wants to show her something that’s important to him. It makes her breath catch in her chest. She’s nodding before he even finishes his sentence.

“Yeah. Definitely. Yes. I want to see your shop.”

It’s not subtle, but it’s very honest. She blinks up at him with a big grin.

She doesn’t hesitate. He feels his cheeks flush. She wants to see his shop. His life. He has a feeling she knows how important work like this is to him. It makes him all that more nervous to show her, but no less eager. 

It feels too good to be true and for a moment, he waits for this to be another dream. He’d ask to buy her another drink, reach to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she’d nod, part her lips to speak, then nothing. He’d be awake. 

He takes a sip of his drink to make sure everything is real, though he’d much prefer to pinch himself. He swallows and smiles at her, setting his glass down on the bar. He can’t stop smiling, and each smile is easier than the last, especially with the whiskey. 

“Don’t get too excited,” he laughs gently, “It’s not, you know, Gibson, or anything.” 

He’s giggling and smiling and drinking and Maya’s halfway to lifting herself into his lap, so she should probably put her glass down and let the world right itself. But she might be as drunk on him as she is on the booze.

“Fuck Gibson. I bet you’re better,” she says easily. It’s very honest. Her tongue is loose. At least she’s still keeping her hands to herself. For now.

If she’s been working on Wall Street, she probably knows all sorts of impressive business moguls and financiers. He doesn’t think he’s much compared to the people she’s got waiting back at home for her. He doesn’t know who it is she’s got in New York, a boyfriend or what, but he’s just a beach bum with a bunch of guitars. He won’t pretend to even compare, no matter how badly his gut tells him to peacock for her. It’s not who he is anymore. 

“We could go now, if you want,” he hears himself saying, to his honest fucking horror. He must be drunk. He’s only halfway through the second whiskey, though, so it’s not the alcohol that’s so intoxicating. 

He finishes his drink, then wets his lips and quirks a brow at her. Fuck it. 

At his suggestion, her glazed eyes brighten. “Yes! Let’s go now!”

She’s definitely loaded. There’s no getting around that now. But she thinks maybe some fresh air might help.

Who the hell is she kidding? She just wants to be alone with him where she can hear herself think over the bad karaoke. Not that she’s really thinking at all now. This all feels too good to think about it. 

She stands and bites her lip at him.

She’s tipsy. He knows the signs. The laugh in her voice, the flush in her cheeks, the glossy gleam in her eye. His heart warms. He missed this. He missed her. 

It doesn’t scare him the way it did only an hour ago. He guesses he can thank alcohol for that. 

She stands before him and he checks her out, openly, blatantly. He hasn’t let himself before now, but the alcohol has control of some of his baser judgements at the moment.

Or maybe that’s just a convenient excuse. 

Either way, she looks good. Just as gorgeous as she was in college. More so, actually. Elegant, even buzzed on scotch, in a way she wasn’t in her early twenties. She’s a woman now, when they were both just kids before. 

She feels his eyes all over her and tries not to squeeze her thighs together desperately, but finds it a challenge to keep them apart. Her mind wanders absently to which box her Hitachi magic wand might still be packed in. She… will probably need it tonight.

Finally, he sucks in a breath and drags his gaze from her beautifully round thighs to her face. He grins, unfolds himself from under the bar and stands to face her. As he drops a $50 on the bar, Shawn holds his hand out and gestures towards the door. 

He lifts himself to stand and puts a bill down on the bar, which is good because she forgot all about that. She flushes pink and smiles at him as a thank you. She follows his hand, turning toward the door.

“After you, Lulu.” 

She stops short at the nickname. No one’s called her that since he did 12 years ago. She doesn’t have the presence of mind to play it off. She blinks and spends a moment reveling in it.

“Oh,” she breathes, looking over her shoulder at him, “That’s an old one.”

He’s just as caught off guard as she is. The name slipped out before he could stop it, but the way she’s looking at him makes him glad he didn’t. 

He tries to play it cool. 

“Oldie but goodie,” he says with a quirk of his lips and a gentle shrug. 

Maybe he doesn’t take the nickname as seriously as she does. Maybe that won’t keep him up at night the way it will her. Maybe he assumes other people have picked it up and used it in his absence, though they haven’t.

She tucks the moment away into her big, drunk brain for later use.

He takes a step towards her, his hand moving to the small of her back of its own accord. He doesn’t realize what he’s done until it’s too late, his palm is firm against her back. 

Fuck it. 

He guides her forward, through the door and away from the parking lot. Geoff’s got the keys to the Jeep, and it’s just a short walk down the beach anyway. 

And then his hand rests on the thin silky fabric covering her back and she freezes again with her hand on the door. She recovers faster this time and hopes he can’t feel her shuddering breath through his touch.

His hand is so warm.

“This way,” he murmurs as he steers her towards the stairs that lead to the boardwalk. His hand is steady on her back with each step they climb. He doesn’t drop away from her until they reach the top. 

She’s grateful they’re not driving. The fresh air should help her sober up a little. She watches her toes as she walks with him and finds she can’t concentrate on anything other than feeling all five of his perfect fingers that are so close they may as well be on her bare skin. He hasn’t dropped his hand yet. She shouldn’t consider why.

“It’s just like, five minutes down the boardwalk, if that’s cool,” he says with a sideways glance at her as they walk, his hands sliding into his pockets.

“That’s fine,” she answers breezily, blinking quickly when his hand leaves the small of her back. She fights against the desire to curl into him and suck up all his body heat. She laces her fingers together in front of her and tugs at them to keep herself busy. 

“Do you live close by?” 

He watches her concentrate on her feet, then feels like he’s been caught once she finally looks up. He presses his lips together and nods, then looks away from her, trying to play it off like he wasn’t staring. 

She’s a little startled to look up and see he’s watching her. Maybe she shouldn’t be, because she’s been doing the same thing to him all night. She’s curious about him. Maybe he’s just curious too.

“My house is back the other way, though. Lease it with Geoff,” he looks back at her, brow quirked, “Do you remember Geoff? He was the year below yours.” 

He doesn’t know why he’s asking about G. He doesn’t know why he even mentioned him at all. He’s also starting to feel embarrassed by admitting to being a dude in his thirties who still lives with one of his bros from college. 

She’s probably used to far more sophisticated company than he can provide, but he tries not to dwell on it. 

She smiles. “I remember Geoff. Nice guy.” 

He lives with his best friend from college. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single, but it at least means he’s not too serious with anyone.

NOT THAT IT MATTERS!

She berates herself and shakes her head a little to rid herself of the train of thought.

“And how long have you had the instrument shop?”

“Almost as long as I’ve been in Avila,” he answers, “It was a shit little property I had to fix up but I got it only like, three months after moving here.”

He feels like he’s being interviewed, but he really doesn’t mind. The idea that she’s curious about him, interested in what his life’s been like, makes his heart stutter against his ribs. 

Yet, bitterness and resentment nag the back of his mind. 

If you’re so curious, why didn’t you call?

He never changed his number. She did. 

He blinks. Takes a breath. He doesn’t want to be angry. He forgave her a long time ago. But forgiving her in his head when she’s not in his life hasn’t helped him control his emotions now that she’s showed up again. 

Maya gave up any right to be proud of Shawn a long time ago. But she feels it still, that swell of delight in her chest when he mentions fixing up his shop to make it his own. She knows in some universe somewhere there’s a version of her that was with him the whole time, that helped him choose paint colors, that massaged his shoulders when he came home from spending long hours hunched over a fussy guitar. 

This version of her remains quiet and tucks her hair behind her ears, fighting a shiver from the cool sea breeze. 

They reach his shop’s block, and he guides her down the stairs and to the sidewalk. He moves past her as they approach the small house that holds his creations.

He glances back at her with a soft smile before pulling his key from his pocket and slipping it into the lock. The door swings open and he reaches inside to flick on the light. He turns back to Maya, steps aside. 

“Well, um. Welcome,” he says with a grin. 

He guides her into his domain. It smells like wood and lacquer and power tools. She cracks a smile and giggles.

“Wow. Look at this. This is like your fuckin’ Candy Land,” she jokes, shaking her head.

“Show me your favorite one.”

She sounds genuinely impressed, and he can’t help but preen. He’s proud of himself, of this little world he’s built. Even on the worst days, where it feels like nothing goes right, he still loves it. Part of him aches with the need for her to love it, too.

“Oh, uh—“ he’s taken aback, stuck for a moment because his favorite one is the one he used to write songs for her on. Not that he has to tell her that, but still. He’ll know. 

“She— it’s in the back,” he says, a flush spreading across his cheeks. “Hold on, just— I’ll be right back.”

Maya chuckles at his stumbling over calling the guitar “she.”

“What an odd male tradition,” she blabs, knowing she gets philosophical and feminist sometimes when she’s drunk, “To name manmade objects after women. Like ships and cars and, I guess, guitars. It’s so bizarre to me. I don’t know whether to be offended on behalf of women or be charmed by the boyishness of it.”

She snaps her lips shut and makes a face at herself for her meaningless chatter. She’s running curious fingers along a vibrantly purple electric bass when she hears him reenter the main studio area.

She goes off on a tangent he’s heard from her before, just not about guitars specifically. It makes his heart twist. She makes it so easy to remember all the reasons he fell in love with her. 

(Not that he ever forgot.)

He slips past her into his office. Lulu is tucked away in her stand in his closet and he decides maybe he should stop calling a guitar he named after his ex a ‘she.’  

He holds the guitar up, spins it around to examine the shiny black lacquer-coated body before heading back into the main room, where Maya is admiring some of the electric basses that line the wall. 

“This is the first perfect guitar I ever made. I don’t think I’ll ever sell it.” 

She turns and stares at the work of art in his hands. She doesn’t really know much about guitars, anything she does know was picked up from snippets of conversations with him many years ago, but it certainly looks perfect to her.

“Wow,” she says again dumbly, “She’s beautiful. I’m-- wow. Can I hold her?”

She looks at the guitar like it’s as beautiful as he thinks it is, and that settles something deep in the pit of his stomach. All he’s ever wanted is for her to see him. He swears there’s no better feeling in the world than when she does. 

Like now, when she asks to hold his guitar like it’s his fucking kid or something. He laughs, bright and loud, head falling back for a moment. 

“Yeah,” he takes a breath, laughter subsiding as he looks down at her, “Yeah, you can hold her. She’s tough.” 

He holds Lulu by the body and offers her neck first to Maya. He wonders if she remembers any of the chords he taught her. 

Shawn’s laughing at her in a way that makes her feel more alive than she has in so long. It’s not judgmental or teasing, it’s… delighted. She delights him.

Or she used to. Maybe he’s just drunk.

Either way, he willingly hands off his pride and joy like he’s not worried at all that she’ll harm it. Maya takes the guitar and slings the strap over her shoulder, cradling it under her arm.

It feels good.

She hums, running her fingertips along its dips and curves, admiring his work. It really is stunning. She’s so stupid proud. And she can’t say it out loud.

Her fingers shift into place to pluck out a couple chords he taught her. She doesn’t remember the names of them. She looks up at him to see if maybe he looks just a little proud of her too.

She touches his guitar like it’s something precious and his breath catches in his throat. He watches her take such care with such an important piece of his life and he feels like he’s falling, stumbling into his love for her. 

He’s never managed to let go of it, but he got pretty good at pretending it wasn’t there. He was an expert at convincing himself it didn’t fill his heart too much for anyone else to fit, that it was a scar, a slowly fading reminder of what it means to be cared for, a tip for the future. 

It’s not so easy pretending now, watching Maya’s fingers glide across the sleek body of a guitar he’s known longer than he ever actually knew her. 

Finally, her fingers find the strings, and she answers his silent curiosity. Her fingers flick A, A, D, E minor, A. 

Those were always the easiest chords for her to remember. Her fingers know them well. It’s so, incredibly sexy. 

Shawn sucks in a breath, then realizes she’s looking at him, like maybe she’s expecting him to say something. He wets his lip, takes a step towards her.

“You remember,” he says, voice a deep rasp. He’s not sure he’s talking about the chords. It’s everything. She remembers everything. She has to, because he does. It burns so fucking brightly in his memory he can’t stand to be in the same room with himself sometimes. 

He looks down at the guitar between them, thumbs digging into his palms to stop himself from pulling it off of her. It’s the only barrier between him and an incredibly stupid decision. 

The way he inhales sharply makes her feel like there’s finite oxygen between them. His intake of breath is sucking the air from her lungs. She doesn’t mind. She’s glad to be rid of it if it becomes his instead.

Her head is all fuzzy. His voice is low and scratchy and it reminds her of when she would wake up in his arms in the middle of the night and without her even moving, even speaking, he would notice and whisper to her until she fell asleep again. 

As he steps closer, her awareness heightens. She clings to the guitar like a shield. As badly as she wants him, a piece of her knows better than to let herself have him again, even when he’s looking at her like this. Even when every word out of his mouth feels like his feelings haven’t changed, not even after so long. Not even after she left him for a life she has recently decided she doesn’t even want. 

His hands stay still, but he looks back at her. “Do you remember that song you wrote?” 

He does. It was three chords. Three chords and lasted about an eight count before he pulled the guitar from her lap and made her come on his tongue and needy fingers. 

She swallows and closes her eyes because looking at him is too fucking much right now. She exhales shakily and nods. “I… I remember.”

She definitely remembers. She doesn’t even make a conscious decision to start playing it, it just happens, sort of like everything else between them right now. It’s instinctive with them.

Her fingers pinch and curl and pluck while her lips quiver. She remembers. She remembers the way she cried out his name while her back arched off the bed, but he didn’t let up. She remembers panting, chanting ‘I love you’ over and over until he crawled up her body and planted his lips against hers with a smile to shut her up.

“I remember,” she whispers again.

Her eyes flutter shut. He’s closer to her than he’s been in years and he can see every freckle, every line, every curve of her face. He studies every one, sketched a new portrait of her for his memory, just in case he’s not lucky enough to get this close again. 

He knows she’s thinking about it now, about the way he used to love her so thoroughly. He’s not sure what possessed him to remind her, other than his addiction to her. Or more like his need not to be the only addict. 

He lifts one hand carefully to hers, stilling her fingers against the neck of his guitar. His heart stops; the delicate press of his skin against hers is overwhelming, yet so slight. Somehow, curling his fingers around hers is far more intimate than the press of his palm to her back. 

Maya gasps in a breath at the touch of his fingers to hers. It almost puts tears in her eyes but she holds on. His touch is so full of every memory, good and bad. It’s like jumping right back into her past with him when he holds her hand like this. 

She doesn’t know what he wants now. She doesn’t even really know what she herself wants. But she lowers her shield, carefully and slowly swings the guitar around her back to hang behind them. Her fingers remain entwined with his.

“Maya,” he breathes, hoping she’ll open her eyes and look at him. He needs to see her eyes. He needs to know if he can read them as well as he used to. 

The hush of his voice has her by the throat. She opens her eyes to see him there, the closest he’s been since they were kids. And now, seeing him here with her, when he’s looking at her like this, she knows what he wants.

She wets her lips like she knows what’s coming. Her voice nearly fails her when she speaks again.

“Remember with me.”

“Lulu,” he chokes, nodding as he holds her gaze, “I do. You know I do.” 

He lifts their tangled fingers to her face, cups her cheek, and kisses her. A gentle press of his lips against hers. 

He steps into her, takes the guitar’s place against her and she shrinks beneath him. Their height difference is always the most overwhelming when they’re chest to chest like this. 

His other hand finds the nape of her neck, his fingertips scratching her scalp gently as he cradles her and sips slowly at her lips. 

He kisses her the way he never gets to in his dream. The way he always wants to, the way she wouldn’t let him the night before she left. 

It burns him from the inside out, and he wonders if she feels it in her bones the way he does. 

Maya falls. 

She falls just the same way she did. She falls the same way she did even just a few days ago when she heard his voice again. 

He’s gentle with her, the way he almost always was. She’s high on it. His lips slip against hers perfectly like they’ve never fallen out of step with each other. She sobs a gasp into his mouth, overwhelmed. 

She steps between his feet and presses into him so close that she can’t help but feel him everywhere. She wraps her arms around his expansive back and shoulders, curling against him with a low mewling noise. 

He tastes like whiskey sour and he smells like sea salt and soap. She feels the tears prick the corners of her eyes. She doesn’t force them back this time. 

He kisses her through the gentle sounds he was hoping she’d make. He kisses her deeper, wants more of her sounds, wants to feel her even closer. 

Her tears on his cheek burn him. He sucks in a startled breath and pulls back, lips and hands together. He blinks down at her, trying to focus his blurry vision. 

“I’m sorry, shit,” he murmurs, hands curling in to firsts. He sees the tears on her cheeks and he wants to cry, too, but he’s not sure why. 

He’s not sure of anything anymore. 

“Maya,” he breathes, urging her to look at him. “I’m—“ still in love with you— “I think I’m a little drunk.” 

Just as soon as she can feel him start to drag her under fully, just as she’s committing to drowning for him, with him, he starts away.

She pants desperately and swipes at her cheeks, flushing hot. 

“It’s… uhm, it’s ok. I am too. It’s just… this. Us. Here in Avila. Y’know, it’s like last time. Only… I guess… not.”

She used to be an incredibly articulate woman. Her words are clunky and meaningless. She can only hope he can guess what she means.

She stumbles over her words and he feels like shit. He’s such an idiot. Brings her to his shop, shows her her namesake guitar, kisses like she’s his to kiss. And she cries. He makes her cry. 

He hates himself for that, and for being so scared. Scared of all the things he wants to tell her. Of how easy it feels to be around her, still, like no time has passed at all. 

She presses her hands to her cheeks and shakes her head.

“Ok then. I think I should go.”

She wants to leave.

“No!” He doesn’t mean to shout, but he can’t let her go, not like this. “I mean— you don’t, Lu, you don’t have to. We can go back to the bar and get something to eat, or y’know, there’s that ice cream stand, with the soft serve and the sugar cones.”

He reaches for her carefully, curls his fingers around her wrists and pulls her hands from her slick, flushed cheeks. 

“Let me get you a cone. Swirl, rainbow sprinkles, right?” 

He wants to buy her ice cream.

He remembers what kind she likes. Of course he does.

Maya feels, all of a sudden, incredibly stupid. With one kiss, he made her completely sober, more sober than she’s been in her life. And lying there between them is their past that they have no answers for. Maya should’ve known better than to let him kiss her like this. She likes answers. She needs answers.

But not tonight.

Her breath catches in her throat. “No,” she rasps, “No, I can’t. I need to… I need to go home.”

With a lurch, she untangles herself from his beautiful guitar and shove it back into his hands. She heads for the door and lets it slam shut behind her, echoing with her clapping footsteps as she hurries down the boardwalk.

--------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @desire-to-live @jillian-nd @shawnwyr

[shoeandseok]

ATEEZ as Bodyguards Fic: The Element Part 1

Synopsis: You get invited to a nightclub for the first time, but nothing is easy when you need personal security 24/7.

This is part of a Bodyguard AU series, which I recommend you read first for context (if you haven’t already). Thanks!

Part 2, Part 3 (Final)

You were anxious as you made your way to Hongjoong’s office. For being the head of your security detail, he was remarkably accommodating when you wanted to go somewhere. But you were worried that this time he’d refuse. You understood the necessity of having a bodyguard whenever you went out in public, but that made it hard to do normal things like seeing a movie in theaters, visiting a public beach, or going clubbing.

You looked at your phone again, at the message from Nina Sikora. Because of who you were and the work you did, you had few friends, but you were hoping she might become one of them. Nina was a rising pop singer who you met weeks ago at a charity event. You had been charmed by her down to earth friendliness, and now she was asking you to join her and her friends for a girls night at a club that weekend. You practically squealed when you read it. You immediately wanted to say yes, but your thumb had hovered above the screen. You couldn’t yet, not until you got permission from Hongjoong.

You knew as you walked to his office that this was going to be a hard sell. Nightclubs were crowded, full of strangers and substances that were regarded as high risk by security teams. You reached Hongjoong’s office door, knocked, and opened it when he gave permission.

“Oh- Miss (Name). What can I do for you?”

Hongjoong probably hadn’t expected to see you at this late hour. He was busy reviewing information on a businessman you were working with, making sure his background checked out.

“Do you remember Nina Sikora?” you asked. “Well she just invited me on a girls night out this weekend, and I really want to go...”

“Where to?”

“The Element. It’s a nightclub.”

Your words hung in the air. Then your security head released a sigh. “Miss (Name)-”

“-I know,” you cut him off. “There’s a lot of variables you can’t control.”

“There’s a lot of people I can’t control,” he said seriously. He leaned back and ran a hand through his long hair. “Do you know what types of people go to clubs? There’s pickpockets, con artists, drunks- all sorts of predatory behavior.”

“Yes, but there’s also people like me who just want to go dancing,” you pointed out. “And the guard will be around to protect me.”

He locked eyes with you and you stood your ground, letting him know you were serious. Something in your face made him soften. “Do you really want to go?” he asked, searching your eyes.

“Yes. I’ve never had the chance to do this before and I might not again. Please, Hongjoong.”

He held you in anticipation for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. “Well, you’ve made up your mind.” He smiled, shaking his head. “I can’t stop you now.” You smiled back.

“However,” he held up a hand. “I have some rules. You are going to be disguised, and you can only have one drink.”

“Deal.” You didn’t get to drink much anyways, at least not in public. “I’m sorry I’m giving you so much work.”

“Just repay me by being careful, Miss (Name). You said this weekend, right?”

You spent the next few minutes going through details with your head of security. You thanked him before you left.

After you left Hongjoong made himself a to do list. He needed to do a background check on Sikora, every friend she was bringing, and the club itself. Since this was going to be undercover he couldn’t ask for floor plans, so he’d have to send a pair of guards this week to investigate the layout, memorize faces of the staff, and evaluate the behavior of patrons. He also wanted to acquire several types of drug testing strips for drinks. He wasn’t taking any chances.

The next day, after a night of little sleep, Hongjoong addressed the bodyguards at their morning meeting. They reviewed the day’s itinerary and received the next day assignments, which included a recon task for Jongho and San, listed at the odd time of 10pm. When Hongjoong was asked about it, he braced himself and took a breath.

“This weekend Miss (Name) wants to go to a nightclub with some friends.”

“A nightclub?” Wooyoung gasped.

“You’re lying, boss doesn’t have friends.”

“Jongho!” Seonghwa snapped at his junior.

“What? We’re like friends,” Jongho grumbled back.

Yunho shared a glance with Yeosang “A nightclub sounds pretty dangerous,” he voiced.

“I agree.” Yeosang said. “Sir, there are too many variables.”

“And creeps,” Mingi added.

“Just tell her no.” San calmly spoke up, still resting his chin on his hand. 

At that everyone went quiet, looking to their captain for a response. San’s words gave Hongjoong pause. Why didn’t he tell her no? Then he remembered a promise he made to himself when he first became a security head. He would never make his client feel unable to requesting something. Bodyguards have certain stories they tell, and one of those stories is the tale of clients who escaped from their security detail to do something they didn’t think they’d get permission for. Something like visiting a club.

Hongjoong opened his mouth, the thought forming as he spoke, remembering your conversation from the previous night. “I haven’t seen her want something this much in a while.” The room was silent at that.

“Well, captain?” Seonghwa broke the silence. “What’s the plan?”

Two days later you, Wooyoung, Yunho, Mingi, and Yeosang were listening to Jongho talk about his visit to The Element. You were in the car (Mingi was driving) as you headed to a meeting.

“It’s pretty classy, they don’t let just anyone in,” Jongho bragged. “Honestly they let San and I in because we looked the part and we weren’t being obnoxious.”

“Was San wearing that purple cheetah print shirt?” Mingi spoke up from the front.

“The what?” you asked, intrigued.

Wooyoung turned around in the passenger seat, grinning. “San has a button down shirt with cheetah print on it. Yeosang, you’ve seen it in his closet, right?”

“And it’s purple?” you turned to your quiet bodyguard.

“Yes. He rarely wears it.”

“Yeosang, what are you wearing to the nightclub?” Yunho asked, grinning.

His brows furrowed. “I assumed I could just wear my regular suit..”

“No, you’d look too boring,” Jongho shook his head. “You wouldn’t be let in, and then where would we be?”

Hongjoong determined having bodyguards with you at the club would draw too much attention, so you had to be disguised. Your security would have to go in disguised as regular patrons as well. Yeosang looked distressed. “I don’t think I have anything.”

“Why don’t you just buy something?” Mingi asked.

You lit up. “Can I take you shopping?”

Yeosang looked taken aback. “I don’t want to inconvenience you..”

“Nonsense, I want to. I think it’d be fun, right?”

He felt the pressure of everyone looking at him. “Yes, Miss (Name).”

You easily got permission to take Yeosang to the mall you frequented. You brought along Seonghwa, since he was the closest thing you had to a style expert (and he could help you with men’s sizing). San was your guard on duty. This mall was a fairly safe place, but you always needed someone to keep an eye out.

You figured out early that Yeosang was a man who didn’t think much about style. His suits and shoes were always well kept, but looking back you realized that his off duty clothing mainly consisted of athletic wear in neutral colors. Comfort and functionality were his priorities, so he looked out of his depth as you and Seongwha began hunting in the upscale store.

“Do you like the blue or the stripes?” You held up two options before him.

He looked vaguely stressed. “Which is less expensive?”

“Nonsense, Miss (Name) said she will be paying for it,” Seonghwa assured him, checking the fabric labels of the shirts. “Ooh, silk.”

“It’s my treat, Yeosang. Which do you like better?” you asked again.

“Uh-” He looked between the two, worrying that whatever he chose would be the wrong choice somehow. He wasn’t used to being pampered, especially by his boss, who was still waiting for him to answer. “Um..”

“I’d say the stripes are a bit too much,” San commented cheerily, still surveying your surroundings.

You took a second look at the stripes. “You’re right, I think it’s too loud. San, what did you see guys wearing in The Element?”

Yeosang breathed a sigh of relief as you talked with San. Seonghwa and you made the decision that he’d wear his regular black suit, just with a different shirt and no tie. He endured trying on several things for you two until you reached a white dress shirt with a pattern of little blue diamond shapes. When you encouraged him to look in the mirror, he found he actually didn’t mind it. He balked at the price, but money was no object to the boss. He thanked you for your generosity. To his surprise you thanked him for the fun excursion.

On Friday, Hongjoong called a meeting with you and your away guard. Your security was made up of two teams: the home guard, who kept your residence secure, and your seven person away guard, who went with you when you ventured out. 

Though in charge of both, Hongjoong usually had more prep work to do for the away guard. You were much closer with your away guard anyhow, since they spent most of the day with you and were off duty once you got home in the evenings.

You joined all eight of them in the meeting room, and once everyone was assembled, Hongjoong began detailing the plan for Saturday night.

“I have secured a place on the guest list for all of you, so there shouldn’t be too much trouble getting in. However, since we’re undercover, you will enter staggered in pairs or small groups. Yunho and Mingi, you’re the exception to this. You will be joining Miss (Name) and her friends for the night. We can’t go entirely undercover because Nina Sikora has seen several of you in a bodyguard capacity, so Miss (Name) has informed Miss Sikora that her guard will be present but disguised.”

You nodded. Nina was on board with the idea. In fact, she thought it was exciting to be in on the secret.

“Yunho and Mingi will be posing as friends of Miss (Name), while Seonghwa, Yeosang, Wooyoung, San, and Jongho will be posing as patrons. As “friends” you two will be with the boss. I don’t expect you to be as focused as normal, since you have to act like friends, but don’t lose sight of what’s happening around you. Think of yourselves as a deterrent.”

They nodded. The unspoken part of that was they’d be a deterrent for anyone trying to bother you. Having bodyguards had it’s perks.

“Miss (Name) will only have one alcoholic drink for the night. Yeosang, I’d like you to offer to buy her one, then covertly test it for drugs once you receive it. You’ll have to memorize the charts that come with them.”

You wondered if any of your guard thought this was too much. If they did, they didn’t voice their opinion.

“For the rest of you as patrons, you can order things, but no drinking on the job. You will get in the club before the girls arrive with Yunho and Mingi, so take that time to get familiar with the staff and other patrons. Take note of anyone who looks suspicious or like trouble, and always keep yourselves spread out. Once Miss (Name) is ready to leave, Mingi will get the car and Yunho will escort her out. The rest of you will filter out to your separate cars.”

He paused for the ones who were taking notes, then set down his papers. “Throughout the night I expect all of you to show careful judgement. We don’t want to prematurely remove Miss (Name) from the evening because of an incident that doesn’t affect her. If things are safe for her, then there’s no reason to leave, regardless of what might be going on elsewhere in the club.” 

He let that sink in for a moment, then straightened up. “Yeosang, your turn.”

You learned that since the bodyguard were going undercover, they couldn’t have their regular earpieces to communicate, and Hongjoong recruited Yeosang to solve that problem. The device Yeosang introduced was a set of watches he had found and modified. They each had a concealed button, and when it was pressed a little red LED light would flash on the faces of all the watches. Your seven bodyguards tried them out, and were told to only use it if there was a definite emergency. 

You regarded Hongjoong for a moment as they tried out the watches. He wasn’t going to The Element with you and the away team. He looked tired, and you felt a bit guilty for all the extra work you put him through. You made a mental note to thank him again later. 

The away guard was still busy with the watches, learning how to deactivate the light. Looking at them, a strange mix of emotion came over you. All of them had to put in so much effort, so much planning, just for you to safely enjoy a night out at a club.

Saturday night you spent extra time getting ready. The short, fun dress you never got to wear came out of your closet. You had a few wigs for disguises. Most of them were picked to look average and help you blend in. There was one fantastical wig, however, that was an ombre mix of vivid color. This seemed like an occasion to wear it. 

Your maid helped you get it on securely, and the two of you determined what makeup would compliment the look. Last was a few careful accessories and a clutch. The final person in the mirror seemed like an alternate universe version of you, from a world of glamorous partying. You felt awesome.

That feeling dropped once you stepped out of the safety of your bedroom. Suddenly your heels felt to high, your dress felt too short, and your hair looked too wild. As you reached the staircase of your front hall, you saw the figures of Hongjoong, Mingi, and Yunho gathered near your front door. You prayed they wouldn’t see you yet, and focused on making your way down the stairs. Unfortunately for you, when you reached the bottom and looked up you saw all three staring. You immediately looked away, hands tightening around your clutch.

Mingi was the first to speak. “Woah. You look amazing.”

Yunho was nodding. Hongjoong looked like he was about to reprimand his subordinate, but decided against it.

Mingi was still looking at you, awed. “Your eyeshadow matches your dress and your hair!”

“Mingi, the car,” Hongjoong reminded him.

As Mingi hurried out your maid began helping you into a long coat. You repressed a smile, secretly grateful for his honest reaction.

“Remember you can end the night whenever you wish,” your security captain reminded you.

“I remember,” you answered, allowing yourself to be ushered outside. Excitement and dread blossomed inside you.