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nugnthopkns · 4 years ago

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dance me to the end of love (ii)

word count: 3.3k

warnings: fem!oc, alcohol consumption, cursing

series masterpost: here

a/n: part two baby! thanks for all the love on part one, it means the absolute world. i have so much love for this story and i hope people are enjoying it :))

Life is settling into a comfortable rhythm.

After spending a good chunk of her young adult life being incredibly studious, Magdalene can finally have the social life of someone in their mid-twenties. Though she’s still spending a fair amount of time by herself in the basements of the University of Denver’s library, Bette convinces her to go out more. Magdalene tries to fight, citing extra work or a good book as an excuse to stay home, but it doesn’t work very often. The pleas of her friend are how Magdalene finds herself currently lounging poolside at Erik Johnson’s house on a Sunday afternoon.

“How’s the new career treating you?” Tyson asks. “I feel like we haven’t seen you in a while.”

Magdalene laughs. “I’ve seen Bette plenty,” she says, “She thinks I won’t take a lunch break unless she shows up.”

“Would you?” the blonde girl questions with a quirked brow.

“Probably not.”

“I rest my case.”

A small crowd gathers around as Magdalene begins to detail the specifics of her job, but she doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as she once would have. In the month or so since graduating school she’s found herself slowly being incorporated into the Avalanche family. It’s almost certainly because Bette and Tyson championed her case, explaining that she doesn’t have much of a support system beyond the two of them, but she doesn’t mind. A few of the guys ask her questions about her work, curious as to why someone would want to spend their life combing through piles of old things. Everyone stays engaged in the conversation until there’s a shout from the kitchen that dinner is ready.

Magdalene shuffles in line behind André, filling her plate with various pasta salads and a hamburger. Once situated with enough food for two meals she returns to the pool deck, sitting on the edge and dipping her toes into the cool water. Bette comes and finds her a minute later and the two of them begin to eat.

She’s still relatively new to the group’s dynamic, but Magdalene can’t help but notice that Ryan is never around. In fact, Magdalene hasn’t seen him since her graduation party. Taking a casual sip of her wine cooler, she asks her friend about the man’s absence.

“Why is Ryan never at these sorts of things?”

Bette shrugs. “Isn’t a huge one for parties. He was supposed to come today, but I guess something came up.”

“I’m not huge on parties,” Magdalene huffs, “But that doesn’t stop you from dragging me to every single one.”

“Unlike you, Gravy gets enough regular social interaction that his absence is permissible. If Tyson and I didn’t take you out you’d talk to your cat more than normal.”

She wants to fight back, but knows it’s pointless. Bette has a point – if it weren’t for her the only people Magdalene would interact with are her boss and her cat. Instead, she grumbles under her breath and changes the subject to the trip Bette is in the middle of planning. It’s coming up in a few weeks, and Magdalene wants to hear a bit more about it before she commits. Despite what she thought about taking time off so close to starting work, it was encouraged by June, but she's refraining from telling Bette that. If it doesn’t sound like she'll enjoy it, Magdalene is banking on being able to use the excuse.

Bette explains that she’s renting a large lake house that is perfect for a relaxing week away from adult responsibilities. The property has kayaks and a hot tub, which pretty much ensures that Magdalene will want to be in attendance. She’ll hold onto that information for a little while longer though, if for no other reason to make Bette squirm a little. At some point Tyson comes to sweep his girlfriend away and leaves Magdalene at the party alone. She makes polite conversation with some other players for a while before heading home herself. Ryan never shows up, despite how much Magdalene hopes he will. At the very least she wants to properly thank him for doing her a favour, though her hoping to see him is much more selfish. He intrigues her and she wants to know more about the tall man with the dazzling smile and a proclivity for wearing all black.

☼☼☼☼

Barn Owl Book Company is filled to the brim when Magdalene approaches the store from the side street it annexes. She should’ve expected it – it’s the first of the month and their newest books are hitting the shelves. However, Magdalene doesn’t exactly have time to wait in line. June gave her only fifteen minutes to run and grab them coffee before they continue the massive task of digitizing a private collection that has just been donated to the university. She estimates it will take almost a month of extended hours to get everything done, and Magdalene believes it. There’s so much to wade through but she knows the end result will be satisfying.

Luckily the café line is fairly short, and Magdalene reaches the counter in a timely manner. “Hey,” she greets the barista warmly, “Could I just grab two medium iced cappuccinos?”

“Anything else?”

“No, that's everything. It’ll be on debit,” she smiles. Magdalene reaches into her backpack to grab her wallet only to find that it’s missing. Shit. The barista has already left to make the drinks, completely unaware that her customer is unable to pay.

Magdalene hears a voice from behind her say, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.” She turns around to find Ryan Graves standing there with a book tucked under his right arm.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she mumbles appreciatively. “I don’t know how my boss would take it if I showed up empty handed.”

Ryan laughs shyly as he pulls his card away from the machine. “I get it, everyone needs a little caffeine this time of year.” The barista comes back with Magdalene’s drinks, which she takes with a smile and a wish for a good day. The two of them head towards the exit, and Ryan pauses once they’re on the sidewalk. “Which way are you headed?”

“Back to work,” Magdalene says, nodding her head in the direction of campus. “I’ve got approximately five minutes to get there before June rips me a new one.”

“June?”

“She’s my boss,” she explains.

Ryan nods in understanding. “I’ll see you around Magdalene,” he smiles, turning on his heel and heading the opposite direction.

In a moment of bravery, Magdalene yells at his retreating figure. “Will you? We never seem to cross paths.”

“I’ll be at Bette and Tyson’s this weekend, and I’m counting on your company.”

Magdalene finds it incredibly hard to focus the rest of the afternoon. She keeps thinking about what Ryan said, which makes her a rather lousy archivist. June sends her home just after seven even though they had plans to stay until ten, citing the fact that she’s scanned the same photo three times before noticing. Caligula’s meowing for pets when she gets home isn’t even enough to distract her from the comment. The absentmindedness continues for another day or so, and it’s becoming so bad Magdalene is worried that June is going to fire her for incompetence.

It’s only when Bette calls to invite her over for dinner and drinks that her mind levels out. “I was wondering when I was going to get the call,” she chuckles absentmindedly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” is the response Magdalene receives.

“Well,” she explains, “I ran into Ryan at Barn Owl the other day and he paid for my drinks because I left my wallet on the table at work, and he said he expected to see me at your place this weekend. So if you never invited me I was just going to show up.”

Bette is smiling, that much Magdalene can infer by the lull in conversation. “I haven’t got the time to call you yet,” she concedes, “But consider this the official invitation to our house for a small party.”

“Anything we’re celebrating?”

“Nope. Have you ever needed a reason to party?”

Magdalene laughs. “Yes. Need one almost every time actually.”

The rest of the week passes fairly quickly. To make up for her blundering earlier in the week Magdalene offers to work a full day on Saturday, by herself, to get the project back on track. June accepts the proposition eagerly, and Magdalene lets Bette know she’ll be coming directly from work. Saturday rolls around and she spends most of her time getting lost in the past lives of the artefacts she’s dealing with. If someone were to ask Magdalene what her favourite part of archiving is, that’s the answer she’d give. There’s nothing more satisfying to her than holding a piece of history in her hands and imagining all the stories it would be able to tell if it could speak.

By the time she’s put in a full work day and finishes locking up the basement floor her department occupies, Magdalene is pretty sure they’re ahead of schedule on the project. She genuinely feels terrible about her misperformance and hopes June will be able to forgive her. On the way to Bette and Tyson’s Magdalene listens to the Leonard Cohen greatest hits cd that came with her car. The previous owner was presumably a big fan, and over the years Magdalene has come to appreciate the folk singer. She never got to see him in concert before his death but turns to his music when she needs to relax. Right now is the perfect time to listen to ‘Hallelujah’ on repeat because she’s seriously freaking out about the idea of spending the night talking to Ryan. Though she still wants to properly thank him and possibly become friends, something about him makes Magdalene nervous.

There’s no way for her to tell if Ryan is there when she parks in front of the house. She doesn’t know what kind of car he drives, or if he caught a ride with someone. Magdalene debates texting Bette to see if he’s there already but decides against it, knowing she’s an adult who is more than capable of pushing down nerves.

She doesn’t bother knocking and just steps into the respectably sized home. The music is loud enough that no one would have heard her anyways. It’s much more of a party than Magdalene was expecting – Bette invited her for dinner and drinks, not a gathering that could pass as a frat party. There are bodies everywhere, and she isn’t sure if she’ll ever catch a glimpse of her friend.

“You seem to be dressed for the wrong kind of party,” a voice chuckles from behind her.

Magdalene turns to see Ryan leaning against the wall, eyeing her business casual attire. “I came from work,” she explains, “And didn’t know it was this kind of party to begin with. I would’ve at least brought a change of clothes.”

“You look terribly out of place,” he agrees. “Can I grab you a drink? The hosts are too busy playing beer pong to, you know, be hosts.”

A giggle escapes Magdalene’s lips at the comment. Ryan seems to have a similar sense of humor to her, which will be beneficial for passing the time if Bette is already on her way to being wasted. “A glass of red wine would be nice.”

Ryan pushes off from his perch and heads towards the kitchen. The crowd parts for the six-foot-five hockey player, and Magdalene follows in his wake quite easily. Knowing the space as well as her, Ryan grabs a wine glass from the cupboard Bette keeps them in and pours the dark red liquid into it. He waits until Magdalene has situated herself on the island before handing her the cup. She takes it with an appreciative hum and waits until he’s grabbed a beer for himself before raising her glass in toast. Ryan does the same, and their glasses clink before each of them take a sip.

“What exactly is it that you do? I bet it’s something super cool and studious, but I seriously don’t know what the hell being an archivist means.”

Magdalene explains her job to Ryan, who is extremely interested. He asks nearly a hundred follow-up questions that she answers sincerely, throwing in a few jokes that luckily crack him up. Conversation moves to his career and then life. Magdalene learns that he’s from Nova Scotia, though he stays around Denver these days, and that if he wasn’t playing professional hockey he’d like to have a career in publishing. Ryan doesn’t press too hard when Magdalene refuses to open up about her family, which she appreciates. It’s a delicate subject that she keeps guarded close to her chest, and a friend’s kitchen in the middle of a party isn’t the place for her to divulge her deepest secrets.

The two of them get refills before exiting the room. Even more people seemed to arrive since Magdalene walked through the door, and the kitchen is no longer an empty safe haven. The music is so loud she can feel the bass thumping in her chest, giving the living room a club-like atmosphere, and it’s too much. Magdalene tugs at the hem of Ryan’s sweater to catch his attention. “Want to go somewhere quiet?”

“I doubt there is such a place,” he yells over the crowd going crazy over some early 2000s hip-hop track.

“Follow me,” she says with a smile, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of the staircase to the second floor.

It takes a minute for them to wade through the throngs of people, but it goes much faster once Ryan takes Magdalene’s hand and splits the crowd. A few boys, who don’t look older than twenty-one and almost certainly snuck into the party, notice where the pair are going and shout congratulations. Ryan shoots them a glare so sharp it could cut stone but doesn’t drop Magdalene’s hand. Once safely on the much quieter second floor, Magdalene makes a beeline for the bathroom.

“Are you coming or what?” she asks when there doesn’t seem to be footsteps following her.

Ryan hesitates. “I, uh, can just wait out here while you’re in there,” he stammers.

Magdalene’s laugh rings out through the empty hallway. “I’m not going to the bathroom. We’re going out the window.”

He isn’t sure how that’s any better, but Ryan follows the brown-haired girl into the room. It takes considerably more work for him to fit through the frame, but after some directions from Magdalene he makes it onto the roof. She sits down and pats the space beside her, encouraging Ryan to do the same. They stay out there, discussing anything that comes to their heads, until the party’s numbers dwindle drastically. Magdalene makes sure to properly thank him for both attending her graduation and spotting her coffee money, and she thinks Ryan might blush a little when she offers to get the next round. He asks about her love of The West Wing, and they launch into a long conversation about the show and cast. The sun fades to black and the cold sets in, and Magdalene finds herself wrapped in Ryan’s sweater without asking. It’s only when she notices it’s approaching midnight that Magdalene clues into how tired she is.

“I think I’m going to head out,” she yawns. Ryan nods in agreement and holds the window open for her to slip in through. Once downstairs, Magdalene goes to lift the sweater from her frame but Ryan stops her.

“Keep it for drive home. I’ll get it back next time we see each other.”

Still feeling bold from the alcohol that left her system hours ago, she reaches out to poke him in the chest. “And when will that be, hm? You seem to enjoy leaving our meetings up to chance.”

It’s Ryan’s turn to laugh. “Think you can swing an extended lunch break on Wednesday? I’ll be at Barn Owl all afternoon. Maybe you can join me for a coffee.”

Magdalene likes the sound of that and agrees. She leaves without seeing Bette or Tyson once, but she doesn’t mind. They’d be happy for her blooming friendship – or at least she’s pretty sure they will be once she calls to fill them in on the details.

☼☼☼☼

Wednesday rolls around without incident, and Magdalene is given a full hour to eat instead of thirty minutes. Walking time has to be accounted for, of course, but she should have nearly forty-five minutes to spend with Ryan if she plays her cards right. There’s no crowd this time, and it’s incredibly easy to spot Ryan sitting in the window she loves to claim as her own.

“Hey,” Magdalene greets, “Did Bette tell you to sit here?”

He shakes his head, perplexed at the question. “No, why?”

“It’s just my favourite seat in the store, that’s all. I thought she told you how to gain some extra brownie points.”

“Should I be concerned about the amount of points I have?” Ryan teases, sliding a cup and pastry bag across the table and into her hands.

Magdalene shakes her head, smiling widely. “You’re doing alright so far. Keep up the good work.”

They eat at a comfortable pace, taking breaks to engage in interesting topics of conversation or take sips of their drinks. Ryan insists his life is boring, but Magdalene is enthralled by the stories he tells. It’s completely different from hers and she feels as though she can live vicariously through the tales of walking through the historic downs of the east coast and swimming in the Pacific Ocean on days off in California. After squeezing every story possible from the man Magdalene shifts gears slightly.

“So, are you going on the trip in a couple of weeks?”

“It’s looking that way,” Ryan shrugs with relative indifference, “Nate doesn’t think he’ll be able to come back, something about a development camp he’s running having the dates switched. He’s asked me to take his spot.”

His neutral mood confuses her. When Bette mentioned his probable attendance months ago, it sounded like he was enthusiastic about spending a week with friends doing nothing to swimming and drinking. “You don’t want to go?” Magdalene probes.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but sometimes the group parties a little harder than I like to,” he sighs, raising a hand and running it through his hair. That’s something she understands completely, having spent a few too many nights being the sober one out.

“I’ll be there.” It’s Magdalene’s turn to shrug, but the comment holds an incredible amount of hope.

“Well then, that changes everything.”

Was Ryan flirting with her? She spends the rest of lunch thinking about the possibility, and truthfully, it occupies her brain for the rest of the day. However, she keeps her focus and June is none the wiser to the butterflies in her stomach. Work finishes without much fanfare, and her dinner is silent save for the few meows of conversation Caligula offers. It’s late by the time Magdalene falls into bed, cat snuggled into the pillow beside her. On a whim she decides to check Instagram and sees a message request from none other than the man who’s smile has been replaying in her mind. A follow request accompanies it.

Thought that maybe we could quit leaving our meetings to chance and plan something next time :)

He has to be flirting. There’s no other explanation for the witty banter they’ve shared this week, or why he’s reaching out to her on social media. The butterflies in her stomach multiply tenfold as Magdalene types out a reply.

I don’t know, it’s kind of fun being shrouded in mystery. However, I now have the opportunity to stalk your profile ;)

Before she can overthink her use of the emoji, Magdalene shoves her phone in the drawer of her nightstand and rolls over. A slight smile can’t help but appear on her features as she falls asleep, already curious about what his reply will be.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds (add yourself to the taglist!)

#ryan graves imagine #ryan graves x oc #ryan graves fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #dmtteol

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sweetestlamb · 4 years ago

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Need You Now

Summary: The Vice Chairman reminds his secretary and lovely fiancee just who she belongs to. The office might not be the most appropriate place but he’s never been one to follow the rules.

Author's note: Honestly blame @truccieeboo she recommended this show and I ended up binge watching it in two days, I thought it would be cheesy and instead I fell in love and then my pervert mind came up with this. It’s my first venture outside of IOTNBO and that’s pretty huge for me. I didn’t think anything else would inspire me but this just came flowing out. It’s a bit spoilery if you haven’t watched it yet so read at your own risk I guess. Dedicated to @truccieeboo since I honestly have no idea if anyone else wants this lmao. Anyway I give you office smut!

I miss her.

That annoying thought has plagued his mind day, she'd sent him a text in the early hours of the morning informing him to go to work without her. She had spent the night at her place, packing for her move into his house, he had been adamant about them living together; the wedding was mere days away and he couldn't stand to be away from his beautiful fiancee. He'd offered to come and help her but his hungry eyes had accidentally trailed to the supple cleavage peeking through her blouse and she'd rolled her eyes and declined his selfless offer.

He was only human, a perfect one with the looks and intelligence of a God, but still just a man. Who wouldn't look at their woman like that when they were looking so delicious? She was breathtaking, those huge innocent eyes framed by wispy dark lashes, her pert pink lips and her rich coppery mane usually tied back in a flowing ponytail. Assigning a photo of her as his phone background had been a brilliant and idiotic choice simultaneously.

Currently it was idiotic. Director Sik droned on beside him, regaling his latest mishap with his ex-wife, his brain was capable of processing information like no other yet he found himself barely retaining a word his frie--acquaint--employee was saying. Instead he was entranced by her idyllic smile shining back from his phone screen. He could recall her adorable high pitched giggle when he'd told her to smile, shyly posing for him while he snapped the photo.

She was perfect. He still berated himself for the amount of time it took him to realize that, years spent repressing himself and living a lie. Years spent resenting everyone around him and suffering in silence until she helped him find the light, in some ways became his light. She was the best thing that ever happened to him, he would gladly relive that dreadful past to have her in his future.

And she's going to be mine, forever.

"I'll never let her go." The words spilled from his mouth, determination and promise coating them.

Yoo Sik looked at him in confusion, "What? What are you.... Oh! Are you giving me advice? Is that what I should say to my ex-wife? Should I go to her house and make a commotion and tell her that I'll never let her go?"

Yoo Sik suddenly stood up passionately, "You're right! I shouldn't let her go, I just need to walk right up to her and...."

He never heard the rest of that asinine sentence because she suddenly filled his vision. Clipboard in her hands as she immediately started firing off orders to the others, there was something captivating about watching her work; she'd come a long way from the meek incompetent girl he'd hired all those years ago. A strong confident woman now, his invaluable second hand and the love of his life. He happily watched her in action, then his vision blurred as she stepped from behind the large front desk and he was able to see her outfit, an outfit he'd never seen before, surely if he had he would have forbade her from wearing it outside of his house.

She wore a long sleeved soft peach chiffon button down, slightly transparent with a camisole underneath, curving around her perfectly round breasts but that wasn't what made him blood boil with possessiveness.

It was her skirt. She'd never worn a skirt that short before, it sat high on the tender meat of her thigh, miles of milky skin on display. When she turned to the side to speak to an intern, he noticed the high slits exposing more of that tempting skin.

What was she doing revealing all that skin to others? That skin belonged to his eyes exclusively.

Then he watched as the intern stared at her in a daze, before his eyes darted down to her bare legs, youthful hunger flashing in his pupil.

Slamming his fist on his table he stood up, anger emitting from his pores.

"--What? I'm just following your advic--"

"Director. Do you like your job?" He abruptly cut off his useless jabbering, finished with his one-sided conversation, he'd been benevolent enough to let Yoo Sik come in his office and whine about his pitiful life.

The director stared at him baffled, he stared back straight faced, full lips pressed into a angry line.

"....Yes?"

"Then get out. Right now." His clipped tone left no room for arguments, though he doubted anyone would ever be stupid enough to argue with him.

It would be their last argument in this world.

Director Sik jumped at his order, scrambling to collect the documents he'd brought with him as an excuse to commence their conversation.

"Say no more. Here's me leaving, liking my job."

Without another word he was up and sprinting towards the door, only his voice halted his movement, "Send in secretary Kim. Tell her it's an emergency."

**************************************************************************************

Mi-So stopped in the middle of her sentence as she watched Director Sik all but fall out of the Vice Chairman's office, looking like a spirit was following him, face ashen in fear.

That could only mean one thing, her bulldozer was in a bad mood.

She hadn't seen him all day, coming to work separately -her idea- and then she'd been in meetings all day. Her skirt ride up her thigh and she pulled it down in exasperation, she'd made the mistake of packing all her office clothes away and in the morning had to pull on whatever was on top. This particular skirt had been a gift from a friend, as they'd all teased her and giggled that she could now be a sexy secretary.

She had never worn it here, too modest to have that much skin revealed. But this morning she'd been desperate, waking up late and she couldn't be tardy after telling him that she didn't need a ride to work. So she'd put on stockings to combat the skirts length.

No one had commented, at least not verbally. But she'd felt the eyes all morning, judging eyes from other women and....not so judging eyes from some of the men. One of the managers had made the grave error of brushing against her naked skin and she'd flashed her dazzling engagement ring, reminding him whose woman he was getting handsy with, then assigned him to organize three days worth of files. He'd scampered out the room with apologies and his tail tugged between his legs.

She didn't bother to mention that those files had already been organized by her days prior. He would learn his lesson.

Her mood had soured after that interaction, so seeing the Director so shaken up leaving the Vice Chairman's office was not a pleasant sight.

Finally he spoke stuttering before finding his voice, "Secretary Kim, the Vice Chairman needs you in his office. It's an emergency."

An emergency.

She jolted at those words, turning to the intern immediately, "I'm sorry I'll have to go. You can speak to secretary Kim Ji-A for more instructions." Bowing her head to both men, she circled around them stalking to the Vice Chairman's door, pulling it pen and striding inside, closing the heavy door behind her.

A familiar sight greeted her, the Vice Chair-- her fiancee sprawled on the sofa that sat centered in the large space, long legs spread open, the jacket of his suit hanging open exposing the pristine white shirt that laid underneath. His muscles peeked through the thin material, instantly her brain provided vivid images of his naked torso, the riveting dents of his six pack. He was a beautiful man, it was impossible to deny that.

Especially when he took every opportunity to remind her.

Daily.

Bowing once more, she broke the thick silence in the room, "Vice Chairman, you asked to see me."

Moments dragged by, when she lifted in her head in question, his gaze was intense, penetrative as he stared at her his pupils hard cold dots.

"Secretary Kim. How do you think I'm feeling right now?"

His voice was void of any overt emotions, but she was a master at reading him, being one of the only people that he showed his true self to. The tight line of his jaw was the first tell and his fingers clenched tightly in his lap was another. His eyes were the last, they churned with visible frustration and... jealousy.

"You're angry."

A slight smile overrode his face, pride shining through, before it was hidden away like a cloud covering the sun.

"Correct. Now do you know why I'm angry?"

Various replies filled her mind, but none quite sticking out as a justifiable answer based on his reaction, he couldn't be this upset because she didn't sleep over or that they couldn't arrive to work together. So as they had discussed before, she simply answered honestly.

"No. I don't know why you're upset Vice Chairman. Did something happen?"

"I'm not the Vice Chairman right now, I'm not angry at secretary Kim, I'm upset at Kim Mi So, my fiancee, my woman."

A shiver crawled down her spine at his words, her body heating up at the possession in his voice, she would never admit to him- Lord knows how big his ego would grow- but she loved how jealous he got, pulling her away from other men and glaring at them when their eyes lingered too long.

Once when an overeager coffee barista had gotten too friendly; smiling a little too brightly, offering her a free treat while stuttering out a compliment that never made it past his lips as her fiancee stepped in, swiping the proffered treat and silencing him with one dark glare. He'd slammed his credit card down on the table, arm curling around her waist as he dragged her away.

She'd let him pull her away, clinging to his arm and disarming him with a sweet smile. His jealousy fading away as he smiled back at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

It made her feel desired and oddly protected, it didn't make complete sense to her as she prided herself on independence and self-efficiency but she accepted that he made her act out of character at times. His love changing her in ways she'd never expected.

"Why is my fiancee upset then?"

He growled at the word, fiancee, as much as she was his woman he was also her man. The perfect man, not only for his looks, abilities or impeccable style but his heart, loving her like she never imagined was possible.

When he was upset, she was upset. His pain was hers as well.

Finally, he catapulted out of his seat, stalking towards her with a dark glint in his eyes. He invaded her space, backing her into the wall heat radiating and burning her up. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, as he towered over her.

She gasped as she felt his finger on her knee, meandering up her thigh until he reached the end of her skirt, tugging at it, hard.

He then voiced her thought, her sudden realization.

"Why did you think it was acceptable for my fiancee to wear this to work? Just like that pretty smile is mine, this." He gripped her thigh in a tight hold, "This is mine, this is for my eyes only. Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

Arousal ran through her bloodstream as he roughly pulled her into his hard body, her breasts smashing into his muscled chest. Her lips fell open as he bent down only to scoop her into his arm, she scrambled before clutching onto his shoulders.

"What--why--what are you doing?" She panted taken back by his ardor, their engagement had tampered some of his heat and seeing it now in its full former glory was terrifying...but magnificent.

"Reminding you who you belong to."

He tightened his hold on her, hands clasped under the meat of her ass, stomping purposely across the room in wide strides, with a wide swipe knocking the documents that littered the desk before disposing her on the grandiose surface.

She glanced down at the discarded paper in concern but he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him instead.

"Focus on me."

As if she had any choice, it was hard to focus on anything else in the room, sometimes the world when he was in her orbit.

"Yes, oppa." She declared, demurely looking up at him from under heavy lashes.

The thread of control that seemed to remain snapped at her words, he lunged at her, cupping her face and smashing into her lips. She gasped at the force and like the business man she knew him to be, he took that golden opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth.

His taste overwhelmed her senses as he devoured her, hands sliding in her hair, tugging at her, twisting and moving her to his liking.

It took all of her strength but she pushed him away softly, remembering exactly where they were and what they were doing.

Ignoring his piqued glare, she tried to talk sense into him, "We can't do this here. We're at work. You can show me who I belong to tonight." She pleaded, trying to tame the wild beast before her.

His eyes searched her face, breaths coming out in harsh puffs and for a moment she thought he would listen and back down.

But he wouldn't be her Vice Chairman if he did that, she knew that better than anyone.

"You are the only thing on my agenda today. I can't wait until tonight, I need you now."

A traitorous moan escaped her mouth at the declaration and he was back on her like a leech, sucking at the soft skin of her neck, just enough suction to leave a mark. She writhed under his ministration, heat gathering in her warm center. She couldn't help but squirm helplessly on the table feeling like prey under his gaze.

Suddenly his fingers were tugging at her shirt, rapidly unbuttoning her top and tossing it over his shoulder. His eyes dropped onto her heaving chest, locked on the flesh that spilled over the top of her tight camisole top.

His intentions were crystal clear, with a swift movement she grabbed the remote that controlled the blinds, slamming them shut. As soon as she did, he grabbed it from her grip and tossed that to the side as well.

He peeled the shirt down, eyes darkening as more of her skin was exposed, rolled down until it was wound around her waist.

"Beautiful." His voice was deep but soft as he molded his hand around the soft mounds, she knew this particular bra was one of his favorites, ice blue and lacy, thin enough that her nipples teasingly peeked through.

The first time he'd seen it, he had thrown her on his massive bed and taken her apart with his tongue and fingers.

This time was no different, he bent down to bite her nipple through the lace, mouth sweltering hot around her tight peak. Large hand, squeezing at the breast not in his mouth. Her heels knocked against his desk as she thrashed under his assault.

Her mind was racing as he wrecked her, she had been very vocal about them not slacking off at work, adamant that they shouldn't blur the lines and mix business with pleasure.

It didn't get any more blurry than what they were partaking in now. But she couldn't stop him, wanted him as much as he wanted her. For someone who had been previously inexperienced and too traumatized to even kiss her, he was quickly becoming a pro in all bedroom activities.

I, Lee Young-Joon , who is great at everything will become a sex God and blow your mind.

She'd carelessly laughed at his declaration before he set out to do exactly that and made her swallow her laugh.

He reached behind her expertly unhooking her bra, instinctively she clutched at her breasts covering them, his eyes sparkled at her coy action, teasing smirk spreading across his rosy lips, before he pushed her hands away.

"Those are mine too Mi-So-ssi."

She blushed, twisting her head away, before it snapped back as he latched onto her naked chest, ravenous as he suckled and fondled her.

Her pants and moaned permeated the room, loud even to her own ears.

He pulled off her breast with a soft pop, voice rougher now, "Those moans are mine too, give me more." Swiftly he backed away, prying her legs open, tugging her stockings down her legs in a fluid motion before pressing two fingers at her moist opening, massaging the growing wet spot in her panties. She moaned louder at the sudden sensation.

"Unbutton my shirt." He demanded, standing to his full height dwarfing her easily.

With trembling fingers she obeyed his command, slowly opening his shirt, button by button until his naked chiseled chest came into view.

"Enjoying the view?"

No hesitation she replied, "Yes. I am."

"I'll allow you to look then." He actually stepped back, hands held high as he let her take in his majesty.

She mentally chuckled but took her fill of looking, staring hungrily at his pecs before trailing down to his muscled torso, itching to do more than look.

They were in sync as she'd grown used to, he'd spent the time peering at her breasts and he closed the short distance between them, done with their staring contest.

Kissing him was always electric, sparks running through their lips like live wires, she would never get enough of it. Their mouths opened simultaneously, tongues swirling in a dizzying dance. He pulled her close, rubbing their chests together as she moaned into his mouth.

They kissed for what felt like hours, his lips devouring hers and she willingly surrendered to him, his hands rough as he explored her hot skin, rubbing at her slides before groping at her breasts in equal turns.

When he pulled back, she was light-headed, drunk on him.

"Look at my pretty Kim Mi-so. Mine."

"Yours." She echoed, quivering from his touch.

Then he begun to tug on her skirt, she shifted forward precariously on the table’s edge before explaining, "The zipper is on the back."

He nodded at her instruction, leaning over her shoulder and finding the zipper, painfully slow he pulled it down and with a deep breath he tugged it down her legs, taking her rolled shirt with it.

That left her nearly bare on his table, only her panties preserving her dignity.

The hunger that had simmered down flared up once more, viciously as he shoved her back onto the desk, her ponytail dangling over the edge. She couldn't see him but she left his hot breath grazing her inner thigh.

He spread her legs wide, her cheeks were burnt scarlet at his rough treatment.

Then her panties were moved to the side and she was exposed fully to his eyes.

He wasted no time, diving into her tight opening tongue relentless as he licked at her folds, sucking her swollen lips into his starved mouth.

Flattening his tongue he tasted her in broad strokes, drinking her juices and flicking at her clit. She shook on the table, arousal dousing her in red waves. A finger sunk into her and her back curved from the pleasure, he groaned from above clearly turned on at the delectable sight she made.

He plunged into her pussy, going deeper until his finger disappeared inside her completely, drawing back and sliding in again. As she loosened around his grip, he shoved another finger in, corkscrewing into her tight heat as his tongue continued to lap at her.

She vibrated on the desk, nonsense and incoherent words falling from her lips a jumbled mix of please, more and his name.

A third finger entered her and the stretch burned but they both knew she needed this, he was far bigger than three fingers. He had bragged many times about his impressive length that was like no other, she'd listened nodding along absently as she often did with him. But when she had first gotten a glimpse at him she saw how true his words were, even soft it had been intimidating. Long and girthy, she couldn't conceive how he would fit inside.

They practiced since their first time which had been painful to say the least, she tried to grit and bear it but he'd seen right through her. Stopping to comfort her. They'd learned that getting her extremely wet and working her open was fundamental. He took pride in this too, the foreplay and making her feel good.

A fourth finger slipped into her and she melted, her walls loose and open under his touch. With a suck to her hidden bead and a harsh thrust in her he pulled away. Dark eyes locked on her glossy ones, he openly preened at her pleasure wasted face.

"I'm very good at that, huh?"

She purred in agreement.

"Lee Young Joon what aren't you good at?"

Though he was talking to himself, her little arrogant lover, she couldn't argue with his statement. Her body felt like jelly from his attention.

He stood up again, circumventing the desk she watched in confusion until he reached his destination, his looming massive wheeled chair. He sat down grandly, legs opened wide as he gazed at her, it was hard as she was upside down.

With a strong pull he grabbed her, collecting her off from the table and plopping her into his lap.

His dress pants scratched against her wet heat and she grinded down onto him, lost in the pleasure, shyness all but forgotten. He watched her whine in his lap, hands tight on her hips, not controlling her movement simply holding on. His erection was stiff and hot under her, poking her where she needed him most.

With a grunt he reached down pulling his zipper down and freeing his cock, it slapped against her skin causing her to gasp in arousal, ashamed of how much she wanted him.

"Please." She begged, and he rubbed the head across her wet folds, teasing her with a light push in but stopping before he could penetrate her.

"Please what?" To anyone else he would look calm and collected but she knew better, the vein in his neck protruding as he fought to stay in control and tease her.

He looked at her in challenge.

She rose to the challenge.

"Please oppa, show me who I belong to."

With a wolfish grin he grabbed her panties, gripping the sides, and in a swift move of his hands, he ripped them clean off her skin the frayed material falling to the floor.

Fourth one this month but he always replaced them. So, kind.

Reaching under her thighs he lifted her up only to slam her down onto his rigid cock, groaning as she slid down his length, deeper and deeper until he completely filled her. Despite all his foreplay, she could feel him tugging at her walls and her head fell onto his sweaty broad shoulders.

Their position gave him very little leverage but he wasn't one to falter under disadvantages, instead he worked around them. He grabbed her waist, dragging her up his cock before ramming her back down. They both moaned at the sensation, he growled at her, "Ride me."

She scrambled to obey, grabbing the arm of the chair for balance and pulling her legs up to rest her weight on the seat, then she bounced on his thick length, driving it further into her, smothering her screams in his neck.

He reached up to tug her ponytail, roughly pulling her head back, glaring at her, "I told you those moans are mine. I want to hear them."

At her downward thrust he slammed up into her and a scream was ripped from her throat, ringing in the air and reverberating off the walls.

His answering smile made her heart tumble.

"Good girl. Louder." He grabbed her ass, drilling deeper into her and she couldn't stifle the shout his thrust expelled.

She rode him, hard but steady, legs shaking from exertion, he was perceptive as always and she found herself being lifted once more and turned until she was placed on the desk, her ass hiked up in the air.

Her empty hole was filled again as he slid into her, his hands forcing her to bend further until her chest was flush against the table, her ass high in the air.

She could feel everything as he plunged into her over and over, merciless as he drove his cock into her. He felt even larger from this angle and she scratched across the table, breaking apart under his onslaught.

The pleasure started to edge onto too much and she tried to move away, he grabbed her waist dragging her back onto his dick, fucking into her at a speed that made her walls ache.

"Don't run. This is mine. Mine, mine, mine!" He fucked deeper with his insistence, reaching under to rub at her clit smearing her juices over the swollen lump and she felt her orgasm approaching like a freight train. The wave of pleasure crested in a long sweep and then crushed down on her, shaking and sputtering as he shoved her over the edge.

"Ahh--ahhh Young Joon!!"

Those were her last words until her eyes rolled over and pleasure seared through her veins, her walls clamping around his thick length. He thrusted through her contractions, grunting into her ear, mine mine, mine, before following her over the precipice, raining down on her, his hot release coating her walls and leaking out the slides.

He collapsed onto her back, barely catching himself on the desk, arms bracketed over her shoulders.

Panting deeply he swiveled inside her, delighted at her tired moan but he too was sensitive and slowly he pulled himself free from her tight grip, spent cock flopping onto his leg.

Sighing he fell back into his chair as she laid boneless on the desk before he swatted at her ass, with a yelp she turned to pout at him.

"Get off the table or I won't be able to stop myself from taking you again." He warned her, staring down at her swollen and sullied opening, his own cum dripping from her.

She struggled to sit up, blushing at the promise on his face, scampering off and out of his reach, gathering her clothes off the floor. She pulled her skirt back up sans underwear, tucking her shirt back in and buttoning up, then found her shoes and stepped into them. Ignoring the uncomfortable wetness between her legs, she would have to make a trip to the bathroom.

In minutes she was semi decent again, not resembling someone who had just been defiled on a table.

Taking a deep breath to find her courage she looked up at him, still shirtless with his penis hanging from his pants, she pointedly looked back down at the floor.

"Will that be all Vice Chairman?"

"Yes Secretary Kim. You may go."

With a subservient bow, she turned on her heel heading to the door, her hand on the handle then she heard his voice again, dark and raspy, "Oh and Secretary Kim, don't wear that skirt to work again. Next time I won't be so lenient and I'll fuck you right out there in front of everyone."

She gulped at his threat, no promise. Breath hitching at the devious notion.

Swallowing hard she nodded, "Yes Vice Chairman."

Slipping through the door, she walked back to her chair, limping slightly. Body deliciously aching all over.

****************************************************************************************

Back in his office Young Joon smiled as he bent over to pick up his woman's destroyed panties, pocketing them after a deep inhale. Today was starting to be an excellent day.

#whats wrong with secretary kim #lee young joon #kim mi so #office smut #i hate problems #perverted issues #laughed at all the narcissism #funnest part to write

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viva-la-sterek · 6 years ago

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Happy new year, Sterek Fandom! Here is a list of some greatly enjoyable fics created in the fandom this past year! It’s amazing to see Sterek still going strong with events like @sterekweek-2018, @sterek-smooch, @sterekreversebang, @stereksecretsanta, and many more! Thank you so much to the many writers, fanartists, graphic makers and everyone that contributes to fandom! x3

They Say It's Mighty Fine by @the-apocrypha (1/1 | 23,234 | Gen.)

"Hello. This is Alpha Vernon Boyd, calling from Camp Remus about—"

"Derek?" Talia asks, confused. "You're calling about Derek? Is he okay? What happened?"

"Oh, boy." Melissa blows out a breath. "All right. Is he hurt?"

"He's been there for two hours, what could he possibly have—" John pauses. "Hang on, Camp Remus? Like the werewolf camp?"

Where You Still Remember Dreaming by @yodas-yo-yo (15/15 | 95,612 | Explicit)

“What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Balto.”

“What’s yours?”

“Stiles.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. That isn’t his real name. There’s no way. But now he thinks about it, he has a vague memory of someone, probably Uncle Peter, telling him that with the fae, names have power. “I’m Miguel,” he says.

“Lie.”

“Are you trying to tell me your real name is Stiles?”

Stiles runs his tongue across his teeth and considers Derek carefully. “Fair enough,” he says, “Miguel it is.”

Grabbing his groceries and pocketing the change, Derek turns to leave; he’s nearly at the door when Stiles calls out, “By the way, Miguel, if you’re interested, it’s two for one on bags of kibble at the pet store down the street.”

Derek doesn’t look back, doesn’t hesitate, just raises a hand and flips him off on the way out.

Sweet Buns by skoosiepants / @pantstomatch (1/1 | 17,936 | Teen)

Stiles hasn’t seen Derek Hale this close up for over a decade. He looks almost exactly the same, except somehow he seems even bigger and broodier—criminally handsome, with soft-looking dark scruff, heavy brows, light hazel eyes. His gaze zeros in on Stiles almost immediately, and his scowl lightens minutely in what looks like surprise.

Stiles is acutely aware that he has melted butter and cinnamon all over his face, and tries to surreptitiously wipe it with the ends of his sweater-sleeve.

Or-

The a/b/o bakery au with feelings

Scrubbing Bubbles by MargaretKire (8/8 | 46,063 | Explicit)

Stiles thought it would be easy doing janitorial work for an office. At first, it really was. The job only took a few hours in the evenings and it helped pay for rent and college. Sure, Hale Industries took up an entire floor in one of the downtown financial buildings, but the place was new and easy to care for. He didn’t even have to spend much time cleaning the huge corner office, because the trash was nearly always empty and the office itself was spotless, like no one used it.

It was basically the perfect college job. At least, until the boss started staying late.

Give you that thing you can't even imagine by LunaCanisLupus_22 (1/1 | 10,982 | Explicit)

the one where mateless Derek thinks no omega can affect him like they do other alphas and he's about to find out he's very, very wrong.

That Frothing Knob by Pride_of_Six (4/4 | 14,598 | Explicit)

Stiles was wiping down the spout of a machine with a cloth, and Derek almost popped a stiffy right there in the café. It was completely embarrassing that after so many years of control over both his human and wolf side Derek would find himself so… enamoured by this random. Regardless, the wolf wants what the wolf wants, and Derek found himself trying his darnedest to get some sort of a rise out of Stiles, “You sure know how to handle that frothing knob.”

Needless to say, Derek got to see that beautiful blush colouring the barista’s face once again.

hey asshole by @everchanginginks (1/1 | 15,631 | Mature)

The Hales moved in next door more than a year ago and while Cora and Stiles became fast friends, Stiles has yet to meet his best friend's big brother, Derek, who’s been attending college in New York. When Derek comes home for the summer he makes less than a stellar impression. And vice versa.

lube and determination by @bleep0bleep (2/2 | 4,873 | Explicit)

It's a holiday classic: homesick boy wants to make a pumpkin pie while studying abroad, boy realizes the only place to find vegetable shortening is a sex shop, and boy makes fool of himself in front of other boy.

The Quickest Way to a Man’s Heart (is Through His Bottomless Pit) by @isthatbloodonhisshirt (1/1 | 54,167 | Explicit)

Pulling open his apartment door, he let out an involuntary shout when something was quite literally thrust into his chest hard enough to have him almost tip backwards. He managed to right himself while keeping hold of what had been shoved at him and looked up in time to see his neighbour striding back towards his apartment.

“You’re going to fucking kill yourself.”

His door slammed.

Stiles blinked at the other man’s door, utterly confused, and looked down at what he was holding.

It was a plastic bag, full of what felt like tupperware, which made no sense to Stiles because when had his neighbour broken into his house to steal his tupperware?

Sharing Food by @aussiebee (2/2 | 9,564 | Explicit)

Derek is pretty much absorbed into the Stilinski family, one meal at a time.

Have You Tried Turning It Off and On Again? by @sophisticatedyet (1/1 | 8776 | Explicit)

Stiles gets a wrong number call from an old man who can't install his antivirus software. He feels like doing a good deed, so he decides to walk him through it.

Derek is not an old man, just a technologically incompetent twenty-six year old TA who has made enemies of the entire UCLA IT department. The helpful stranger he has just accidentally called is about to become Derek's go-to computer guy.

Bittersweet and Strange, Finding You Can Change (Learning You Were Wrong) by WithMyTeeth (8/8 | 49,983 | Explicit)

When perpetual loner and failwolf extraordinaire Derek Hale finally loses patience with his meddling family, he grabs a confused Stiles Stilinski, unsuspecting diner patron and herbal medicine student, off the street to pose as his new boyfriend. Hijinks ensue.

Companionship by exclamation / @jessicameats (42/42 | 85,697 | Explicit)

Companions are elite pleasure slaves, trained in music, dance, poetry, and, especially, sex. Stiles is the worst student in the history of the companion school, so his teachers decide to get rid of him by claiming he is interested in bondage and selling him to someone who'll keep him restrained and gagged.

Derek Hale is lonely and interested in BDSM. Buying a companion with an interest in submission seemed like a good idea at the time, but it turns out Stiles is not what was advertised. Not only does Stiles hate the thought of BDSM, he also has very strong opinions on what constitutes consent, or lack thereof. But keeping Stiles seems a better option than sending him back to the school, so somehow they will have to work this out between them.

Do Not Go Gentle by @mojoflower (51/51 | 195,878 | Explicit)

Derek Hale, Beacon Hills Alpha and Dom, wakes up in a dark cell already housing another captive – a mute, traumatized sub with a cruel collar around his neck. His only goal is to get them both free of their brutal circumstances; but even as he tries to get his young companion home, a bond between them grows. Nothing comes easily: danger and harrowing echoes of their ordeal shadow every step they take.

too long to the weekend by @dizzy-redhead (1/1 | 5,261 | Explicit)

When Derek agreed to show Stiles around Berkeley, he was thinking of Stiles at fifteen, his childhood friend, the son of his mother's best friend.

He was not prepared for Stiles, all grown up.

Married at First Glance by WonderWolf (14/14 | 63,558 | Explicit)

Married at First Glance gives its participants seven weeks. Seven weeks, starting when they meet and marry their “perfect match”, to decide if they want to stay married or divorce.

For Stiles and Derek though, the challenge lies within trying to pretend that they don’t absolutely hate each other’s guts. When you’re married to a werewolf who dislikes humans, however, this can get a little tricky.

But the sweet, sweet cash reward at the end will be worth it. Right?

(A Married at First Sight AU)

Show Me Your Igloo and I'll Show You Mine by @thisdiscontentedwinter (1/1 | 4,943 | Explicit)

Stiles is finally going to meet the online friend he's had for years.

Instead, the hottest guy in the world walks in.

Broken Car, Lemon Bar by inhystereks / @bibliophile246 (6/6 | 27,884 | Mature)

Stiles got out of his car so whoever was coming wouldn't think he was just being an asshole and stopped in the middle of the road on purpose. He almost laughed when he caught sight of the approaching car. A black Camaro. Which meant Derek Hale was the one slowing down to pull up behind him. The town mechanic and also the scariest fucker around.

Oh, sweet irony.

He was exactly the person Stiles desperately needed and was also terrified of.

Perfect.

The Courting Dilemmas of a Spark and a Werewolf Prince by green-leaf (2/2 | 11,472 | Teen)

Talia smiled calmly. “I am well aware that you are not a werewolf, my darling, but I thought this would be the best reading material for you to use as reference. After all, how would you know how to act during a courting ritual if you do not study it?”

“But I don’t... I’m not…” Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you setting me up with someone?”

Talia rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be obtuse, my darling. Why would I set you up with someone –”

“Oh, well, that’s good, because–”

“–when I have a son who is already perfectly enamored with you?”

The Accused by @drgrlfriend (1/1 | 5,764 | Mature)

“Remember when I thought I was in love with Kate, and she turned out to be a murderous hunter who killed most of my family and blinded me in the process?”

Erica’s voice was cautious. “Derek — what the fuck — of course I remember, how could you even ask? —”

“Well, my mate is worse,” Derek said flatly.

A Little Less Conversation by Lissadiane (1/1 | 5,626 | Gen.)

Derek has learned to be a good Alpha in most of the ways that count. The problem is, now that he's well-adjusted, safe, and happy, it's time to turn his attention to the one thing he's always sucked at: finding a nice, sweet Omega mate.

Lucky for him, Erica and Stiles have ideas on how to make that as painless as possible.

In which Derek Hale is a failwolf and somehow, ends up going speed dating.

Cheers to more Sterek in 2019!!

#eternalsterek #tag: 2018 #tag: year end round up

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legion1993 · 5 years ago

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You’re My Barista!

AN: this was due on September 10th for @etudaire-writes for her 1k writing challenge.. so sorry bout the deadline… please accept this story as my humblest apology

prompt: Barista AU

pairing: chris evans x reader

hear me coming by Yung Joc

masterlist

your life had no real value, or at least it didnt till you got a bartending job at a local bar in Brooklyn.

this bar was popular, lots of celebs went there on a frequent basis. you got their autographs everytime & they all remembered you mostly cause you treated them like normal people & not like a famous person.

this was one thing to help you do your job & keep it. unlike alot of the other girls or baristas who didnt take their jobs seriously.

you got promoted very quickly to head barista within your first month of work at the most popular bar. this bar a few months later got turned into a night club.

business boomed, there was several times where between, before and after your shift you could be found on the dancefloor.

today however was special, you were the only barista allowed to participate in the amateurs dance competition.

Aiden: “do you have a partner or are you gonna wing it tonight YN?”

YN: “wing it of course… thank you for coming in tonight Aiden… with this competition happening, the way this night is gonna go, i have a feeling tips will be huge tonight.”

Aiden: “dont you worry about anything but winning the competition tonight we will have so much more mulah than ever before.”

YN: “hells to the yeah!”

you finished getting into your dance clothes. you pinned your hair back into a half up-half down style.

there was 1hr30min till the competition started, you were gonna head down stairs to check out the competition.

you smiled at the sight, the club rocking, you went over to sign in for the competition. soon found yourself stared at by a bunch of what you were sure to be drunken idiots.

Tim: “your going into this competiton, i had no…”

you had to silence him, you placed your fingers to his mouth & pulled him round the corner.

YN: “the boss wanted to let me showcase my talents on the stage tonight. the boss has seen me dancing and singing while doing nightly clean up. so he took me aside a week ago and told me about the competition. i have to do this… to show the community that i’m more than just a barista, that i have more hidden talent & i’m not ashamed of it…”

Tim: “whats your song for the night?”

YN: “hear me coming by Yung Joc… make sure it started shortly after i get on the stage and make sure to drag it out…”

Tim: “you got it… and hey rock the house Canary…”

You smiled as you went back to the floor & fell in love with the sights and sounds of the club booming.

the people oblivious to who you were, when a few nights ago you had been serving drinks at the bar and tomorrow you would go back to that, but a few nights ago a man had taken interest in you that night, you only knew his first name: Chris.

Chris, Robert & Sebastian were just coming into the club, Chris had told the guys about the fantastic barista that he had met. he now hoped he would see you again.

Chris: “god i hope she is working tonight…”

Sebastian: “you’re really hung up on this girl aren’t you?”

Chris did the coat check making sure he still had his wallet… the 3 amigos walked inside, the competition just 5 minutes to starting. being a barista had its perks like free shots during your shift, your only dislike was how there were snobby idiotic drunk pervs who constantly would hit on you.

Accross the room the DJ had stopped spinning to MC the evening.

Dj: “alrighty how we doing tonight?”

A thunderous applause with cheering errupted from the crowd.

Dj: “that’s good to hear. So much energy in the room tonight, this is a very very special evening. Tonight is the first annual amateurs dance competition. Can I have my random selectomatic for the contestants select the first dancer of the night.”

While the selectomatic was going, Roberts attention turned to Chris, Robert didn’t want his friend to be alone for the rest of his days.

Robert: “if you & her feel the same way, marry the girl bro. You deserve to be happy.”

Chris couldn’t agree more. He knew Rob had his back, but agreed non-the-less he was gonna marry you if he ever found you again. The guys stopped talking and watched the wheel of candidates stop spinning.

DJ: “folks our first dancer is a sassy lady, who has graced this floor many a time with her presence in both serving and dancing, but has stated that if any man knows what she is dancing to, she invites you to join her. Ladies and gentlemen give it up for Canary.”

You were walking to the floor through the crowd you helped yourself to a shot before you did. Chris was watching your form from behind, the song intro started & just as you had done but a few hours before you did your intro.

Chris’ head snapped up as he watched the lights appear on your face. Rob & Seb noticed his change, also noticing Chris getting up & walking towards the floor.

Chris felt his heart jump up when he saw you. You had already started, but Chris joined in just as you came out of your spin.

Chris (in a whisper): “step up 3d scene… Let’s get this done, canary.”

You understood so now to accommodate two people, doing every step in sequence and rhythm to the other. Chris had his arms around you as you slid down his body.

You slid across the floor earning a roaring applause from the crowd. Chris after the end of the second verse turned the routine into a dance off. For he broke away from you & danced his ass off.

The look in his eyes matched yours exactly. You both had fallen to the ground by the time the song was done. The crowd errupted with applause. You were the only person in the room who at that moment was close enough to hear Chris ask you this question.

Chris(out of breath): “marry me!”

Those words were enough to have both of you get up & go to a secluded booth. Robert & Sebastian waited a few moments before they followed.

Chris: “what was a barista doing in a dance competition?”

Chris asked as you went behind the counter to grab 2 glasses and pour 2 drinks.

Yn: “my boss told me too. I love to dance. I will be on that dancefloor when I’m on my breaks, before and after my shifts. I just wanted people to see my talent instead of staying in the shadows.”

Chris: “I meant what I said on the floor, marry me my beautiful barista. Marry me and make me the luckiest guy in the world.”

Yn: “yes!”

You got up with Chris on your heels, you gestured to the DJ to cut the music for a few moments so you could make an announcement.

YN: “so about 2 ½ years ago I moved here to Brooklyn. I got a job, this job soon became my one true passion. My name is YN, but most of you here will know me as Canary, that’s my dance persona. I’m not a professional dancer by trade, instead I’m a barista. Maybe it will make more sense if I do this.”

You bowed your head sliding off your wig. The crowd gasped for now they understood.

YN: “i love to dance, its that easy. now if you want to get my autograph or something ill be at the bar doing what i also love to do, serving drinks at the best nightclub in all of brooklyn. but one more thing, a few moments ago i got asked a very special question by a man whose heart led him here to meet me, apparently it was fate cause i’m engaged people. so free shots at the bar to celebrate! DJ keep those beats coming showcase the talent that is in the crowd tonight!”

you were then kissed passionately by Chris, this made the crowd errupt with congrats and laughter. the beats continued, you went to the bar and started pouring shots, eventually Chris joined you back there to give his lovely fiance a hand.

your boss was so moved and touched that he gave Chris a job as your asistant and fired the incompetant girl who never helped.

your eyes wandered to meet his as he continued to stand by your side helping to make drinks and clean glasses.

Chris: “ill take a shot with my lovely fiance!”

You poured your strongest shot mix into 2 doubles. everyone stopped to watch as you both cheers and took the shots.

~in the morning if you were gonna remember anything, you were gonna remember getting the best almost birthday gift ever~

#1kwriting challenge #etudaire-writes

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woodsbane · 7 years ago

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Have you been apart of the sterek fandom forever? Do you want some nostalgia? Well here are some fics that if you’ve been around you have probably read over and over, and here they are again. AKA the sterek fic rec thats been a long time coming. If you’re relatively new, I suggest these as they have kind of been the top sterek fics since the relationship began. Enjoy!

Fireman Derek’s Crazy Pie (Cheeseburger Baby) 17,698 | Teen and Up

“He can't blame me for the fact that I live in a building full of people united in the singular effort to ogle Hot Fireman as often as humanly possible."

Laura laughs, loud and echoing in the empty restaurant.

"Hot firemen can make a girl do crazy things," she agrees, nodding towards her brother's name on the menu. "Derek won't let me date anyone from his company, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the eye candy."

"Send them my way," Stiles suggests, finally loading up a forkful of pie.

"Apparently I'm incompetent enough that I need to be babysat at all times, because it would be cheaper than dispatching a truck every time I try to use a kitchen appliance."

According to Plans 72,744 | E

Five times Stiles and Derek pretend to be boyfriends, and the one time they didn't have to pretend at all. (Or: in which Stiles' plan for senior year is completely ruined by a supernatural creature stalking him.)

By Any Other Name 33,090 | E

He doesn't know his name, he doesn't know who he is, and neither does the werewolf he's on the run with. But he's pretty sure they hunt monsters, because they seem to be really good at it.

Moonwalkers 531,781 | E

Stiles had his entire Seven Years of Hogwarts all planned out:

Prank and Prank Hard. Woo Lydia Martin. Avoid detention and Potions at all cost. Have crazy fun.

Enter brooding werewolf to send this plan to the bottom of the Black Lake.

(Sacred) In the Ordinary (THIS IS MY PERSONAL FAVORITE) 78,759 | E

The Pack, after college, graduate school and the starting of careers, comes back to Beacon Hills. Nothing's gotten less complicated after all this time. Based on a kink meme prompt that grew legs and got serious. Note: This is a whole lot of pack!fic with a very slow build Derek/Stiles.

There’s Monsters at Home 83,575 | E

“How did you get past the wards?” Derek had put them up, with Peter’s grudging assistance, after the Alpha pack had made themselves at home a few times too many.

The guy pulled a face. “You mean the wards a five-year-old girl with the mental ability of a goldfish could deconstruct?” He blinked wide eyes at Derek. “Gee, I don’t know. It’s bound to go down as one of life’s great mysteries.”

Derek despised him.

Hide of A Life War 26,102 | E

“We have received confirmation that there is a hostage situation in progress at a warehouse compound two hours out of Los Angeles, following a multiple-vehicle pileup on Highway 101 this morning...”

The one in which Stiles has lived to (legal) adulthood and, along the way, become a bit of a badass himself.

Baking My Way Into Your Heart 178,630 | M

Derek is an uptight college student, all work and no play. His carefully scheduled life is thrown kilter when his regular barista is replaced with someone new.

Living With Lycanthropy 44,905 | E

AKA: The Sterek Rival Bakeries AU

Wherein they both own bakeries, Stiles tries not to run his grandmother's legacy into the ground, Laura wants to be a better alpha, and Derek can't seem to get Stiles' attention the regular way - so naturally, he accidentally initiates a prank war.

(Or, if Teen Wolf was more like Gilmore Girls, with everyone far too invested in whether the Hale boy and the Sheriff's kid will work it out, and Laura Hale wrote a handbook for alpha werewolves.)

Pack Dynamic for Dummies 36,682 | Teen

Stiles isn't sure how a Pack is supposed to work, but he's pretty sure that this this disorganized jumble of people and events doesn't quite qualify. He has to hand it to Derek though, he keeps trying. And Stiles has never been one to stand quietly on the sidelines.

Gravity’s Got Nothing on You 83,979 | E

“Three weeks,” Derek says.

“Still don’t want to,” Stiles says.

“I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so…

“How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“

“My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.”

“A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.

There is a brotherhood 21,004 | E

So far, college has taught Stiles three things:

1) Eight am classes are cruel and unusual and should be avoided at all costs, even if it means having to enroll in something truly hideous instead, like Econ 101.

2) Dorm security is just as tight as Stiles’ orientation leader had promised it would be, and the dude guarding Scott’s dorm in particular does not respond well to bribes.

3) Mrs. McCall clearly had no clue what she was talking about when she’d insisted that Scott and Stiles needed to branch out and room with strangers, so it’s all her fault that Scott ended up with a total dick of a roommate and Stiles got stuck all the way across campus with some guy who has a girlfriend two towns over and is thus never around.

Or, the one where pledge brothers Stiles and Scott start a prank war with Derek Hale's fraternity.

Hope is the thing with feathers 28,959 | Teen and up

Stiles is ten when he saves the Hales from their burning home and Derek from a wolfsbane bullet, and this establishes a pattern that seem to continue indefinitely.

"Then he's facing a burning home, and he wraps the hood of his sweatshirt around his mouth before he pushes the door open and steps inside. There's Mr. Hale asleep - he hopes asleep - on the couch, next to - Stiles thinks that's his brother but there are so many Hales, who can keep track. He rushes over and starts shaking him, can see the rise and fall of the man's chest so he knows he's alive, but he's not waking up. He shoves away his hood so he can shout, "Mr. Hale! You have to get up, there's a fire! Mr. Hale, get up!" Nothing, he's not even twitching, both of them taking in deep even breaths like they're having the most peaceful of rests, and Stiles is going to cry. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!" There's a moment, where all Stiles can hear is the blood rushing in his ears and not the roar of the flames or the creak of wood, then with a violent, silent pop it's all back and both of the men are gasping awake, eyes open and jumping to their feet. "

Lead You Home Again 49,962 | E

The first time Derek meets Stiles, the kid’s brown eyes are wide, and he’s staring up at him with a mischievous grin as he tugs at the arm of Derek’s first ever Batman figure like he’s trying to separate it from Batman’s body.

An alternate take on Teen Wolf, wherein Stiles and Derek are childhood friends, and things unfold from there.

Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble 13,363 | Teen and up

When potions prodigy Stiles blows up one cauldron too many during one of his ‘experiments’, he gets assigned to making Wolfsbane Potion for the new groundskeeper. Which wouldn’t be so bad if the guy wasn’t you know, terrifying.

This is Ridiculous 35, 818 | E

There's a unicorn in Beacon Hills. A fricken' unicorn. In fricken' Beacon Hills, California. And it turns out that unicorns aren't drawn towards virgins in a happy-go-lucky let-me-lay-my-not-at-all-metaphorical-horn-in-your-lap way. No. They kill them. And guess who's the only virgin idiotic enough to get sucked into the Beacon Hills supernatural scene? Stiles, that's who.

Mating Habits of the Domesticated Werewolf 35,458 | M

Derek doesn’t do pining. He doesn’t. So when it becomes clear that Stiles is much more interested in having Derek as a new best friend than a boyfriend, he puts on his big boy pants and makes it fucking work. He becomes the best goddamn friend a spastic teenager could ever hope to have.

Wayward and Down 32,331 | E

Pack is family. Family is everything.

This is Stiles' senior year, and it's nothing he could have imagined.

That time it took not one, but two separate troll attacks and a malevolent coven of witches for Stiles to figure out how he felt about Derek.

Tremble 58,990 | E

Stiles may be cursed but that doesn’t mean he’s going to lay down and die. He’s going to fight. He won’t stop, he can’t stop. If he does, they win.

Permanent Fixture 80,777 | E

Derek is Scott's older brother. Stiles is Scott's best friend. Derek is falling in love with Stiles. This is a bit of a problem.

Bogarted 3,126 | M

Alternate Title: "Dick Failwolf, Private Eye."

(Or, Derek's hit with a Film Noir curse, which forces him to narrate his own life in luridly-detailed prose.)

DILF 30,871 | E

"Today is Scott's first day of kindergarten and Derek is terrified."

A Thousand Fiery Suns of Angst- Just Press Play 20,934 | Teen and Up

All Stiles wants from life is to learn to control his magic, keep his grades up, and not die horribly while saving Beacon Hills from supernatural threats. It's all going pretty well until Derek Hale, werewolf extraordinaire, has to go and ask him on a date. That asshole.

Stilinski’s Home For Wayward Werewolves 35,197 | Teen and Up

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding:

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

I Can’t Get Enough (Of You) 10,480 | Teen and Up

Fact: Derek Hale hates Potions.

There are a number of reasons why this is so. For one thing, Potions is really not Derek's strong point. (There's a reason he's banned from using the kitchen at home.) For another, the Potions classroom is dank and dim and spending more than an hour down there at a time makes Derek’s skin crawl.

And then there’s Stiles Stilinski.

He doesn’t need an explanation.

The Socioeconomic Repercussions of Mutually Assured Destruction 15,285 | E

"The trouble with having the kind of brain that likes to write essays on male circumcision for an Economics class, is that it also likes to turn PowerPoint presentations for Biology into odes on the perfection of notorious bad boy Derek Hale’s backside."

Linski’s Late Night Antidote to Lame 13,865 | Teen and Up

Where Stiles has his own college radio show, and the mysterious, faceless Derek is his number one fan.

Also there's this really hot guy he keeps meeting in the library who totally hates his guts.

28. Every Step You Take 49,347 | M

Stiles accidentally ends up magically bound to Derek. It’s super.

We’ve Written in Volumes (In Blood and Scars and Ink) 25,935 | E

Stiles is on his back on hard-packed dirt. He's cold and there are leaves stuck to his neck and there's a four inch gash in his side that he thinks he can feel his ribs through. There's so much blood around him he feels like he's floating on a pond and everything is so much dimmer above him than it was a minute ago, which is saying something because he's in the dark center of the forest in the middle of the night. And the worst of it is that he's alone, totally alone with the smell of his own blood drowning him and the soft side of him run through by a tree.

As his eyes slip shut, the last thing he thinks is, "This is going to kill my dad."

Electricity in the Contact 27,067 | E

In which Derek has been invited to the Greater Pacific Northwest Alpha Symposium (that's not what it's called, Stiles, stop saying that), and showing up unattached would mean an arranged marriage. When the rest of the pack objects, he agrees to let Stiles come along to pose as his mate. Derek is reasonably sure that he's not going to make it out of this weekend alive.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows 22,322 | Teen and Up

“Derek,” Stiles groans. “You have me. You’ve always had me, you absolute moron, how many physically impossible feats of life-saving heroics do I have to perform before you get it?”

can’t be hateful gotta be grateful 6,260 | Teen and Up

"Be cool, Dad, we've decided to con Grandma."

(Or, the one where the Stilinski men drag Derek to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma's and she gets the right wrong idea.)

Noticed 35,179 | Teen and Up

Stiles left on a Tuesday. Nobody noticed.

Losers 34,234 | E

Where Derek is new to college, eager to spend his time learning, and Stiles is everything he didn't want in a room mate. He's loud, he's into sports, and he keeps trying to make Derek do things.

Or, the one where Derek falls for a jock, Erica will cut you if you disturb her studying, and Jackson is a closeted romantic who pretends to hate everything.

35. Under Your Skin 12,207 | E

"So you decided hepatitis would be fun"; or the one about tattoos, waffles and ghouls.

#sterek #sterek fic #sterek fic rec #teen wolf #tw #sorry for the shit banner guys im not good at making online art #but yeah my reading needs to be updated so i might do another one #but these are just some of my all time faves

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beaubcxton · 7 years ago

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“You’re so brew-tiful, Snow.”

For @recgulus on her birthday. I love you & I hope you enjoy this 5.8kish mess. What is canon, right? Also, I made Simon say Crowley because I really like the word even if it doesnt have any context here. This is rushed but like, enjoy.

It happens on a Monday. Of course, it does Nothing good ever happened on a Monday. Simon should have known to keep his head low on a day like this. Children sobbing was the welcome tune that announced the beginning of a new day, fingers stumbled on the steering wheel; a sign that the night before might have been exhilarating but now was just, tiring. Mondays were like the thorns in a bed of roses.

Back in the day when his dad was still decent, his father warned him to take care of himself. ‘Nothing like a Monday, mate. Can’t smoke or drink, can ya?’ And Simon had smiled toothily at his father, shrugging off the advice like it was dust that had found its way onto his coat.

He really really shouldn’t have done that.

Reason 1: His mom died two years ago in June on a Monday.

Reason 2: Agatha broke up with him last week. Surprise, surprise! It was on a Monday!

Reason 3: He just spilled hot coffee on the fittest guy in the world on a fucking Monday aka today.

---

“Simon!!”

Feet wheeling automatically at the familiar voice, I extend my arms right in time for Penelope Bunce to fling herself against my chest. Her giggles send a row of vibrations in me that shudder each bone. I-weirdly- find myself inhaling her hair as if to assure myself she’s there. (She smells of watermelon and ink. Typical of her to do something study related even on vacation ) I shift uncomfortably in the hug, her phone digging in my arm.

Pen is my best friend. Been since we were tiny tots. She'd been gone for nearly a month. Being the only person who included me in social ongoings also known as parties where you could get wasted, Penny was the Jake to my Boyle. When conversations had the opportunity to become awkward and stifling, Pen was pretty cool to divert my attention. We'd video called at least five times a week this month.

She pulls back, grins still wide on both of our faces and surveys her surroundings.

It’s earlier than I would like it to be; it’s just barely afternoon and I’ve been awake since dawn. It’s a tiny cafe, huddled alone with its vivid hues of orange and brown amongst the grey concrete building. Good for business. Unlike the outdoors, the interior of the cafe’s temperature induced warmth and placidity. I usually notice several kids hunched and pored over their studying material. Textbooks that hid their anxious face from view are stacked on the tables, their coffees long since drained but I rarely pay attention to it, opting for my ‘want a free refill, mate?’ chime. Employed at the beginning of fall, I was given only a few days to suit the shop with the atmosphere outside. Pumpkins decorate the cashier desk and they’ve been carved to look like famous people. My favorite one is the one that looks like Miley Cyrus. Strings of lights, the ones you get in IKEA fall from the ceiling casting a mellow glow in the gloominess of the upcoming winter.

“I can’t believe you work here now.” She huffs, still having a staring competition with one of the pumpkins. Taylor Swift must have won because my best friend snaps her gaze towards me as if waiting for an explanation. I know where she's going with this and I have no intention whatsoever to get into it. It'll just end with her storming out or worse so I just hum in agreement or whatever she expects from me.

Surprisingly between tucks of hair and another staring completion with Shawn Mendes, she tells me, “It’ll be good for you. I hope, at least. You’ve been a mopey mess since Agatha, now don’t give me that look Si. You know it’s true. I told you not to get involved with her but-“

I will my jaw and heart to loosen. “Missed you Pen.”

Her teasing and motherly grin could light the whole shop up. “Micah and I missed you too.”

My smile wavers. Right. Her boyfriend in America. Really decent bloke, always up for the occasional drag though he’s a right wanker when he’s reading a book. We get along swimmingly. And it's not like I like like Penny but whenever she talks about Micah, it reminds me of my recent break up with Agatha. Someone who I thought I'd spend my life with. For fuck's sake, we're twenty-three. I'd be Pinocchio if I told you that I didn't go ring shopping.

“Simon?” I run a hand through my hair and grimace when it comes out sticky. I haven't talked about Agatha since she broke up with me.

“I’m alright,” I say and conclude the statement by sending her a shaky smile. Penny looks wary but doesn’t do something weird like putting her hand on my shoulder or lending me a hug. I’m grateful for it but also resentful.

The door tinkles and-

“Simon Snow?”

My first thought is ‘Fuck me.’ My second is ‘I’m going to act like a dunce. Crowley, this boy knows my name.’ And my third is nothing.

I go blank. Nada and nil, both poetic wonders dance from my tongue. Penny pinches my arm. I can see her smirking and hiding a giggle but I don’t reproach her for it. Not when Adonis is standing right in front of me, his muscular form a barrier against the cool wind he’s brought with the open door. With slanted eyebrows and thin lips, he looks like someone you’d see in portraits at castles, despite the smirk on his face.

“Simon Snow?” He calls out again and I watch mesmerized as his mouth opens and pronounces my name. I flush. It’s probably in my best intentions if I don’t drool over a customer and with hardly any cool, I raise my arm up like a moron and squeak out a “Here?” like we’re kids and back to roll call.

Super Fit bloke- as I recently decided to call him in my head- shifts his searching glance and focuses on me and I almost reel back in surprise. He’s wearing a hat that shadows his features but even blind, I’d recognize him anywhere. His eyes are grey and unlike anything that I’ve seen. It’s like a storm in there and I’m captivated by observing them. It’s so different watching them up close, up person in daylight than stalking his Instagram profiles at 2am. And his hair is carefully messed up in an extravagant manner, dark and shiny locks peeking out lazily.

I'm speechless. This is the best day of my life.

“Bastillon Pitch?”

My mouth blurts the words out but I suspect even if I had time, I’d say those same words. That same name. Do you know who is standing in my-not mine but you get the point- coffee shop right now? Award winning and three-time Oscar nominee, Bastillon Pitch. He has nine million and seven thousand followers on Instagram (not that I would know) and he’s been called to Ellen which he’s refused, by the way. For all my understanding (and obsessive knowledge) about him, I could never understand why he would do that. I mean, who refuses Ellen? That’s like refusing chocolate. Only a few months older than me, he’s the youngest actor to star in so many bloody iconic movies.

The man grimaces and looks around to see if anyone’s heard my exclamation but that would be ridiculous because the only people in the room are him, Pen, me and two ladies with floral blouses and wrinkled fingers. The latter are deep in conversation and are stealing glances at us occasionally to check whether we’re eavesdropping. They’re loud so that’s taken care of. In the seventeen minutes that they’ve been there, I’ve learned that they are lesbians whose gay son eloped with a girl. I'd like to say that's the strangest thing I've heard but it doesn't even rank top ten in today's conversations.

“I go by Baz and shut up, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Rathe dumb, aren’t you? You’re the barista here?” His voice is smooth and dark like wine drunk on a summer night. The tone, however, implies he thinks I’m incompetent. It’s like he’s trying to convey, ‘You? You’re the barista here? Seriously?’ I feel like I’ve been slapped. Hurt and embarrassment course through me simultaneously.

It’s not every day that one gets to meet their fucking celebrity crush but well (I like boys too, you see) I imagine I’m handling it rather well, never mind that my face is probably beet red and I’m this close to stammering. Don’t give me that look. ‘Baz’ Pitch is literally an icon. He’s acted in several movies and he’s so good at it that I get goosebumps watching him. And Crowley, I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t the fittest person I’d seen in my life. 10/10 ass and a perfect asshole. I don’t think I can handle his fucking beautiful lilt this early in the morning what with Agatha presence still ghosting my mind. Bastillon Pitch or not.

“Yes.” I bite. “Why?”

“Just expected a bit more, I suppose. Most baristas have a uniform” He breaks off suddenly and stretches hard like, his shirt literally goes up and I have a view of strained muscles. Crowley. I’m staring at it so hard I’m not aware he’s speaking till he coughs. Shit. I want to wipe that smirk off.

“You seem like the type of guy to like Brooklyn Nine-Nine but you don’t even wear a uniform so I can’t consider you a true fan. Seriously Snow, who wears that to work?” His mouth is opening and closing but all I hear from him is the sign ‘I’m a prick.’

“Sorry, we can’t look like posh assholes all the time.”

He rolls his eyes again at my attempted jab. “You-“

“You know,-“ I interrupt loudly, “-I wonder if you keep rolling your eyes because you’re trying to find a brain back there.”

The asshole grins and I’m disarmed by the beauty of it for a moment. His teeth do not contrast well with his tanned appearance. They look almost yellow in the dim light of the coffee shop but they’re sharp. I oddly wonder if he’s played a vampire. But then I know he’s not. I’ve watched all of his movies. Twice. Okay, thrice. (And maybe a few more times after that)

“Touche” As he walks towards me, I can swallow my disgust. He’s so damned tall. Seriously what was the point of these people with their ridiculous heights of six foot when I, a mere mortal was just five foot one? (I never said I wasn't dramatic.) “I didn’t expect it from you. Soft, aren’t you Snow?”

Pen, the traitor is nicely backing away.

“Soft?” I splutter manically even though I know being soft is wonderful but Bastillion Pitch cannot know in any universe that Simon Snow is soft. It would not bode well on his impression of me.

He grins wolfishly. “Shame.”

Shame? Shame? What does that even mean?

His sudden bark of laughter shakes the bloody walls. “Flustered, mate?”

Oh. Oh. Pen has long since retreated, thankfully because I wouldn’t feel like quitting if she was here. It’s just like the universe to make the (EX) love of my life an arse who has no consideration for my feelings. I admonish myself for sounding like a sap.

“I only get flustered in front of cute. Hot, hot people.”

Predator smirk combined with no reply sets me on edge. “What do you want?”

“Good grades but I already have them. Do you, Snow?”

I try not to let the bitterness seep into my tone. Of course, acting isn’t enough for the Great Bastillon Pitch. He’d have to study and rank too, possibly. I couldn’t understand why he’d need to work with all that money.

“Stop calling me that.”

Damn, how does he raise just one eyebrow?

“It’s a name, Snow. Surely, even you know what their purpose it?”

What? I’m so confused right now. I rack my brains and ask myself if I’ve done anything to warrant such behavior but I come out short. Did I bump into him on the street and not apologize? Kick his dog? No to both because I’d remember being a shithead. I don’t want to be on bad blood with Bastillon Pitch, however, so I try to rein my irritation in. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot.

“What are you majoring in?”

He stares at me. Blinks. Stares. “I want to become a lawyer.” He draws out the words like he thinks I’m a moron.

Who knew it’d be hard to have a conversation with Bastillon Pitch? Not me.

“I think you playing a vile asshole has rubbed on your in real life personality.” This time, I’m teasing.

His laughter is a sound I’ve not heard before. It’s warm and cold, both at once like he’s rarely had the opportunity to full on laugh, uncontrolled and unpracticed and he’s not sure how to excel in the skill. I think that irks him, not being able to control it because he stops quickly though I won't forget how, for a moment, his eyes crinkled shut and how his fingers curled in. I shiver.

It’s like someone has clicked a button on his personality. His face becomes a mask of nonchalance. “Coffee.” He orders. “Tall and with milk.”

Disappointment finds its way to me. Despite the ongoing insults, it was exciting to spar with someone. I’m just usually bored here. I grind the dusty little machine on (it’s certainly not Starbucks material) and waits for the hum that it’s working before I assemble the milk and sugar, distinctly aware that eyes are trailing me.

“You’d be a good lawyer,” I say suddenly as I pour a teaspoon of milk in, anxious to continue the conversation. His eyes widen. “Make people all mad and that. That be two pounds.”

His lips twitch as he silently hands over the money. I draw up the bill and as I’m handing over the coffee, full to the brim in a paper cup. His nails brush the desk as he leans forward, breath warm against my cheek as he murmurs, “You’ve got a nice arse, Snow.”

And because, I’m Simon Snow, because I’m a walking disaster, because Bastillon Pitch is an asshole who deserves it, I splutter and my hands shake for one infinite second before the cup goes down, falling and the piping beverages jumps onto Baz’s leather clothes.

Times stops in that standstill of a second. Nothing moves. In that second, I’m not an idiot but the spell is broken and I realize what an A class clown I am.

“You’ve got a little coffee there.” I murmur, mortified as Bastillon Bloody Pitch stares at himself for several seconds before his charged animal eyes hook me in place.

“What the fuck, Snow?”

I splutter maniacally, flinging drool here and there. Sending a plea to the ground to swallow me up, I stumble in my haste to get some towels. I start to dab one on his chest and flush when I realize I’m essentially touching his breasts. I am touching Bastillon Pitch, Oh my Gosh.

Do not think about that, Simon Snow. Do not think about that.

Baz pushes me off and tugs the towel and wipes himself. He’s snarling and his eyes have darkened but I (shockingly) notice pink coloring his cheeks.

“Rubbing it won’t help, Bastillon. You’re supposed to dab-”

“I reckon you’d know a lot about this. This your ninth time dropping coffee on a customer? And I go by Baz, how many fucking times-”

I raise my hands and back away. He seems almost embarrassed but I do not want to be in the way of an angry ‘Baz’ Penny, please be there. “I’m sorry. Coffee’s on the house.”

“THERE IS NO COFFEE, TO BEGIN WITH!”

Well, he has a point there. I concede defeat and murmur apologies. Baz drops the towel on the floor like a wanker and storms out, the door slamming shut behind him and the texture of frost whipping across my face for a millisecond as I process the previous events.

The old ladies are looking at me and grinning. I bury my hands in my face and groan.

I could not catch a break.

---

“Snow!”

Fuck. What is he doing here? I shut my eyes for a second, try to collect any calm in this universe and curse softly.

“SNOW!”

I move out from the kitchen and press my apron, hastily. The warm aroma of coffee ground hits me as I step out the door and face to Bastillon.

“Hey.”

He sneers. “Where's the apron?”

My eyebrows pinch together and I look down at myself, just to double check. I had worn it.

“What are you on about, mate? It's right here.” I say and gesture to my clothes.

Surprisingly, Baz flushes and growls out, “Where's my apron, you moron?”

I know he's trying to be a really tough boy and crap but whenever he growls, it sounds really cute, almost like he's imitating a baby bear. I have the sudden urge to pinch his cheeks and coo over him.

“Snow!”

He even has the personality of a bear.

“Sorry. Lost in thought. What did you say?”

Baz shutting his eyes will forever be one of the most dramatic and exaggerated actions in the world. It's like one of those slow things. First, he twists his fingers and they curl around the table. Then, his lips purse. All the while his eyes are slowly shutting. Maybe, he took classes for that.

“I said,” He manages to say. “Where the fuck is my apron?”

Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. “Look mate, I can make you a cup of perfectly fine coffee, provided you don't startle me like-”

“Urgh!” Baz implores to some deity. “I’m working here, you dumbass.”

I freeze.

There is no way I heard correctly.

“What?”

“Fucking Crowley.” He murmurs, throwing his look downwards.

Just when you think life’s picking up, when you finally move on from the incidents of yesterday and go a few hours without this complete and utter arse, Bastillon Pitch drops in and says, “Hey! I‘m going to work with you. ”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Crowley, I'm going to need to tell my aunt about you.”

Somewhere inside me, my heart stumbles. “What?”

“My aunt?” Baz smirks. “The owner?”

Are you serious? Someone up there had it out for me. Embarrassment rings through me.

Pinching my lip, I have a revelation about what I must do. Alrighty then. I give him my apron and resign. Guns and Roses blare in the background as I do this mighty and heroic deed. I leap off the platform, pluck my sunglasses off and kiss the mole on Bastillon face because no matter how much of an asshole he is, I will forever be attracted to him before I pull away and slam the door on my way out.

Well, I imagine all of this. Could you tell? I really cannot believe my luck. Now, his aunt who I assumed was a perfectly good woman is going to fire me and I’ll live on the streets for all eternity. Staring at how happy Bastillon looks with the bombshell he's just dropped doesn't help me in the slightest. Moving to get him an apron, I throw it towards him and cross my arms as a thought strikes me.

“When did you start?”

Chuckling low and warm, Baz pulls the apron on top of himself and smiles. “And here I thought you were dull. Yesterday.”

Xxxxxxxxx

We’ve settled into a routine. Baz and I. It’s really just one rule though we’ve found it hard to obey. Do not interfere with the other.

Sometimes, I’m making coffee when Baz leg brushes against mine and while both of us turn pink, I choose not to say anything while he goes into a rage about how I’m an imbecile who hogs all the space and how ‘you hog all the space with your fucking stupidity, Snow!’

So I’d retaliate. The other day, for example, he’d asked me for a cuppa. He was on break and by obligation, I had to make him one so I set out to make a cup of tea when this brilliant idea struck me. I boiled the gatorade up and put it in a cup with sugar on its side. Waiting patiently as he raised his eyebrows, sipped the tea and then, spat it out, I couldn’t help but feel vicious satisfaction.

We play a bunch of games too. Not the friendly ones that children in playgrounds do but the ones that people with no lives and who thrive on annoying their rival do.

One of them is the growling game; every time, we roast each other and someone doesn’t retort but growls, loses. The other is The Quick Game; we have a tally on who serves the most customers. So far, Baz is winning by a marginal. (a lot) My favorite is the Embarrassment Game; when we’re talking to customers, we tell them ridiculous things about the other. Baz, of course, started it first. He had told one of my favorite customers that I’m a rather dull kid and his aunt had hired me in pity. I had told the next customer he was gay. He, surprisingly, didn’t have anything to say to that and we haven’t played the game since.

---

“You’d think that a barista would know how to make a cup of coffee.” Baz is saying to his aunt, Fiona who is coincidentally my boss. Did I mention that before? We’re at her office, not because she’s called me though that was what I was led to believe, cue angry glare at the boy on my left. “But Snow dropped the whole fucking mug, sorry, freaking mug on me on my first day and I had to go home.” Baz added, opting for a pout.

Crowley, he looks brilliant. Bugger. We’re playing the Embarrassment Game again and I am not ready, for once.

I try to display some professional mannerism. Might as well look good before I was fired. Still, I feel melancholic as I rack my brains about my future prospects. What would I work as now? Who’d want to hire me? The guy who can’t hold a cup of coffee? I wouldn’t hire me. I can’t help but feel resentment towards Baz.

“Simon.” Fiona reproaches, leaning forward, hands crinkling some papers as she does so. I liked Ms. Pitch. Despite her hubris and ridiculous attire; fluffy clothes that suited a ball venue and not a coffee shop, she was sweet when you (really) got to know her. Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine her to be connected to Baz Pitch. It was typical of my luck for my rival’s aunt to be my boss. “I am very disappointed in you.”

My eyes shut, ashamed. You’d think I’d be used to it, right? The shouts that I’m not good enough but-

“You should have poured the whole bloody machine on his head. He certainly deserves it!”

Baz’s eyes widen proportionally while my mouth drops open.

“What?” We both articulate.

Ms. Pitch goes on as if she hasn’t heard out exclamations. “I thought I couldn’t love you anymore. I was wrong.” Her eyes fixate on me and I stare back, stupefied.

“Go on, then! You have a coffee shop to run.”

As I’m leaving, she says, “And Simon? Expect a raise soon.”

The door slams shut before I can express my stupefied gratitude. I think of going in, again but then I hear Baz’s groans and protests and my feet express a desire to get away, as quickly as possible.

Xxxxx

“Hey, Baz?” I begin, crumpling the cupcake wrapper in a ball and stuff the cake in my mouth. We’re on lunch break now. Sitting right in front of me is Baz though his focus is on his phone and not me. It’s a real pity. Is my sarcasm obvious? I wonder if he’s hungry. Looks like he’s starving. That would explain his pallid color. I know he’d prefer sitting away from me but it’s either here, in the kitchen or outside and attending to people. Every introvert’s worst nightmare. “Baz?”

He rolls his eyes at his phone and cranes his neck upwards. “What, Snow?”

I tsk. He’s like a fucking crab, always ready to bite my head off even though I’m perfectly pleasant. I suspect that even if the Queen of England were to knock, he’d slam the door in her face, grumbling about something.

“Do you ever eat?”

Surprise flashes in his eyes before he scoffs. “No, Snow. I don’t. I’m a vampire and I drink blood.”

I grin toothily at him. They’re probably yellow and red, resultants of the red velvet cupcake and gummy bears I had for lunch.

“Always knew you were a soul-sucking monster.”

Baz turns back to his phone though I can see a hint of a smile at his lips.

---

The other day, word got out that the Bastillon Pitch works at a humble cafe so we’ve been swarmed by teenage girls. Baz, true to his credit, threw them a stellar personality before he said rather dismissively, “We’re closing early! Technical issues.”

I had thrown him a look. “Baz. We worked at a cafe.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

I rolled my eyes and sent his fans a smile but they ignored me. “Can you sign this, Baz?” “Baz! Will you marry me?”

The requests were strange but Bas took them in stride. Soon, we had most of them out but camera lights still flashed in out direction. When we decided to close for the day, Baz and I lazed about in the room. Him working on study material and I worked on getting my Tumblr theme.

“I don't understand what those girls see in you.”

Baz barely spares me a glance as his fingers click the keyboard.

“I’m an actor, Snow.”

“And a real-life vampire.”

Baz grins. Hides it. “What are you studying?”

“I don't go to college anymore.”

“Oh?” Baz seems surprised. “If you wanted money, you could ask-”

I don't know if he's jesting or being genuinely kind but it stings me, regardless. “I don't want to go.”

“Oh.”

---

“Sorry! I’m latte!” The pun comes naturally as I burst in the coffee shop, almost an hour late. The bell tinkles as I run towards the cashier.

Baz is leaning against the counter, no customers in sight. It’s a slow day. But apparently, I’ve made a horrendous mistake as Baz folds his arms over his chest and stares me down, the textbook picture of condescension.

“Thank Crowley” I breathe as I pull over my apron. Normally, I’m not late. I’m really not but today, right as I was about to leave the flat, Agatha comes barging in, tears cascading down her pretty face. Her mascara was smudged so I’d known she had been crying for hours.

“What’s wrong?” I had set her down on the sofa and went off to make some tea. That’s all I’ve been doing lately. Agatha started going on about how she missed me and agreed that maybe, we should have given us another shot.

“Let’s get back together, Si, alright?” Agatha had said, staring at me with those bluebell eyes I had grown so accustomed and fond of seeing.

And then, I had a revelation. I did not want us anymore. It wasn’t so much that I was afraid of being hurt again but something else. I had moved on. It felt weird because I was so used to being in love with her, I forgot the feeling of not loving her. And, this feeling was so great I wanted to giggle but I couldn’t do that, not with Agatha flooding my apartment with her tears so I had steered her out and said very softly, mind you that ‘No, I’m sorry, Aggy but no.”

Now, here I was, still panting and victim to ‘Bastillon Pitch Full On Glare’, something I did not want to ever see. He’d looks like he’s swallowed dung. So fucking angry.

“I met up with Agatha.” I say, shortly. That does not dissuade him in the slightest. If I had to say, he looked even angrier. I had rambled about my ex to him in the past weeks. I wish I hadn’t.

“Oh,” He says cooly. “And, I suppose the lovely pair has gotten together again?”

“I didn’t want to.” I pacify him and he cools down, slightly.

“Oh.” He sounds like Christmas has come early. Wanker.

“I can’t expresso your attitude-”

Baz groans. “Stop with the fucking puns, Snow. You’ve been on them since yesterday.”

“And you’re still not used to it? Oh, bugger.” I mock a sympathetic sigh.

And then out of the blue, he says something that sends my heart which is already pounding a million miles per hour, race again because he’s looking at me like that and the twat leaves the room after he says it, like he knows I can’t chase him after the bombshell he’s just dropped.

He stares me right in the eye and says, disinterestedly, “I’m gay.”

Xxx

Ever since he’s told me he’s gay, I feel like something’s changed between us. Do I tell him I’m gay or bisexual too? It’s gotten awkward. I tried to talk to him and transfer the message that I’m not homophobic to him but he gets all clammy if I’ve walked two steps up to him and begin with ‘Baz?’

Normally, I don’t let this bother me. We get on each other’s nerves. Totally normal if I kept persisting. But he looks genuinely uncomfortable and he probably regrets telling me even though I don’t know why he’s told me in the first place, to begin with. I steer out of his way the rest of the day.

As the day progresses, he gets even more on edge, nearly snapping at an old lady who couldn’t see the menu. I try to manage the orders and let him work near the machines. But after, he kicks the machine that we all know doesn’t work, I give up trying to soothe him.

When two people have filed a complaint, I almost facepalm. My killer headache helps in making my day worse. With that and Baz’s mood swings, there’s nothing more I want but to go back home. But of course, that’s when the day gets worse.

It’s nearly night when Fiona rings us up. She rarely comes to the shop but does her paperwork at home. Efficient and tactical.

Baz picks up the phone and I can hear Fiona’s distant chattering but I focus more on Baz’s darkening face. Suddenly, he slams the phone down and tells me, “Close down.”

“It’s not 8pm, yet,” I state, dumbly.

“Fast, you imbecile.”

“But-”

That is, of course, when the lights flicker off and we’re buried in darkness. Baz’s shadow stands out prominently, in front of me and his groan followed by a curse, splits the air.

“Blackout.” Baz explains when I continue staring as he drops on the ground. I rub my eyes and lean against the counter. This was perfect. Fiona had installed those automatic doors today in the afternoon, the ones that functioned on electricity so we were locked in. Two rivals trapped in a room together. Maybe, once I went insane, psychologists could study me and they’d be shocked with the observations.

And maybe, they'd be surprised at how much I still like Bastillon Pitch.

---

Charcoal darkness has winnowed in and coated us with anxiety and tension. There were no curtains so we’d stumbled behind the counter, afraid and weary.

“Sleep in the kitchen?” I say as we’re munching leftovers.

“You can take the kitchen.” He's talking to me. “I’ll sleep here.”

Scoffing, I nudge him with my foot which apparently sets him off. “Don't be ridiculous, Baz. We’re thin enough to fit in the kitchen.”

It'll be cramped and we’ll be arm to arm but I wager we’ll manage.

Baz tears through the bread with his teeth. “Fine.” He bites off.

My foot starts to sleep so I shake it.

“Would you stop doing that?” Baz murmurs after a few minutes. He sounds agitated as he rubs his head. We’re just sitting in darkness now, doing nothing but analyze each other.

“What?”

“Shaking your fucking foot, Snow. I'm trying to sleep.”

My jaw clenched. He was so infuriating sometimes. “You are not sleeping here.”

“Oh?” Baz scoffs, curling into the wall. “Since when do you care? You’re always running after-”

I let out an angry cry. And I don't think, I do. I want him to shut up. Surging forward, I notice how Baz’s monologue starts to delve. He has his eyes shut, I faintly register before I tilt my head and kiss him.

Bas stills and sags beneath my palms like I’m draining all of the oxygen in him. And Crowley, he’s so warm. I care, I try to tell him. You're the sun and I'm crashing into you. You mean so much to me.

I'm leaning over and when he doesn't respond, I pull away, disappointed and embarrassed. He's breathing heavily and I can see his grey beautiful eyes stare at me, wide with shock. I'm stumbling to get away when I fall into his lap. Pushing away, I’m horrified and about to fucking shoot myself.

All I can think about is how the door is locked and I'm trapped with a guy who's probably going to sue me because I assaulted him and oh my god, what am I-

“Snow.” Baz murmurs.

“Here,” I repeat like so long ago.

“Snow, what the fuck?” Baz is already departing his wall. At least, he’s engaged in being frustrated.

“Look, just don't tell the table-”

Baz tsks. “You’re such a moron, Snow.”

I splutter but then he kisses me.

And my mind goes blissfully blank.

---

We sleep in the kitchen that night, my arm draped across his body and his fingers twitching for me.

There’ll be time to talk about what I am, what we are later. How it’ll affect the press and other matters.

For now, it doesn't matter. We don't care. It's just us, two boys who’ve found solace and whose heart aches for the other, suspended in the dark, in time.

It's Baz and me.

#ahsdaosdhfao im even more sorry for this lmao #mine #lotte #carry on #simon snow #snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #bastillon pitch #baz #simon x baz

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sesamestreep · 7 years ago

Text

and never ever watch the ten o’clock news

(Read on AO3)

Summary: Bodhi never expected to be sitting in an interrogation room with his best friend while she lied to the police about being a psychic. In retrospect, he probably should have. [AKA the Psych AU Literally No One Asked For]

I wrote this Psych AU for my dearest @taxicabsandcupcakes as an EXTREMELY belated birthday/decently belated Winter Solstice/slightly belated New Year’s/aggressively early Friend-iversary present, which means I’ve had this idea since your birthday but didn’t actually find the inspiration to write it until Psych the Movie happened and then had to invent an occasion for giving it to you. This is my way of saying thanks for your sage writing advice, endless encouragement, and for yelling about Jane Austen on twitter with me. Hope you like it!

There’s additional notes on the fic itself if you follow the AO3 link above, which I recommend reading if you’re the type who enjoys that sort of thing.

“I need you to drive me to the police station.”

Bodhi, to his eternal embarrassment, actually pulls the phone away from his face and stares at it in disbelief, despite the fact that he’s alone in his office and no one is around to appreciate what he assumes is some excellent physical comedy.

“Pardon?” he asks, after a moment.

Jyn sighs on the other end of the phone. “I need you to drive me to the police station. Please,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Doesn’t that honor belong to the cop who’s arresting you?”

“Very funny,” Jyn says flatly. “My bike won’t start, will you please drive me?”

“You’re still not telling me the most important part,” Bodhi says, already starting to feel his exasperation growing. “Why do you need to go to the police station? Did something happen?”

“Something is always happening, Bodhi. Something is happening right now. And right now. And also now--”

“Jyn, come on...”

“Okay, fine. You remember that thing we talked about? The one you said I shouldn’t do anymore?”

“I told you to stop wearing white after Labor Day, advice which you have consistently ignored…”

“I keep telling you, Labor Day is a holiday invented by greeting card corporations to sell product!”

“All those Labor Day cards that everyone buys and sends out to their loved ones,” Bodhi says, playing along with Jyn’s nonsense.

“Exactly!” Jyn practically shouts. “Also, if you think about it, it’s always after Labor Day. You know what I mean?”

“I don’t. Did you get fined for committing a crime of fashion? Is that why you have to go the police station?”

“No, it has to do with the other thing you told me to stop doing.”

“Do I really have to guess? I tell you to stop doing a lot of things,” Bodhi says. His initial worry has already subsided and he’s tired of this conversation. He needs Jyn to tell him what’s going on so he can get back to work.

“Bodhi, don’t be the dollar sign in Ke$ha’s name!” she says, clearly frustrated with him as well.

“She got rid of that, you know. It’s just an ‘s’ now.”

“Precisely.”

“Jyn, honestly…”

“I called in another tip to the police,” Jyn says, suddenly giving up the game. “And before you get upset, that one tip helped them solve, like, ten open armed robbery cases. So now the chief of police wants me to come down and they’re gonna give me a check, or an award, or something. I can't remember what it was, I wasn't listening. What’s a purple heart for?”

“Injured in battle.”

“Okay, so maybe not that. Whatever. It’s a big deal. The queen will probably be there.”

“Jyn, we live in America. There is no queen here,” Bodhi says, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Agree to disagree. What do you say? Will you take me?”

“I…” Bodhi begins to say before something occurs to him. “Wait a minute. You told me you were calling in those tips anonymously.”

“I was.”

“So how could they give you a reward, if they don’t even know who you are?” He asks.

“Okay, so,” Jyn begins to say in her best bullshitting voice. It's one that Bodhi is very familiar with. “I might have made a very tiny, laughably insignificant mistake when I called in this particular tip.”

“You told them your name,” Bodhi supplies.

“In my defense, I was a little drunk and I really wanted to impress this girl I was on a date with.”

“Neither of those are good excuses!”

“If it makes you feel better, my date wasn’t pleased either,” Jyn admits. “She was actually kind of insulted that I was paying so much attention to the news when we were making out.”

“As she should be.”

“You know I can’t help it! It’s just the way my brain works!”

“You’re telling me you actually picked up your clue just from the news?” Bodhi asks. “That’s honestly kind of impressive.”

“Tell that to her! She stormed off before I could tell her my whole ‘eidetic memory, trained in observation by my tough cop mother’ tragic backstory,” Jyn says.

“Great. What restaurant are we not going to be able to get a table at from now on?”

“She’s the hostess at Cilantro, that tiny place on Elm.”

“They have the best brunch in the city, Jyn!”

“Yeah. It’s a real loss,” Jyn agrees. “So, you’ll come get me on your lunch?”

***

The first time Bodhi spoke to Jyn was in fourth grade and he and his family had just moved to the country for his dad’s job. He was a scrawny, brown kid with a funny accent and, to make it worse, he transferred right in the middle of the year. All the kids in his class had already made their friends and they thought he was weird. Everyone except Jyn.

She’d dropped her lunch tray on the table across from him on his first day and said, without preamble, “I like your voice, it sounds like mine. Also, your watch is cool. Have you seen the movie Flubber? It’s my favorite.”

And just like that they were friends. Looking back on it, Bodhi’s not sure he ever really had a choice. Jyn had decided she liked him, and once she liked someone, that was it. They belonged to her. She was always between him and the meanest kids in school, distracting them, talking in circles until they gave up and left her best friend alone. You couldn’t mess with Jyn; she had something clever or weird to say to any of your threats or insults and she never cared what other people thought of her. That, and the fact that her mom was a cop and everyone knew it, meant that people generally left her--and, by extension, Bodhi--alone.

After high school, they went their separate ways: Bodhi went to college to try to make something of himself and Jyn left Santa Barbara on her motorcycle to get away from her mother and see the world. She sent postcards from every new city she landed in, and the two of them kept in touch even as Bodhi started working as a pharmaceuticals sales rep and Jyn continued to work whatever odd jobs she could find in whatever part of the country she was living in at that moment. In complete defiance of logic and the predictions of their families, the two of them stayed close despite the distance and their wildly different lifestyles. Still, no one was more surprised than Bodhi when Jyn reappeared in Santa Barbara.

He has tried in ways both subtle and obvious to get Jyn to tell him what made her come home, but with no success. Bodhi assumes it had something to do with her mother retiring and moving to Miami, but he doesn’t think that’s the whole reason. He’d worry about her, but Jyn seems the same as ever. She’s got the same mercurial temper--upbeat and joking one minute, put out and snarky the next--and she still flirts with every waitress, bartender, and barista they come across. Which, of course, means there are several fine establishments in Santa Barbara that Bodhi can no longer visit without someone asking about when his cute friend is going to call them back, or just telling him off in Jyn’s place.

The only thing different about Jyn is her newfound obsession with calling in anonymous tips to the police. She’s always been highly observant, but Bodhi has never seen her so preoccupied with using her skills to help people. He told her to be careful about it and he actually thought she would listen, given her distaste for the police, but, instead, he finds himself walking up the steps of the Santa Barbara Police Station with Jyn during his lunch hour to collect her reward.

Once they’re inside, Jyn goes to the desk to let the officer there know that she’s arrived and Bodhi takes a seat on one of the benches in the lobby. Within seconds, another officer drops off an enormous man in handcuffs, depositing him on the bench next to Bodhi with a muttered, “Wait here!” and then departing. Now, Bodhi’s come a long way from his terrified, scrawny, fourth grade self, but he is also, in no way, shape, or form, an intimidating person, so he does his best not to make eye contact.

After a few minutes, Jyn joins Bodhi and, as is her custom, puts herself directly between him and danger, this time in the form of their large, handcuffed companion. “What are you in for?” Jyn asks pleasantly. Bodhi elbows her in the ribs.

“They say I jacked my ex-wife’s car, but I’m innocent!” the man shouts.

“Ugh, cops, am I right?” Jyn says, in a tone that sounds more like they’re at happy hour than a police precinct. The man grunts in agreement and the conversation seems to be over, until Jyn adds, more quietly, “Hey, I don’t want to sound like I don’t believe you--because I totally do--but, if I were you, I’d brush that broken glass off your sleeve. To the untrained eye, it looks like maybe you broke a window or something.”

The man glances at Jyn and then at his sleeve, before sweeping his hand over the latter. The same officer from before returns to collect him as soon as he’s finished.

“Thanks,” the man says gruffly as he stands up and then winks at her over his shoulder as he’s lead away.

“No problem,” Jyn says and turns to Bodhi, at whom she rolls her eyes. “Idiot,” she adds, under her breath. “He just knocked all the glass into his boot.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Bodhi says, keeping his voice low.

“I know. What’s the point of helping criminals if they’re too incompetent to help themselves?”

“That’s obviously not what I meant,” Bodhi huffs. “Did they tell you how long this was going to take?”

“They said someone would be with me shortly. Please, try to relax.”

“They can’t just give you a check? It has to be a whole production?”

“Bodhi, don’t be the Brave Little Toaster’s less brave little cousin!”

“I just have a bad feeling about this,” Bodhi says, ignoring her.

“Noted. Now, be quiet and I might let you be in the picture with me, the mayor, and what I hope is one of those giant novelty checks,” Jyn says.

“I do love giant novelty checks,” Bodhi admits.

“You know that’s right,” Jyn says, and offers her fist for him to bump.

At that moment, another cop appears in front of them. “Jyn Erso?” he asks, sounding uninterested in a response.

Jyn stands up to greet him. “That’s me. And this is my associate, DJ Deathstar,” she says, motioning at Bodhi, who just rolls his eyes at her. Jyn’s been making up fake names for him since they were kids and it’s probably better the police don’t know his actual name anyway.

The officer looks perplexed but all he does is nod and say, “If both of you would follow me,” before leading them out of the lobby and through the bullpen.

They go through a door at the far side of the room, which leads them to a long cinderblock hallway with several doors on either side. The officer opens the last one on the right, and motions for them to go in ahead of him. Once Bodhi and Jyn have both crossed the threshold, he closes the door behind them suddenly and they both turn in surprise.

All at once, Bodhi realizes where they are.

“Shit,” he says, taking in the bleak room with the large table in the middle and the mirror on the wall. “Why are we in an interrogation room?” he asks Jyn.

Jyn, for her part, is glaring at the other figures in the room. Seated at the table are two more cops, but they’re in plain clothes, which must mean they’re detectives. They stand as soon as Bodhi speaks.

“Why don’t you both take a seat?” the shorter of the two of them says. He’s soft spoken with a slight accent and he looks absolutely exhausted.

Bodhi nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels Jyn’s hand on his elbow. When he looks over, she gives him a reassuring smile. If he didn't know her as well as he does, he could totally miss the anger behind that smile, but they've been friends for twenty years and he’s perfected the art of reading Jyn’s moods. These detectives have no idea what they've gotten themselves into. She cocks her head towards the chairs in invitation and he gets the message loud and clear without her saying anything. Do what they tell you and let me do the talking.

“They didn’t mention anything on the phone about a vetting process before they gave me the key to the city,” Jyn says, nice and light, once she and Bodhi have sat down on the other side of the table.

“You are not getting a key to the city, Miss Erso,” the other cop says, his tone clipped. He has an expressionless face and is frankly too tall to be an actual human being, as far as Bodhi is concerned.

“No…?” Jyn asks innocently.

“No,” he says, sounding even less amused than before.

“Listen, Mr. ...?”

“Detective,” he corrects. “Head Detective Kay Tuesso.”

“Your mother must be very proud,” Jyn says, and Bodhi has to hold back a snort. “And who’s this?” she asks, her eyes training on the other detective.

“My partner, Detective Andor,” Detective Tuesso says, obviously growing impatient with Jyn’s antics.

“Charmed,” Jyn says and actually extends her hand for Detective Andor to shake. He gives her a puzzled look in return.

Nonplussed by any of the annoyance she seems to be causing, Jyn pulls her hand back and leans forward conspiratorially on the table. “Now that we’re all on such friendly terms, why don’t you tell me what exactly is going on?” she asks.

“I’m sorry, Miss Erso,” Detective Andor says, “but we’re not all acquainted. Who is this?” he asks, gesturing at Bodhi.

Jyn turns and gives Bodhi a searching look. For his part, Bodhi would rather not tell the police his name, given he has no idea what sort of trouble Jyn has unintentionally mixed herself up in, but he’s pretty sure they can figure it out who he is whether she tells them or not. He knows better than to actually shrug at her, when everything about her demeanor is screaming be careful at him, so he just looks back at her as calmly as he can. They’ve been in enough crazy situations together over the years that he trusts her to get them out of this one. He sees her small smile of comprehension before she turns back to the detectives.

“This is Bodhi,” she says evenly. “He drove me here.”

“What, like a Lyft driver?” Detective Andor asks.

“Yes!” Jyn replies, snapping her fingers like they're all just brainstorming together and she loves what the detectives are bringing to the table. Which, knowing Jyn, might be what she actually thinks.

“And you brought him in with you because…?”

“I'm just quirky, I guess,” Jyn says with an easy shrug and barrels on before the detectives can question her any further on Bodhi’s presence. “Now that we’re finally all acquainted, can you get to the point? The meter’s running.”

Neither of the detectives look particularly convinced by any of this, but Detective Andor continues anyway. “You recently called in a tip about several armed robberies that occurred in the last few weeks. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, thanks to that information you gave us, we’ve apprehended a suspect.”

“Good for you,” Jyn says, with forced cheer. Bodhi can practically see her patience wearing thin before his eyes.

“I'm glad you feel that way,” Detective Andor replies, tightly, and Bodhi thinks that Jyn probably isn't the only one who's running out of patience. “But, you see, we have a problem. Our suspect claims he had a partner, somebody who masterminded the whole thing, and he’ll only tell us their name if we give him immunity.”

“Huh. That’s a real pickle,” Jyn says, flatly, as if the subject doesn't interest her at all.

“As you can imagine, we don't want to give in to our suspect’s demands, not when we can just arrest both of the people responsible,” Detective Andor continues, adopting a tone one would normally use when explaining a difficult subject to a child. “So, we’re trying to figure out who this accomplice is on our own. And that's why we’ve brought you here today.”

There's a full minute where Jyn just blinks at the detectives in confusion and Bodhi starts to worry that she's actually stopped functioning. He's about to grab her by the shoulder and shake her out of it when she blurts out, “I'm sorry, just so we’re clear, you want me to figure out the guy’s accomplice too?” When they say nothing in response, Jyn continues, disbelieving, “I'm just curious, when do you two start chipping in?”

The detectives exchange a look at that, and Bodhi suddenly understands what is going on.

“Jyn,” he says as a warning.

“What?” Jyn snaps, turning on him.

Bodhi heaves a deep sigh before speaking. “They think you did it,” he says.

“I--” Jyn begins to say before turning to look at the detectives. She must see the same thing in their faces that Bodhi did, because she suddenly freezes. “You think I'm the accomplice?” she asks, incredulity and anger making her voice go quiet.

The scariest thing about Jyn, in Bodhi’s opinion, is how calm she gets when she's really and truly angry. The detectives in front of them might be well trained in reading people and analyzing evidence, but he's pretty sure they are in no way prepared for Jyn when she's actually furious.

“The evidence you gave to our tip line could only have come from someone with inside knowledge of the crimes,” Detective Tuesso says.

“That is not true.”

“What other explanation is there?” Detective Andor asks, sounding at least open to the possibility.

“Maybe I'm just a better detective than you are,” Jyn says, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest, her tone casual but filled with malice. Bodhi does his best not to wince.

“Or, perhaps,” Detective Tuesso begins, “you realized your good luck was running out, that you and your partner would not be able to evade the police forever, and you decided it was time to cut your losses and turn him in.”

“And gave my name to an anonymous tip line while I was at it, just in the interest of fairness,” Jyn says, mockingly. “Oh, and I also trusted that my partner--who I had just betrayed--wouldn't rat me out to the police! You're right, I'm a criminal mastermind!”

“Jyn,” Bodhi says again, hoping she’ll actually heed the warning in his voice this time.

“You aren't offering us any other plausible explanations for your having such detailed information, Miss Erso,” Detective Andor says. “And if you can't do that, we’ll have to arrest you.”

It might just be that the precarious nature of their situation puts Bodhi in a dramatic mood, but he swears, in that moment in the interrogation room, that time actually stops, allowing him to see the exact second that Jyn comes up with a plan. There’s no mistaking the expression that comes over her face for anything other than pure, mischievous inspiration.

“Alright, alright, you got me!” Jyn says, and Bodhi thinks he might actually be having a heart attack. “I haven't been honest with you. But it's only because I--” Jyn breaks off and looks downward, the picture of innocence. “I didn't think you'd believe the truth.”

“And what exactly would that be?” Detective Tuesso asks, not looking convinced in the slightest.

“I'm psychic,” Jyn says and, yep, Bodhi is definitely having a heart attack. “I have the Gift. The Sight, if you will. That’s how I knew about those robberies. I saw them, with my third eye.”

The entire room seems to be holding its breath after Jyn’s “confession”. No one seems to know what to do with themselves and Bodhi doesn't dare to even look at Jyn. He’s pretty sure if he so much as exhales, all hell will actually break loose.

The two detectives, recovering from their shock, both move at the exact same time. Detective Tuesso stands abruptly and says, “If you're done wasting our time--”, while Detective Andor reaches across the table for the case file and says, “You mean to tell us--” before they're both interrupted.

Jyn, in a split second, leans forward and captures Detective Andor’s wrist in her hand. She closes her eyes, as if trying to remember some long lost memory, and takes a deep breath. When she's finished, she looks Detective Andor directly in the eye and says, “You have to stop blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault.”

“Excuse me?” He says, utterly bewildered.

“I hear screaming. Sirens,” Jyn says, waving her hands around her head in a way that Bodhi imagines is supposed to convey spirituality. “I smell...gunpowder? There was a shooting. You did...everything you could. Everything by the book.” Jyn pauses, then adds, “As always.”

Detective Andor looks petrified by this outburst. “How did you--” he begins to ask, his voice even quieter than usual.

“As I've told you, I have...abilities. Of the supernatural variety,” Jyn says. She seems to realize she's still holding his wrist and looks at it intently. “This is your first case back on active duty, am I correct?”

“Don't answer that,” Detective Tuesso cuts in.

Detective Andor looks at his partner like he had completely forgotten there was anyone else in the room, then looks back at Jyn. He pulls his arm away from her like he's been scalded. Jyn, for her part, looks back at him serenely.

“This is highly entertaining, Miss Erso,” Detective Tuesso begins to say, “but this proves absolutely nothing. And moreover--”

“Ah, fuck!” Jyn yells, squeezing her eyes shut and rubbing her temples, as though she's got the world’s worst brain freeze. “That feels like…glass. Broken glass. I can see it shattering. And there's a tall man there. He's very angry, and heartbroken. A lover’s spat, perhaps?”

“What are you--”

“Yes, definitely, an argument between lovers. I see...a heart…and an arrow...and the letter S. Does this mean anything to you?”

When the detectives say nothing in response, Jyn winces again. “Yes, of course. I see it clearly now. You have a man in custody here, about this tall,” Jyn says, gesturing well above both her and Bodhi’s heads. “The answers you seek are in his left boot.”

Both of the detectives are staring at her, completely mystified, and Detective Tuesso looks like he's about to make another attempt at bringing Jyn to order when there's three taps in quick succession on the one-way mirror.

“Excuse us a moment,” Detective Tuesso says, looking none too pleased with the interruption. “Come on,” he says to his partner, who seems to be having more trouble tearing himself away.

They both depart, leaving Jyn and Bodhi alone in the interrogation room. This would be a wonderful moment to confront Jyn about what the hell she thinks she's doing but unfortunately, they're not actually alone.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Jyn says quietly.

“We’re not talking about this now. We can't,” Bodhi whispers urgently.

“I need you to relax,” Jyn responds. “Everything is fine, as far as you and I are concerned. Just, trust me. When have I ever lead you wrong?”

“Would you like that list in chronological order?”

Jyn makes a tsk sound in the back of her throat. “You can suck it,” she says petulantly.

“You suck it,” Bodhi fires back.

“No, you.”

“You.”

He and Jyn actually look at each other after that. “Suck it,” they both sing-song in harmony, like they're still teenagers and not the full-grown adults they're supposed to be acting like. Maybe there are worse people to be stuck in an interrogation room with, Bodhi thinks, at the exact moment Detectives Tuesso and Andor return.

“You're free to go,” Detective Tuesso says, looking pained.

Jyn rises immediately, grabbing Bodhi’s elbow to drag him up with her as she goes and giving him a kick in the ankle to get him moving towards the door.

“Not you,” Detective Tuesso says, pointing at Jyn.

“What?” Jyn cries. “But you just said--”

“We’re not arresting you,” Detective Andor says. “But Interim Chief Mothma would like to speak with you. Alone,” he adds, when he sees Jyn and Bodhi exchange a look.

Bodhi is about to object when he feels Jyn give his elbow a reassuring squeeze. He turns to look at her and she's smiling like she always does when faced with a challenge. Go ahead, that smile is meant to say, I've got this.

“I think they're finally going to give me my giant novelty check,” she says before she breezes past him out the door.

***

Twenty minutes later, Jyn finds Bodhi pacing on the steps outside the precinct. The look on his face must be more anguished than he realized because when he turns and sees her, she immediately throws both of her hands up in a don’t shoot gesture.

“Alright, before you yell at me—”

“What in the absolute fuck did you just do?!” he shouts.

“I said before you yell at me, dude! Come on!” Jyn practically whines. “And what I just did was save our asses, so you’re welcome.”

“You wouldn’t have had to save my ass in the first place if you had just driven yourself to the precinct and left me out of it.”

Jyn opens her mouth to argue with him, but Bodhi continues before she can get a word in. “And, furthermore, you just lied. To the police. About being a psychic. I mean, have you lost your damn mind?!”

“Hey, say it a little louder, why don’t you?” Jyn shouts back, and Bodhi sobers. “Feel better now?” She asks, when she’s given him a moment to collect himself. When he nods, she says, “I can’t believe you just furthermore’d me, man. You’re starting to sound like your mother.”

“Shut up,” Bodhi says, without heat. Jyn cracks a smile, which he finds himself returning tentatively. “What did the chief want to talk to you about?”

“Interim chief,” Jyn corrects, and Bodhi rolls his eyes at her. “She’s pregnant.”

“She wanted to tell you she’s pregnant?”

“No. I’m just telling you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s badass,” Jyn says, gesticulating wildly. “A pregnant cop? How cool is that?”

“Jyn…”

“Sorry for trying to paint you a picture with my words, Bodhi! I thought maybe you felt left out!”

“I was deeply hurt,” Bodhi says, gravely. “Now, will you please tell me why you got called into a meeting with the chief of police?!”

“Interim chief! And she wants my help with a case,” Jyn says casually. She even has the audacity to shrug.

Bodhi’s pretty sure he’s actually gaping at her now. Like, his jaw is actually hanging open in shock. He’d be embarrassed, but he just doesn’t have the capacity for any other emotions at the moment.

“Why?” He finally manages to ask, after an embarrassingly long pause.

“Haven’t you heard?” Jyn says with a mischievous smile. “I’m Santa Barbara’s most preeminent psychic detective!”

Bodhi groans and puts his head on Jyn’s shoulder. She pats at him in a halfhearted consoling gesture.

“Can you be the ‘most preeminent’ something? Does that work grammatically?” She asks, nonchalantly.

“Don’t you dare try to distract me with grammar, Jyn,” Bodhi warns. “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know for a fact you listened to all of R. Kelly’s ‘Trapped in a Closet’, so there’s no way that’s true.”

“It was before he got weird!”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“I don’t even know how you did that back there,” Bodhi cries, getting them back to the subject at hand.

“What?”

“All that stuff you said in the interrogation room! How did you do it?”

“You know about my observation thing,” Jyn says, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah, but that stuff with the detective. How did you know all that?”

Jyn sighs, as if explaining her skills is a huge burden. “I saw in the paper a few weeks ago that there’d been a shooting and the police had been involved.”

“They wouldn’t have published the officer’s name,” Bodhi interjects.

“No,” Jyn concedes. “But the officer at the front desk was asking about how the new guy was doing, being back from administrative leave. The cop he was talking to was the one who brought us into the interrogation room, so clearly he had been working with our detectives on the robbery case. And most of the cops in the SBPD are still left over from my mom’s time there—at least the ones that are old enough to make detective—and I didn’t recognize Detective Andor, so I figured it could have been him. Standard administrative leave is two weeks, the shooting happened roughly that long ago, and I noticed the bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping well. So, I took a stab in the dark. So to speak.”

“Jyn, all of that is totally circumstantial. What if you’d been wrong?” Bodhi says, even though he’s a little in awe of what he’s just heard.

“Luckily, I wasn’t,” Jyn says simply.

“What about all that stuff with the heart and the shapes and the letter?” Bodhi asks.

“Oh,” Jyn says, as if she’s already forgotten. “Our carjacker from the lobby had a tattoo on his ankle. One of those hearts that’s been shot through with an arrow. And it had the name ‘Susan’ wrapped around it, on a banner. Figured if Susan was his wife, she probably filed the charges against him and the letter would jog their memory if nothing else did.”

“This is unbelievable,” Bodhi says, shaking his head. “And what does the Chief want from you?”

“Interim chief. And she wants me to help them with a kidnapping case.”

“I’m a little nervous about the strength of our police force if they have to hire you to solve a kidnapping.”

“I know, right?” Jyn says. “Apparently, it’s the heir to some hoity-toity family’s fortune that’s gone missing. The family is close with the governor and Interim Chief Mothma is under a lot of pressure to solve this thing quickly.”

“They think this guy is still alive?”

“I guess so.”

“Huh,” Bodhi says. “Are they paying you?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“So, that’s a no.”

“It’s more that they’re paying me by not arresting me,” Jyn says. “And only if I deliver.”

“And what happens if you don’t?” Bodhi asks, not totally convinced he wants to know the answer.

“They’ll arrest me for obstruction of justice,” Jyn says simply.

“Damn it, Jyn.”

“I don’t know why you’re so worried. This is like my two greatest strengths: observation and bullshitting. My whole life has been preparation for this!”

“Only you would see having to prove to the police that you’re psychic by solving a high profile missing persons case as a fun challenge. Do I need to remind you you’re not actually psychic, or are you at least still mildly self-aware?” Bodhi asks.

“Bodhi, don’t be an under-whipped meringue! I know what I’m doing!” Jyn says, and he has to admit, he can’t remember the last time she was this excited about anything. “Now, do you want to go interrogate some fancy white people with me, or not? I bet they own some Baroque art or whatever that you can nerd out about while I investigate.”

“Jyn, I can’t,” Bodhi says, and he thinks he sees Jyn’s face fall, just for a second, before she quickly hides her reaction. “I have to get back to office, I have a million calls to return. I can’t get involved with one of your crazy schemes today, I’ve lost enough time already.”

As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he knows it was the wrong thing to say. He and Jyn don’t fight, not really, and any spats they do have are over as quickly as they begin, usually because they start punching each other and get it out of their systems. What does happen occasionally, though, is that Jyn will shut him out—when she feels rejected in any way, or when she’s going through her own stuff that she doesn’t want to talk about. Bodhi sees the neutral mask that immediately goes over her features and he knows she’s upset by what he’s just said.

“Jyn—” he starts to say, reaching for her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jyn interrupts, already looking around for her exit, instead of looking at him. “I’m gonna get a cab. I’ll talk to you later.”

As she passes by, she claps Bodhi on the shoulder and then she’s gone.

***

Just like they don’t fight, he and Jyn also don’t apologize. It took some getting used to in the beginning for Bodhi, a naturally nervous person for whom apologizing—even when nothing is his fault—is just a reflex. Jyn, on the other hand, never apologizes for anything. If the phrase “I’m sorry” comes out of her mouth, it’s always a transitional phrase at best, and sarcastic at worst. Over the years, Bodhi has warmed to Jyn’s way of dealing with things. On the rare occasions they do actually fight, Jyn will disappear for a few days and then resume contact as if nothing ever happened. She just needs time and space to get over herself sometimes. And once she has, she doesn’t hold a grudge, at least not when it comes to him. Old issues don’t come back up in arguments years later with her, the way they do in Bodhi’s other relationships. It’s a fault he’ll readily admit he has as well, never letting old grievances go, so it’s probably just as well Jyn isn’t like that with him. Maybe, every once in a while, they actually do bring out the best in each other.

All of this is to say, when Bodhi doesn’t hear from Jyn for three days after their conversation outside of the police station, he’s not actually worried. It’s pretty standard behavior from her, and, even without their weird conflict, they don’t always talk everyday anyway. There’s the niggling concern in the back of his mind that she’s working on a case, and she could actually be in danger and that’s why he hasn’t heard from her, but it’s not enough to really drive him to distraction.

Still, his relief when he gets a call from her on that third day is immediate and a little overwhelming. It’s short-lived, however, when he hears how tired she sounds on the phone and when she asks, tentatively, if he’ll come pick her up because her bike broke down on some isolated back road. His keys are in his hand before he even hangs up and the next thing he knows he’s calling over his shoulder to the woman at the front desk that he’ll be out all afternoon with a family emergency.

It’s nearly forty minutes later that Bodhi actually finds her, because, while Jyn did her best to explain where she was, she is stranded on a truly deserted back road and there’s no landmarks nearby for reference. When he arrives, Jyn is still trying to get her bike to start, with no success. Her jeans are covered in mud, her hands are coated with black grease from working on the motorcycle, and Bodhi is pretty sure she hasn’t brushed her hair since he saw her last. She looks a complete mess, and worry bubbles up in Bodhi’s throat just seeing her.

He pulls over, throws the car in park, and gets out in something of a daze, but he can’t actually bring himself to say a word. Anything he says will betray his concern, and there’s nothing that raises Jyn’s hackles more than being fretted over. When she makes eye contact with him, he says, “You look great,” because he can’t come up with anything else and Jyn’s face breaks into a relieved smile.

“Yeah, well, you know what they say,” she responds, gesturing at herself with one hand. “Dress for the job you want.”

“You want to be Farmer Hoggett?”

“Danny Zuko, actually,” Jyn says, waving her motor oil-stained hands at him. She follows up the gesture with a heavy sigh, and all the energy seems to drain out of her at once.

“You’ve only been a fake psychic detective for three days, Jyn,” Bodhi jokes. “You can’t be tired of it already.”

“Watch me,” she says through a yawn. “And I may be a fake psychic, but I’m a real detective, thank you very much.”

“You have the bags under your eyes to prove it,” Bodhi says, the only way he can think of to bring up her disheveled state.

“Thanks, they’re vintage.”

“I thought so,” Bodhi replies, and then he decides they’ve goofed around enough, given the situation. “Seriously, Jyn, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she says, reflexively. “I hurt my knee when the bike crapped out, but that’s that worst of it. I just need a ride home, so I can change my clothes and keep working on the case.”

Bodhi wants to ask more questions, but he knows Jyn is probably frustrated enough as it is and she’ll probably be more inclined to talk once they’re on their way.

“Okay,” he says, inclining his head towards his car. When Jyn starts to move towards him, he asks, “What are you going to do about your bike?”

“I got a guy coming to pick it up. He’ll bring it home for me,” Jyn says, as Bodhi holds open the passenger side door for her.

“You should bring it to a mechanic.”

“You should suck it,” Jyn counters. “I can fix my own bike.”

“Clearly,” Bodhi says, gesturing at the dejected looking motorcycle behind them. Jyn scowls at him from her seat as he closes the car door.

Once he’s back in the driver’s seat and they’re on their way back to Santa Barbara, Bodhi looks over at Jyn. Up close, she looks even more exhausted than he initially thought.

“When was the last time you slept?” He wonders aloud.

Jyn gives the appearance of thinking it over before saying, “When did we last see each other?”

“Three days ago.”

“Sometime before that, then.”

“Good grief,” Bodhi mutters. “How are you even alive right now?”

“I’m not. I’m a ghost. I’ve been a ghost this whole time,” Jyn says, drily.

“How dare I care about your well being,” he says, shaking his head bitterly.

For once, the guilt trip actually seems to have an effect on Jyn, because she sobers a little and says, “You’d be amazed what a great motivator the threat of jail time can be.”

“I honestly forgot all about that,” Bodhi says, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Really? You?”

“I guess I just had no doubt you’d solve the damn thing,” he replies, with a shrug. “You’re Jyn. You’ve never met a crazy situation you couldn’t get yourself out of.”

When he chances another look in her direction, she’s looking back at him with a serious expression. “Your faith in me is undeserved,” she says. “But appreciated.”

“Anything for you,” Bodhi says, and he means it. They’re always going to be there for each other; it’s what best friends are for.

They drive in companionable silence for a few minutes, and Bodhi wonders how he’s going to get her to tell him about the case. He doesn’t have long to worry about it, though, because the next thing he knows, he sees flashing lights in his rear view mirror and hears a siren blaring.

“Jyn,” Bodhi says warningly as he pulls over. “What did you do?”

When he looks over at her, however, she looks just as confused as Bodhi feels. This must be a surprise to her as well.

Still, Bodhi can’t help but add, “You better tell me now, so we can get our stories straight.”

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Jyn says, shrugging. She reaches over and gives his arm a squeeze, then adds, “But I’m glad to have you on my side.”

The cop who’s just pulled them over taps on the window, and Bodhi does his best not to jump. He rolls down the window.

“Good afternoon, officer. What can I do for you?” Bodhi asks, trying to sound casual and definitely failing.

“License and registration,” the cop says, and Bodhi hurries to oblige. He hands over the items, but the cop is looking at Jyn very intently.

“You look familiar,” he says to her.

“I was the model for the Morton’s Salt Girl,” Jyn says immediately, and Bodhi has to suppress the urge to smack her.

The officer looks up from Bodhi’s license when she speaks. “Hey, that’s it. You’re Lyra’s kid, aren’t you?” He asks, finally cracking a smile.

“Guilty as charged,” Jyn says with a rueful smile, and Bodhi has to resist the urge to smack her again. He settles for glaring at her instead.

“I worked with your mom for a long time, right up until she retired,” the officer says, his whole demeanor changed to one of friendliness. “How’s she doing?”

“Oh, you know. She’s in Miami. Livin la vida loca, and all that,” Jyn says, casually, as if she’s spoken to her mother mother recently, which Bodhi knows for a fact she hasn’t.

The officer, for his part, looks confused. “Is that so?” He asks. “Because I saw her at the Safeway just last month.”

“She was just visiting,” Jyn lies, automatically.

“She told me she was moving back to the old house,” the cop says.

“Well, you’re just remarkably well informed, aren’t you?” Jyn says, feigning sweetness.

“Uh, is there a problem here, officer?” Bodhi asks, trying to distract the cop from asking Jyn any more questions.

“One of your tail lights is out,” the officer says, turning his attention back to Bodhi reluctantly. “You need to get that fixed,” he adds, handing Bodhi back his license and registration.

“Absolutely, sir. I will. Right away,” Bodhi says eagerly.

The officer nods. “Alright, then. You two have a good rest of your day, now. And tell your mom Officer Macklin says hello,” he adds to Jyn.

“You got it,” Jyn says, already turning away from him.

The cop heads back to his own car and Bodhi pulls away carefully. It isn’t until the cop car is a tiny, retreating speck in the rear view mirror that Bodhi chances speaking to Jyn.

“Your mom is back in Santa Barbara?” He asks carefully.

“Apparently,” Jyn says with an unconvincing shrug. She’s looking down at her phone instead of meeting his eye.

“You want me to bring you to her house instead?” Bodhi asks, looking back and forth between her and the road.

“No need. Liverpool has a match today,” Jyn says, looking up from her phone. “And there’s only one bar in town that will put football on the TV. Take your next right.”

***

If anyone were to ask him, Bodhi would say he loves Jyn’s parents like they’re his own, but he’s also pretty glad that they’re not. Growing up, he spent a lot of time at Jyn’s house and he got to know Galen and Lyra Erso fairly well. He’d always been closer to Jyn’s dad, who was always interested in Bodhi’s school projects and honors classes. They had a lot of similar interests, which couldn’t be said of Bodhi and his father. Bodhi loves his dad, and he knows his dad loves him, but they don’t always have a lot to talk about. So it was nice to talk to Galen, every now and then, and imagine what it would be like.

Jyn, for her part, was always closer with her dad too, but, because his job had him traveling a lot, she spent a lot more time with her mother, whose odd hours as a cop meant she could be around for her kid more often than her husband could. Lyra is hard to describe; she’s not a particularly warm person, but she is undeniably generous and invested in others. That’s always been Bodhi’s experience, at least. For the longest time, he assumed Jyn’s mother hated him, as she never seemed happy to see him. It took time for him to realize that she showed affection more practically than that. She has never forgotten a single thing Bodhi has ever told her, he’s pretty sure, which is how she remembers things like his mom’s birthday and her favorite kind of flowers to send every year, and how, all through his high school years, she knew his top choice colleges—in order—by heart after he mentioned them to her once. Much like he came around to Jyn’s unique personality, Bodhi eventually realized that Lyra’s intense questions and no-nonsense attitude were the product of her caring very deeply, rather than not caring at all. It was easier for him, though. She wasn’t his actual mother and if she ever got to be too much for him, he could just go home. Jyn didn’t have that option.

For as long as he can remember, Jyn and her mother have been like oil and water; they just do not mix. It would be easy to blame the animosity on Jyn’s parents’ divorce when she and Bodhi were in high school, but the conflicts between Jyn and Lyra were going on long before that. Jyn has always resented her mother for raising her basically from birth to become a cop, without taking her daughter’s personality or interests into account. When her parents separated, things only got worse, especially when her parents agreed, without consulting her, that she would live full time with her mother. From there, Jyn’s rebellious streak only got worse and as soon as she turned eighteen, she was out of her mother’s house.

About a year ago, Lyra retired early from the police force and moved all the way to Miami. Bodhi

never expected Jyn to come back to Santa Barbara permanently, but if there was one thing that didn’t surprise him about her return, it was that she waited until her mother was gone to do so.

But Lyra was back now too. The proof was right in front of them as they entered the pub. Jyn’s mother was sitting alone at a table near the bar with a full beer in front of her, her eyes on the television that was set to the football match.

Jyn makes an annoyed noise in the back of her throat, which brings Bodhi’s attention back to her. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, it’s just—” Jyn pauses to roll her eyes. “She’s such a cop, that’s all. I mean, she can see every possible exit from her seat. Does she ever take a day off?”

“She’s retired,” Bodhi points out.

“You can’t retire from being a pain in the ass.”

“That’s lovely, Jyn,” Bodhi says. “You ought to cross-stitch that on a pillow.”

“And you ought to suck it,” Jyn shoots back, pleasantly.

“No, I insist. You suck it,” he replies, and throws his arm out in an after you gesture.

Jyn shakes her head at him. “Here we go,” she says, like she’s approaching an executioner, and not her mother.

As they cross from the door to where Jyn’s mother is sitting, something occurs to Bodhi. “Wait, what do I call her?” He asks suddenly.

“What are you talking about?” Jyn asks under her breath.

“I normally call her Mrs. Erso, but your parents are divorced now, yeah?”

“Funny story,” Jyn says, though the grim look on her face says otherwise. “They’re actually not.”

“Wait, what? It’s been, like, 10 years!”

“Believe me, I know.”

“So, what are they, if not divorced?”

“Hella estranged,” Jyn says with a shrug.

“Is that the legal term?” Bodhi asks, unamused.

“Yes.”

“Seriously, what do I call her, Jyn?”

“I don’t know, dude. Call her Deputy Dog, for all I care,” Jyn whisper-shouts at him. By then, they’ve reached her mother’s table, and Jyn says, “Hey, Mom!” as if she’s surprised to see her there. In her mother’s favorite pub. Where they specifically came looking for her.

“Jyn,” her mom says with a nod. Bodhi’s fairly certain she saw them come in. Hell, she might have spotted them before they got to the door. She’s that good. “Hello, Bodhi. How are you?” she says, turning her attention to him and offering her hand to shake.

“Hello, Mrs. Erso,” he responds. She has the strongest handshake of anyone he knows. It’s like she took a seminar or something. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Are you still working in pharmaceuticals?” she asks, taking a sip of her beer.

“Yes.”

“Good for you. It’s nice to see some young people are able to hold down a job for more than six months.”

Jyn rolls her eyes at the obvious dig in her direction. Bodhi coughs to mask his discomfort and mumbles a response.

“Bodhi would ask about how Miami is treating you, but, unfortunately, you’re not in Miami. You’re here,” Jyn says, her voice pitchy with annoyance.

“I didn’t care for Miami,” Lyra says simply. “Too humid. Too many nightclubs. I got bored.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me you were coming back because…?”

“You would have to call me on occasion to know anything about my life, dear,” Lyra says. “Or return my calls. But you don’t. Besides, if I had told you, I’m sure you would have scurried off to some new town to get away from me as soon as you found out.” When Jyn doesn’t say anything in response, Lyra asks, “Am I wrong?”

Jyn only shrugs in return. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?” She says, after a long pause.

“Indeed,” Lyra says, giving her daughter’s appearance an unimpressed glance. “What happened to you?” She asks.

Jyn looks down at her clothes, which are still covered in mud from earlier. “Oh, this? This is the fashion, Mom. All the kids are doing it.” When Lyra continues to look at her expectantly, Jyn relents and says, “My bike broke down on this muddy back road. I was trying to fix it, but Bodhi had to come get me.”

“I hate that stupid bike,” Lyra says. “You should get a reliable car. Like Bodhi has.”

“Bodhi has a company car, Mom,” Jyn says, exasperated. “And it looks like a blueberry.”

“Hey,” Bodhi interjects. “My car is nice.”

Jyn waves him off as her mother asks, “And you have nothing better to do on a weekday than drive around on your motorcycle? Do you even have a job?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Jyn says, as she pulls out the seat across from her mother and drops into it, “I happen to be working for the SBPD. On a case. And an important one at that!”

Bodhi doesn’t point out that the police aren’t paying her and that she’ll go to jail if she fails, mostly because he knows that Jyn just said it to get a reaction out of her mother. And she certainly gets it. Lyra’s face drops and she asks, astonished, “You? Working for the police?”

“Just like you always wanted,” Jyn says, leaning back in her seat triumphantly.

“I wanted you to become a cop. A real police officer,” Lyra says sharply. “Am I right in assuming that’s not what happened?”

“I’m consulting,” Jyn says, which is being awfully generous, Bodhi thinks to himself.

“And why would they want you to consult on a case?”

“Because,” Jyn begins, and Bodhi can see her trying to figure out what to tell her mother that will be easier than the truth. She sighs, closing her eyes, bracing herself. “Because I told them I was psychic.”

Lyra blinks a few times, very quickly, but otherwise shows no signs of shock. “You did what now?” She finally asks.

“I’ve been calling in tips to the police, stuff I’ve noticed from the news or the paper, using the skills you taught me,” Jyn explains. “But the last time, I gave them my name, by accident. And they kind of thought I was responsible for the crime. I told them I was psychic so they wouldn’t arrest me.”

“And then they just hired you to work on a case?” Lyra asks, disbelieving. “No questions asked?”

“Basically,” Jyn says with a shrug. Once again, she conveniently leaves out the part where she’ll be arrested if she doesn’t solve the case, but Bodhi still thinks it’s better not to mention it.

Lyra, for her part, seems to know Jyn isn’t telling her the whole story and she’s clearly weighing whether it’s worth interrogating her daughter further. “That department has really gone downhill since I left,” she says instead.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“So why are you here?”

“What do you mean?” Jyn asks. “I heard from Officer Macklemore—”

“Macklin,” Bodhi corrects.

“I’ve heard it both ways,” Jyn says to him, before looking back at her mother. “Anyway, I heard from Officer Macbook that you were back in town, and I came to confront you about it.”

“How is Macklin, anyway? Last time I saw him, his arthritis was acting up and giving him a lot of trouble,” Lyra says.

“How would I know anything about his arthritis?” Jyn asks impatiently. “All he said was to tell you hi from him.”

“Well, that’s very nice of him,” Lyra says pleasantly.

“Mom!”

“What, Jyn?” Lyra suddenly snaps. “You expect me to believe that you actually came here because you were so upset that I hadn’t told you I was back in town. Do you think I’m stupid? I know you don’t care! So, you can either tell me what you really want from me, or we can keep talking about my old coworker’s joint problems. Either way suits me fine.”

The silence that follows Lyra’s outburst is excruciatingly awkward. Jyn has a look on her face that Bodhi has never seen before, and he’s pretty sure it’s because she’s about to burst into tears. In their time as friends, Bodhi has seen Jyn go through some shit, including some truly awful arguments with her mother, but he’s never once seen her cry. He has no idea what to do in this situation—will reaching out for her make it worse? Should they just leave? Before he can do anything, though, Jyn drops her head into her hands and sighs.

“I can’t figure it out,” she says, shakily. “I cannot figure this damn case out. I mean, I found the bodies and everything, but it still doesn’t make sense. The cops think it’s a murder-suicide, open and shut. But it doesn’t feel right and I can’t prove otherwise.”

Lyra is looking at Jyn intently, waiting for her to say more, but she doesn’t. She just sits there, head in hands, looking small and exhausted. After what feels like an eternity, Lyra speaks. “How many hats?” She asks quietly.

Jyn takes her hands away from her face to glare at her mother. “What?”

“How many hats are there in the room?” Lyra asks again, even more calmly.

“I heard you. I just can’t believe you want me to do this right now!”

“You’re out of practice, and you’ve gotten soft. That’s why you can’t solve the case,” Lyra suggests with a shrug. “Now, tell me how many hats.”

“Mom, this is a stupid game from when I was a kid. I’m not gonna—”

“If you can’t do it, just say so.”

“Ten,�� Jyn says, not breaking eye contact.

“Go on, then. And don’t cheat.”

Jyn sighs, a deep, frustrated noise, and closes her eyes. “Four baseball caps on the guys at the bar,” she says. “The couple in the booth at the back are both wearing cowboy hats; his is leather, hers is straw. The family at the table in the corner have a baby in a sun hat and a boy in one of those rainbow beanies with the spinner on top, which I didn’t even know existed in real life, so that’s interesting. There’s a captain’s hat hanging on the wall with all of the other junk that counts as decor in this godforsaken place. And when we came in, the chef was out talking to the bartender and he was wearing a hat. I assume we were going from when we walked in, yeah?” Jyn asks smugly.

Lyra nods and smiles. “You missed one,” she says.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. The woman at the bar.”

Jyn doesn’t even look. “She’s wearing a visor. A visor isn’t a hat.”

“What is it, then?”

“Ugly,” Jyn says, simply. “And it’s red, because I know that’s what you’re going to ask next.”

“Not bad,” Lyra admits.

“I’m not out of practice,” Jyn says fiercely. “I’m as sharp as I’ve ever been.”

“You just needed to focus on something else, instead of the case,” Lyra says. “You were getting so bogged down in the particulars that you couldn’t think straight. Happened to me all the time, when I was on the force. I’ll bet your mind feels clearer now, doesn’t it?”

Jyn blinks at her mother in disbelief. “Were you actually being helpful just now?” She asks.

“Believe it or not, I’m usually trying to help you, Jyn. Even when you think I’m not.”

Jyn looks at her mother for a long moment, her brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly, she slaps her palm on the table and turns to Bodhi. “I need you to bring me to the police station,” she says, urgently.

“Did you figure it out?” He asks.

“No, but I’m going to. I just need to look at the case file again.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I know a guy,” Jyn says vaguely.

“Alright. Do you want to go home and change first?” Bodhi asks, gesturing at her still-muddy clothing.

“What? No! Honestly, I think I might be onto something. This is a Look, right here,” Jyn says, standing up.

“If you say so,” Bodhi says, as she starts pulling him towards the door.

They don’t make it far, however, before Jyn stops suddenly. She turns halfway back to her mother, looking completely lost. A moment of deliberation passes before Jyn says, “Thanks, Mom.”

Lyra looks up at her daughter and surprise flashes across her face, briefly. She raises her beer in salute and Jyn smiles.

“To the blueberry!” She shouts at Bodhi, and links their arms together.

“We’re not calling it that,” he says, only to be ignored. “Jyn, I’m serious!”

Jyn pushes the door open and drags him out into the night, still paying his complaints no mind.

***

“Sorry, I’m still not clear on why he’d be willing to help us,” Bodhi says, keeping his voice low so as not to attract any further notice from the other cops at the precinct.

“Quid pro quo,” Jyn says, kicking her feet up on the desk in front of her. “I helped him, he’ll help me.”

“He said that?”

“His eyes did.”

“What did his mouth say?” Bodhi asks, suppressing an eye roll.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t listening. I was too busy staring longingly into his eyes.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head. “How exactly did you help him?”

“I solved that stupid armed robbery case for him,” Jyn says.

“You did?” Bodhi asks. “That’s amazing. Doesn’t that mean they can’t arrest you for it now?”

“They can’t arrest me for that, but they can arrest me for obstruction still.”

“Damn. So who was the guy’s partner?”

“Ah, that’s the thing,” Jyn says, relishing her Poirot moment a little too much. “He didn’t have one.”

“What?”

“He made it up, to get the immunity deal. Created this whole shadowy figure who masterminded all the robberies to stall the police and he took a gamble that they’d believe him. It was complete bullshit.”

“How did you figure that out?” Bodhi asks, astonished.

“Miss Erso is extremely well-versed in the art of bullshit,” a voice says from behind him. He turns to see Detective Andor approaching them with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Oh, Detective. I’ve asked you to call me Jyn, and I meant it,” Jyn says, her face lighting up with mischief.

“And I’ve never asked you for anything, so I don’t really understand what you’re doing here,” he shoots back. “And with your feet on my desk, no less!”

Jyn swings her feet off the desk and onto the floor in one graceful motion. “You need to lighten up, Detective, or you’re gonna go gray prematurely,” she says. “Then again, you’d look distinguished, so maybe it’s worth it.”

“What can I do for you, Miss Erso?” He asks, looking tired.

“Jyn. And I need to see the file for the McCallum case.”

“Can’t you see it with your third eye?”

“Would you look at that?” Jyn says to Bodhi, gesturing at Detective Andor. “He’s handsome and funny! If he has a good job, I’m putting a ring on it.”

Bodhi is about to roll his eyes at Jyn’s antics, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Detective Andor crack a smile. Maybe Jyn’s antics aren’t as unwelcome as he thought after all.

“As flattered as I am, how do you know I’m not spoken for?” Detective Andor asks.

“I saw it with my third eye,” Jyn says, and he laughs.

“Mm. Good one. No, really. Do your,” he gestures at her with his coffee mug, “psychic thing. On me.”

Jyn’s eyebrows shoot up at that and Bodhi can see her resisting the urge to turn the detective’s statement into a dirty joke. “I don’t have to,” she says, finally.

“Sorry?”

“I don’t have to ‘do my psychic thing’,” Jyn says, using air quotes. “Anyone with eyes could see that you're single.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. First of all, you’re a cop, just like my mother. It didn’t help her in the romance department, either,” Jyn says, like she’s letting him in on a secret. “You lot work all the time, hence the bags under your eyes and the fact that you’re here right now, on a Friday night.”

“I could be leaving,” he suggests.

“You have coffee. At 8 PM.”

“Could be decaf.”

“It isn’t,” Jyn says with certainty. “You’re about to pull an all nighter to work on a case. And then you’ll eventually go home to your lonely bachelor pad and eat a meal for one you picked up in the freezer section because you’re ‘too busy’ to cook for yourself. How am I doing?”

“You’re close,” Detective Andor says, trying to be evasive. “But I could have a spouse who’s okay with me working Friday nights.”

“You could,” Jyn allows. “But you also don’t wear a ring.”

“Maybe I just don’t wear it at work.”

“That’s a possibility. But I don’t think so.” Jyn pauses for a second, watching the detective. “Come on, how’d I do?”

“Devastatingly accurate,” Detective Andor concedes. “Except for one part.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m a really good cook,” he says, sitting on his desk in the spot recently vacated by Jyn’s feet. She smiles up at him, delighted, and Bodhi’s pretty sure if he doesn’t do something they could be here all night. He clears his throat awkwardly.

Both of them startle, like they’d forgotten about him entirely. Detective Andor takes a sip of his coffee and places the mug on the desk. “What do you need the file for?” He asks, not quite looking at Jyn.

“Sometimes I do get random visions,” Jyn lies with ease. “But most of the time, my gift requires inspiration. I’m hoping something in the file will trigger it.”

“That case is basically wrapped up, though. I heard it was a murder-suicide between the McCallum kid and the guy he hired to fake his kidnapping,” Detective Andor says.

“I’m not convinced,” Jyn says seriously.

“Hey, from what I hear, they wouldn’t have found that cabin without you,” Detective Andor says, adopting a soothing tone. “Your work here is done. Don’t overthink it.”

“I’m thinking it just the right amount, thank you,” she replies. Detective Andor looks as if he is about to say something else, so she adds, quickly, “You have two options here, as I see it. You can get me that file now, or you can spend the whole night talking in circles with me, finishing none of your own work, and then you can get me the file.”

“Sounds like I’m getting you the file either way.”

“It’s just a matter of whether you have your dignity intact when you do,” Jyn says, throwing in a shrug for good measure. “Choose your own adventure, Detective,”

Detective Andor makes a big show of looking around, and then stands up. “I’ll be right back,” he says, needlessly, and walks away.

Jyn and Bodhi watch him go in silence for a few seconds, before Bodhi asks, “What’s going on there?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re flirting with cops now?”

“I was not flirting with him,” Jyn says, scandalized.

“Jyn, please.”

“I wasn’t,” she says, and she actually stamps her foot, like a child. “I can’t stand cops, you know that.”

“Right. You can’t stand that guy. You can’t stand him so much you just spent ten minutes pestering him about his marital status,” Bodhi says, unimpressed.

“He asked me to!”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. He can’t stand you either. He can’t stand the idea of making you dinner in his tiny, sad apartment and he can’t stand the idea of having beautiful, hyper-observant children with you someday.”

“Bodhi,” Jyn says, slapping at him ineffectually. She’s laughing too hard to do so accurately.

“It’s one thing to seduce and abandon half the food service professionals in Santa Barbara, Jyn, but please don’t start sleeping with cops and never calling them again. My heart can’t take it,” Bodhi says, only half joking.

“I’m not gonna sleep with him,” Jyn replies, looking offended.

“Uh huh.”

“I’m not! Jesus!”

“You, Jyn Erso, are a bisexual menace to society,” he says gravely.

“I’m a bisexual philanthropist, thank you very much, and you, Bodhi Rook, can suck it,” she shoots back easily and lands a solid slap on his arm.

They’re still scuffling like that when Detective Andor returns and drops a file on the desk in front of Jyn. Her face lights up and she tears into the folder with enthusiasm. In addition to Jyn’s many other gifts, she’s also a very fast reader, so she makes short work of scanning through the entire file on the McCallum case. She flops back in the chair once she’s done with the last page, and Bodhi is pretty sure that’s not a good sign.

“Nothing?” He asks.

“Nothing,” Jyn confirms. She rubs her eyes. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for. It’s just that...something doesn’t feel right.”

“How so?” Detective Andor asks.

“It’s just a vibe I have.”

“This is some sort of psychic thing? Vibes?”

“You don’t get vibes? I thought everybody got those,” Jyn says.

“I’ve always thought of it more as intuition,” Detective Andor says with a shrug. “It’s not really a spiritual thing.”

“Well, the spirits are telling me there’s more to this case than meets the eye.”

“Your spirits can’t be more specific?”

“Apparently not,” Jyn says, closing the case file with more force than is really necessary. She tosses it gently back to Detective Andor. “Thanks, anyway.”

“Look, if you don’t mind me saying so, this could all be in your head,” he says. When Jyn gives him an annoyed look, he continues, “Hear me out. This probably isn’t the way you saw this case shaking out. Maybe it’s not that you missed something, or that there’s some cosmic imbalance afoot. Maybe you’re just disappointed. But that’s the work. You’ll have to get used to it if you want to keep doing this.”

“Keep doing what?”

“Consulting. You lead us right to the bodies. It might not be the way anyone wanted the case to end up, but you helped solve it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Interim Chief Mothma wanted to use you again.”

Jyn shakes her head. “You know what I still can’t wrap my head around?” She asks, rather than address what Detective Andor has said.

“How to accept a compliment?” Detective Andor suggests.

“Technically, everything you just said was a fact. None of it was actual praise,” Jyn says. Detective Andor gives her a half-smile and motions for her to continue. “What I don’t understand is why everyone thought this McCallum kid had finally turned his life around. From what I hear, this wasn’t his first try at it. He’d screwed it up before. And you even have a report in there of an incident between him and his father that got so heated the neighbors called the cops to intervene. Why was everyone in that family so surprised that this guy was still up to his old bullshit?”

“People can change,” Detective Andor says simply.

“You don’t honestly believe that, do you?” Jyn asks. When he just shrugs in response, she says, “But you’re a cop!”

“And I wouldn’t be one if I didn’t think this work could make a difference in someone’s life,” he says. “The McCallums didn’t think their son had changed. They hoped he had.”

“Lot of good that did them.”

“Better than the alternative, right? I’d rather hope for the best, than anticipate the worst all the time.”

“That’s a terrible way for a cop to think!”

“I didn’t say that’s the way I actually think,” he says. “Just that it’s how I would rather think.”

“You’re full of shit,” Jyn says, but she looks amused. Fond, even.

“See if I ever help you again,” Detective Andor says, gesturing at her with the case file. “I’m going to put this back before someone misses it,” he adds, and takes off, leaving Jyn and Bodhi alone again.

“That was a very tender moment between you two. I’m glad I got to be here for it,” Bodhi says, for lack of anything better to contribute.

Jyn snorts. “Shut up,” she says, but the expression on her face says her thoughts are still far off.

“Did it help?” Bodhi asks, nudging her with his foot.

“What?” Jyn says, turning her attention to him.

“Anything Detective Andor just said.”

“Oh, no.” Jyn responds, then winces. “I mean, it’s not bad advice, but I just can’t get over this feeling that I’m missing something. I just don’t believe it, you know? That this rich kid botched his own kidnapping so badly that his dirtbag partner turned on him, killed him, and then killed himself because he couldn’t live with the guilt. Oh, and speaking of guilt, this kid’s strict father felt so badly about his son’s disappearance that he apparently tried to kill himself too? Even though he tried to write his son out of his will for being a fuck up? Like, none of it adds up. It doesn’t feel right at all.”

“Wait, what happened with his father?”

“He had this will drawn up—”

“No, you told me about that. You didn’t mention his suicide attempt.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know that for sure,” Jyn says. “When I visited the McCallum house, Mr. McCallum had a bandage on his wrist and he got antsy when I asked him about it. But I overheard some of the help talking and they were saying he tried to kill himself after his son disappeared.”

“So that’s all speculation,” Bodhi says.

“Well, yeah.”

“But you don’t believe it?”

“I mean, it could be anything, really. I tried to look through their medicine cabinets to see if I saw anything that would suggest what kind of injury it was, but it was mostly generic stuff, like ibuprofen and allergy medicine. The only name I didn’t recognize was Zin...Zinfandel?”

“That’s a wine, Jyn.”

“Damn it. Uh, Zin… zinacef? Is that something?”

“Yeah. Zinacef is a brand name for cefuroxime. It’s an antibiotic.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, for people who are allergic to penicillin.”

“And why would they prescribe it?”

“Like most antibiotics, to treat an infection,” Bodhi says. “And if he had an injury to his wrist, it’s probably because the doctor was worried that the source of the cut could have infected him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, if he cut himself on, I don’t know, a rusted nail or something. Although you’d be more worried about Tetanus in that situation. Maybe an animal bite? Like a cat or a—”

“A dog?” Jyn suggests, interrupting him. Her eyes are wide and she’s leaning forward in her seat.

“Sure,” Bodhi says, shrugging. “Why? Does that mean something?”

“Yeah, it does! McCallum Jr.’s friend who helped him fake the kidnapping had a dog. I saw it at the cabin. It all makes sense now!” Jyn practically shouts.

“It does?”

“Yes! Bodhi, you’re a genius!” She says, grabbing his face in both her hands.

“I am?” Bodhi says.

“Yes, you are!”

“That’s nice. But please don’t kiss me. Your cop boyfriend is coming back and I don’t want him to tase me in a jealous rage.”

Jyn lets him go. “I wasn’t going to kiss you, and Detective Andor is definitely not going to tase you,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“I notice you didn’t deny that he was your boyfriend, though.”

“You’re a child!”

“Takes one to know one!” Bodhi shoots back. Jyn reaches out as if to slap him, but he quickly says, “Look alive, he’s on his way over.”

“Shit, I gotta make up a vision,” Jyn says. “This fake psychic thing is way harder than it looks on TV.”

“Yeah, we all feel real sorry for you.”

Jyn glares at him in response as she raises her hand to her forehead in what’s becoming her default faking-a-vision pose. “Help me out,” she says, under her breath, as Detective Andor reappears.

“Oh, Detective Andor, thank goodness you’re back,” Bodhi says, hoping he sounds genuine. He’s doesn’t consider himself to be the world’s best liar. “I think she’s having a vision.”

Detective Andor, for his part, still looks utterly bewildered by the whole thing, so it’s Jyn who actually has to speak up. “I’ve seen our killer,” she says, completely serious.

“You’ve seen their face?” Detective Andor asks.

“No, their wrist,” Jyn replies.

“Their wrist? What good does that do us?”

“I can see it so clearly now,” Jyn says, covering her forehead with her hands. “They found McCallum in his cabin hideout. They figured out the kidnapping was staged before we did and they went to confront him about it. There was a scuffle, between McCallum and our killer. It was an accident, they didn’t mean to kill him, it just happened!”

As Jyn speaks, she keeps her eyes closed, as if she’s actually watching this all happen behind her eyelids. Bodhi can’t help but be impressed. She’s very convincing. For all the trouble it’s caused them, maybe this fake psychic thing is truly her calling. It’s such a ridiculous idea that he’s honestly surprised it didn’t occur to her sooner.

“After McCallum died, his partner came back to the cabin with his dog to find the killer still there. Our killer shoots him and stages it to look like a suicide, effectively pinning McCallum’s death on him instead, but not before the dog bites them and gets a piece of their wrist.” Jyn suddenly opens her eyes and sits back, her face clear of the anguish of her “vision”. She looks at Detective Andor and asks, “Do you know anyone with a mysterious wrist injury?”

Detective Andor blinks at her in disbelief for a few seconds before realization dawns. Then, he quickly reaches for his keys on the desk. “We have to get to the McCallum residence. I’ll call for backup on the way,” he says, and he’s already heading for the exit.

“Are we supposed to follow you?” Jyn shouts after him.

“Yes, let’s go.”

“Alright,” Jyn says, standing up and smacking Bodhi on the knee. “You heard the man. Let’s go catch a murderer.”

“Today has been the weirdest day of my life,” Bodhi says, shaking his head but following after Jyn anyway.

“And it’s not even over yet,” Jyn says with excitement. She loops their arms together once more as they leave the precinct.

***

There’s a light drizzle falling from the sky as Bodhi stands on the front yard of the McCallum residence. Just like Jyn said at the beginning of the case, the house is beautiful and large and absolutely full to the brim with great art and other things that Bodhi would normally nerd out about. Standing there, though, on a rainy Friday night, surrounded by cop cars whose lights are making the whole place glow red and then blue on a constant loop, Bodhi can’t honestly enjoy himself too much.

Mr. McCallum Sr. had been put into a car by an astonished looking Detective Tuesso nearly twenty minutes ago, after admitting to killing his son and his accomplice. The rest of the cops on the scene are still inside taking statements from the other people in the house and getting other relevant details so that they can finally close the case. The atmosphere in there became too much for Bodhi eventually and he excused himself to wait for Jyn outside.

When she finally finds him, he’s looking up at the sky for no particular reason other than the flashing lights from the cars are starting to hurt his eyes.

“You look very emo,” Jyn says, taking in his pose as she approaches.

“You just solved a murder,” Bodhi replies.

“Yeah,” she says, with no small amount of pride in her voice.

“That guy killed his own son.”

“Yeah,” Jyn says, this time sounding somber.

“That’s…” Bodhi starts to say, but he can’t really find the words. “That’s a lot,” he finally settles on, even though it’s nonsense. Jyn will understand, he thinks.

She, of course, nods in response, before also looking up at the sky. “It is. A whole fucking lot,” she says, and he’s glad she gets it.

They stand there in silence for a moment, just listening to the rainfall and the buzz of activity coming from the house behind them. It feels like the first time in hours he’s actually relaxed, ever since he got that call from Jyn this afternoon. He can’t even imagine how she feels.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Jyn says, suddenly. Bodhi looks over at her only to find her already looking at him.

“Yeah, you could’ve,” he says.

Jyn shakes her head. “No. You saved the day.”

“We’re a good team,” Bodhi responds, trying to deflect her praise.

“That we are,” she agrees. “But I’ve always known that.”

“Yeah, no surprise there.”

At that moment, another police car pulls up and a few people get out. One of them, a woman, spots Jyn and walks in her direction.

“Miss Erso,” the woman calls as she approaches.

“Interim Chief Mothma,” Jyn greets her in return. “Good to see you again.”

“I believe we have you to thank for solving this case,” the Chief says.

“Oh, well, I suppose,” Jyn says. “But I had lots of help.”

Interim Chief Mothma’s eyebrows raise in surprise at that. “You did?” She asks.

“From the spirits, of course,” Jyn says, gesturing vaguely upwards.

“Of course,” the Chief echoes. “Well, thank you for your assistance,” she says, offering her hand to Jyn.

“Happy to help,” Jyn replies, shaking the other woman’s hand

“Oh, that reminds me,” Interim Chief Mothma says. “I spoke to your mother on the phone earlier.”

“You did?”

“Yes. As she’s a former member of the department, I wanted to get her take on your value as a consultant and ask her about your abilities. I have to say, you two need to get your stories straight.”

“We do?” Jyn says, and Bodhi can hear the nervousness in her voice. As for himself, he’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack.

“Yes, you do. Your mother says that your gift didn’t present itself until you were eleven, but when you and I spoke the other day, you said you’d had your psychic abilities since birth,” the Chief says.

“That’s my mother for you,” Jyn says, easily, even though Bodhi can still see the tension in her shoulders. “She always has to undermine me! Just because she didn’t notice my abilities before I was eleven, doesn’t mean I didn’t have them. I’ve told her this a thousand times!”

“Well, I appreciated her insight,” Interim Chief Mothma says. “And I appreciate your work on this case.”

“Thank you, but I couldn’t have done it without Bodhi,” Jyn says, gesturing at him. “My chauffeur,” Jyn elaborates, for the Chief’s benefit.

“Ah, of course,” she says, looking bemused. She shakes Bodhi’s hand anyway, which gives him something to do besides elbow Jyn in the ribs. “Thank you both.”

One of the officers calls for her then, and Interim Chief Mothma leaves them with a wave. Jyn and Bodhi look after her for a few seconds before Jyn says, “That was close.”

Bodhi lets out a breath of relief. “No kidding,” he says. “I cannot take anymore stress today. I just can’t.”

“Okay, buddy. Let’s get you home,” Jyn says, patting his shoulder.

“We can leave?”

“Yeah, whenever we want. The cops are done with me for now.”

“Awesome,” Bodhi says, before he remembers the problem. “But my car is still at the precinct.”

“Oh, yeah. Cassian said he’d bring us back when we were ready.”

“Who?”

“Detective Andor.”

“You called him ‘Cassian.’”

“Did you think his first name was Detective?” Jyn asks, rolling her eyes at him.

“You’re on a first name basis with him now?” Bodhi asks, unable to help himself.

“Relax. It’s no big deal,” Jyn says, crossing her arms over her chest. “You can call him that too.”

“I should hope so. He’s going to be my best friend-in-law someday.”

“I hate you,” Jyn says, but she’s smiling a little. “I’m going to go find Cassian and ask him to take me back to the precinct. And I’m gonna leave you here. You can walk home, for all I care.”

“If you want some alone time with your boyfriend, all you have to do is ask,” Bodhi replies. Jyn flips him off, which is all the encouragement he needs. “You two, alone in a police cruiser. Very romantic.”

“Don’t give me ideas, Bodhi Rook,” she says, and then she turns on her heel and heads back towards the house.

Smiling to himself, Bodhi follows her.

***

Unsurprisingly, Bodhi doesn’t hear from Jyn for a few days after the McCallum case wraps up. He assumes she’s catching up on all the sleep she missed while she was working the case, an old habit of hers he remembers from when they were in high school. She would always wait until the last minute on projects, pull all-nighters to finish them, and then sleep for days afterwards. For all solving murders and writing research papers are completely different, Bodhi thinks that Jyn’s method of recovering is probably the same for both.

Given the amount of emotional upheaval she went through, Bodhi actually figures it will take longer for Jyn to recover after this, but it’s only Monday when he receives a text from her asking him to meet her that afternoon when he’s done at work.

Sure. At your place? He replies immediately.

No. I’ll text you the address. Her reply comes twenty minutes later.

Why are we meeting at a mystery location?

I have something I need to show you!

You’re making me nervous…

You’re always nervous. See you at 4:30.

Jyn actually remembers to text him the address about ten minutes before he’s planning on leaving the office, and the map on his phone shows that it’s right by the water, but there’s no businesses listed there. Whatever Jyn is trying to do, it’s going to be a surprise, despite Bodhi’s best efforts. He sighs, before gathering his things and heading out for the night.

It’s a short ride from his office to the address Jyn sent him and he finds himself pulling into the small parking lot of a tiny, one story office building that faces the beach. He recognizes the only other vehicle in the lot as Jyn’s motorcycle, so this must be the place. There’s a wide window on the front of the only office housed in the building and, when Bodhi gets out of his car, he sees that there’s a sign painted on the glass that reads, “PSYCH” in big letters and, underneath that in a smaller script, it says, “private psychic detective.”

“Oh, no,” he says to himself, before pulling open the door.

“Bodhi,” Jyn greets him cheerfully when he enters the room.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Depends on who you ask,” she says. “Why? What did I do?”

“You rented office space, for your psychic detective agency! Which is a career you’ve had for less than a week! And, by the way, you’re not actually psychic!”

“Oh, that,” she says, waving a hand at him, as though his are petty concerns.

“You’re not actually naming it that, are you?” Bodhi asks.

“No, Bodhi. I just paid them to hand paint it on the window because I’m a patron of the arts with money to burn.”

“You can’t call it that,” Bodhi says, ignoring Jyn’s joke and changing tactics.

“Why not?

“Psych?” He says, hoping hearing it aloud will make her understand. When she just looks at him blankly, he adds, “As in ‘Gotcha!’”

“No. Psych, as in psychic,” Jyn says, throwing in some jazz hands for good measure.

“It doesn’t read that way.”

“Oh, whatever.”

“Actually, I have a great idea,” Bodhi says, rubbing his forehead. “What if you called it, ‘Hey, We’re Fooling You and the Police, Hope We Don’t Make a Mistake and Someone Dies Because of It.’”

“As catchy as that is, I think that would take up too much space on the window,” Jyn says seriously. “It would interrupt our ocean view and you have no idea how much that cost me.”

“Speaking of which, how did you even get this place? I know your credit score is terrible.”

“True. But yours isn’t.”

“Mine?” Bodhi asks. “What does my credit score have to do with it?”

“You co-signed the lease with me.”

“Funny, I don’t remember doing that.”

“Well, you’re a busy man. I didn’t want to bug you with the trivial details, so I signed for you,” Jyn says innocently.

“Jyn!”

“It’s not my fault that your signature is easy to forge!”

“That’s not even remotely the problem here,” Bodhi says, his annoyance clear in his voice. “What real estate agent would allow this?”

“A really terrible one.”

Bodhi groans and covers his face with his hands. Jyn crosses the room to pat him consolingly on the shoulder.

“Hey, lighten up. This is gonna be fun! You and me, solving crimes together,” she says.

That’s enough to pull Bodhi out of his despair and he gives Jyn a disbelieving look. “Jyn, what are you talking about? I already have a full-time job,” he says.

“Oh, believe me, I know. You’re always talking about it, with your steady paycheck and your dental plan and your 411K,” Jyn says bitterly.

“It’s a four-OH-one-K, Jyn.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

“I’m not leaving my job,” Bodhi says firmly and he sees Jyn’s face fall. “But, I can help you with cases in my spare time, if you’d like.”

“I would like,” Jyn says, smiling. “I would like very much.”

“Good. Partners?” He says, offering his fist for her to bump, which she does.

“Partners. Of course,” Jyn says, and the two of them enjoy approximately thirty seconds of peace before a noise outside catches Jyn’s attention.

“Okay, look alive,” she says, smoothing out her shirt. “Our 5 o’clock is here.”

“What?!” Bodhi asks, shocked. “You have a client already?”

“We gotta keep the lights on somehow,” Jyn replies.

“The Jyn I know has never paid an electricity bill on time in her life,” he says, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Well, maybe I’m turning over a new leaf,” Jyn says with a small smile, which Bodhi returns easily. If she’s really serious about this, he’s not going to stand in her way.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, pointing a finger at her emphatically.

She points back at him. “Thank you.”

At that moment, a young woman comes through the door, looking around cautiously. “Is this the psychic detective agency?” She asks.

“Yes, it is,” Jyn says. “And I’m the psychic detective, Jyn Erso.”

“Wow,” the young woman says, completely dazzled. She looks at Bodhi then, clearly confused as to his role.

Jyn, for her part, doesn’t miss a beat. “Allow me to introduce my associate, Burton Guster.”

Bodhi doesn’t bother correcting her, giving a small wave instead. This is his life now, after all.

#rogue one #star wars #psych #Jyn Erso #bodhi rook #cassian andor #fanfiction #my fic tag #AU

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easyfoodnetwork · 5 years ago

Text

Food Is No Longer Your Fallback Job. It Never Should Have Been in the First Place.

Barista | Shutterstock

It’s time we stop considering these jobs as a backup and start providing dignity to all workers

I graduated from college in the spring of 2008. If you’ll recall, that fall wasn’t a great time to enter the job market, and the advice I got from anyone who had an opinion (which was everyone) was to “go wait tables.” It was a catchall phrase for the kind of work that was assumed to be available whenever the chips were down — the guidance given to every high schooler looking for extra money, every college grad who doesn’t have a job lined up, every aspiring actor in LA. And even at that time, when the unemployment rate was somewhere around 10 percent, it was available: I got a job as a hostess and server at a local restaurant, but I also had an offer from Starbucks, and an invitation to return to work at a bakery I’d worked at the previous summer.

Once again, we’re facing a recession, or, according to some experts, a full-on depression. Unemployment websites crashed as millions have applied for benefits in the past weeks, and food banks can’t keep up with demand — one-third of those going to them for food have never needed aid before. The coronavirus pandemic has revealed basically every fault line in our society, from the inadequacy of the social safety net to the incompetence of many of our leaders. And it is now revealing some long-held assumptions about work in the food-service industry. Being a server, a bartender, or a dishwasher, or doing other restaurant work, is often spoken of as a job that is always — and implicitly, only — viable when there are no other options. That if anyone had a real choice, they would choose something else. But because restaurants and bars aren’t hiring, food is no longer the fallback job. It never should have been thought of in that way in the first place.

The restaurant industry has long been the province of outcasts, but over the last two decades, owning a restaurant, becoming a celebrity(ish) chef, and, to a certain extent, being a fancy mixologist have come to be considered actual careers. These are the kinds of jobs that can land you a steady paycheck and the status of “small-business owner,” or even book deals and TV appearances. But when you’re not the owner or the creative force behind the food, food service — from hustling shifts as a server to manning the cash register at McDonald’s — is still generally talked about as a temporary detour, a place to lay low while you get your shit together. In pop culture, it’s an after-school job for teens, even though only about 30 percent of fast-food workers are teenagers. The mainstream image is still a job you leave, not one you keep.

“It’s an industry many fall back on time and time again,” writes Frances Bridges for Forbes. In 2011, Brokelyn told recent college grads that they likely “will consider waiting tables as a fallback to your day-job dreams,” the assumption being that everyone dreams of a day job. In 2016, Forbes called being a host or bartender one of the best jobs to have “while you are figuring out what to do with your life,” as it provides both a steady paycheck and, due to high turnover, restaurants and bars are “almost always hiring.” The assumption by economists and career experts was that no matter what, people need to eat, and they would want to eat out — so restaurant work would always be around.

Now, for the first time, it’s not. Nearly every state has issued orders for restaurants to close dine-in options or severely reduce capacity, forcing restaurants to lay off or furlough workers — or shutter entirely. About 10 million people filed for unemployment in the past few weeks, a number that’s expected to keep rising by the millions. And that number doesn’t account for gig-economy workers — like Instacart couriers or Uber Eats drivers — who, as contractors, wouldn’t qualify for UI. The food-service industry was hit particularly hard. According to the Department of Labor, restaurant and bar jobs accounted for 60 percent of the jobs lost in March. It’s clear that serving food and making drinks is not the revolving door it has been made out to be.

Jennifer Cathey, a former line cook at Glory World Gyro in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, says the restaurant has tried to stay open for takeout and delivery services, but there’s almost no business, and she was often “alone in a kitchen for hours at a time.” After a week, she volunteered to be laid off, as she lives with her mother and doesn’t need the money for rent. “If work was going to be so slow, it didn’t feel right to take any of the meager hours given to employees for any of my other coworkers,” she told Eater.

Cathey, who started working in her mother’s restaurant as a teenager, says she wanted to sacrifice her shifts for her coworkers because the food industry has always felt like home for her. “It is my favorite kind of work, I’ve loved all the places I’ve worked,” she says. Mostly it’s because she gets the immediate gratification of making something for someone else to consume and enjoy. But it’s also because, as a trans woman, the restaurant industry is a place she can rely on to be welcoming. “Especially living here in Alabama, all the people I’ve met through the restaurant and bar industries have been the most accepting of anyone,” she says. “I might not get anyone from my hometown to call me by my name, but the food-service community is tight-knit and open and welcome to all sorts of people... I have that fear that other industries wouldn’t be as welcoming.”

Unfortunately, it is also because food service has been a space for those who don’t fit into other parts of society that it has been considered a job for those who just need a job. Food service doesn’t require a college degree (or even a high school diploma), and it’s traditionally more welcoming to those with criminal backgrounds, to immigrants, to queer people, and to those with little other work experience. In Kitchen Confidential, Anthony Bourdain referred to line cooks as a “dysfunctional, mercenary lot” and “fringe dwellers.” Not the most generous reading, but one that speaks to the reality: that in most people’s opinion, any office job is preferable to a career in the restaurant industry.

Which is not to say it’s not worthy work. If this pandemic has proven anything, it’s how essential those working in the food industry are. Instead, these assumptions come from a cycle of low pay and bad benefits that devalue both the job itself and the people doing it. “It’s set up to be temporary,�� says Lauren* (who asked to remain anonymous), who was recently laid off from her bartending job at Dock Street Brewery in Philadelphia. “There are minimal benefits, pay increases, or opportunities for moving up in a company. And then this happens, and it makes it even more apparent how the industry is set up to be temporary, even though the people working in it don’t see it that way.”

A “reasonable” person, says the strawman I’ve invented but also probably plenty of people you’ve actually met, wouldn’t choose to make a career out of a job that relies on tips, that doesn’t provide health insurance, and where one risks such injury. Thus, the people who choose this career must not be “reasonable,” and if that’s true, then why support such unreasonable people? And on and on.

If it were true that food service is only a paycheck for those who are waiting for their “real” career to appear, then presumably no one would care one way or another about the job itself. But multiple people I talked to spoke of the restaurant industry — waiting tables, working the line, making lattes — as their dream job. “I literally emailed Pizzana for two years until they gave me a shot,” says Will Weissman, who was recently laid off from the West Hollywood pizza restaurant. He loved the restaurant’s food from the first time he tasted it, and hoped when they opened a second location, they’d take a chance on him, even though he had no previous experience. “I had always been food obsessed. I know a lot about wine, I’m a good cook, and I just wanted to finally do something in the food industry.”

Samantha Ortiz, a chef at Kingsbridge Social Club in the Bronx, says she was instantly drawn to the hospitality industry when she started work as a barista. “I felt so fulfilled to be able to make something for someone, even if it was as simple as a latte,” she says. Now, her restaurant is closed and her unemployment will run out in 90 days, but she has no plans to switch industries. “I doubt that I would ever look for a job in a different field,” she says. “The kitchen is home.”

When my serving job ended (the restaurant shut down), I was slightly relieved. I was a terrible server, and I knew I had other options. But many of my coworkers expressed deeper laments. They liked the strong arms they got from carrying trays of food, and they enjoyed recommending a dish and hearing their customer loved it. They liked that each night was different and experimenting with making new drinks. Hearing from them, I understood that the restaurant’s closure was a loss.

It’s not quite true that there are no food-service jobs available right now. Instead of the serving jobs that college grads are urged to consider, there’s a new form of food work that’s thriving during this recession: the gig worker. Grocery stores and apps like Instacart are hiring deliverers and baggers by the thousands. It’s mostly temporary work, and puts workers at higher risk for contagion, but it’s there. In a vacuum, there’s a lot to love about a job as a gig-economy deliverer. Setting one’s own schedule, picking up shifts when it’s convenient, providing a necessary service to people who can’t travel or carry their own groceries — that’s a good job. What’s not good is the pay, the exploitation, the hundred ways these corporations leech off their workers and make it impossible to make a living wage. But that doesn’t have to be the case.

We as a society have set these jobs up to be temporary, so when someone wants to make their job permanent, we think it is a failure on their part, rather than a failure on ours. There is no such thing as a “bad” job, only bad conditions. Food-service work doesn’t have to be low paid. It doesn’t have to rely on tips, or come without health care or paid sick leave. In the face of the pandemic, we’re seeing how that is the case, as grocery stores and delivery services are pressured into providing better benefits and pay to these essential workers. But it’s time we stop considering these jobs, any jobs, as backup, and time to start providing dignity to all workers.

“It’s hard seeing people that I really care about, that I work with, be treated as disposable,” says Lauren. “I definitely go back and forth every day being like, ‘Is this even worth it, or am I just pouring all of my energy into continuing to be treated really poorly?’ I don’t know.”

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/34nd7lE https://ift.tt/2VagA2E

Barista | Shutterstock

It’s time we stop considering these jobs as a backup and start providing dignity to all workers

Which is not to say it’s not worthy work. If this pandemic has proven anything, it’s how essential those working in the food industry are. Instead, these assumptions come from a cycle of low pay and bad benefits that devalue both the job itself and the people doing it. “It’s set up to be temporary,” says Lauren* (who asked to remain anonymous), who was recently laid off from her bartending job at Dock Street Brewery in Philadelphia. “There are minimal benefits, pay increases, or opportunities for moving up in a company. And then this happens, and it makes it even more apparent how the industry is set up to be temporary, even though the people working in it don’t see it that way.”

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/34nd7lE via Blogger https://ift.tt/2XpvFQY

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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worktherooms · 8 years ago

Text

Bartenders and Bud-light

Lin x Reader

Word Count:4,209 (I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened :/)

Disclaimers: Alcohol mention, 1 curse word?

A/N: This is my first fanfic of any kind, so feedback is definitely welcome!! I took a prompt online “you make eye contact with a stranger across” and just ran with it. Thank you @secretschuylersister for reading it over!! I hope you all enjoy (cause I enjoyed writing it!!)

You found yourself at another stupid college party, where groups of college kids were chugging god-knows-what from red solo cups while some Top 50 song blared from unseen speakers.

It happened to be the first party of your senior year, friends were reuniting after their semesters abroad and talking about their respective summers. You scanned the room in search of someone you knew, but instead your eyes landed on a dark-haired boy chuckling in a corner. You have seen this particular male around campus, either running to class late with mismatched shoes or goofing off in the dining hall with his soccer team.

You two have never really crossed paths since he was a theater/music major, while you were a journalism major. Although do remember having an English class together your freshman year, but he didn’t talk much in class so you never paid much attention to him. But seeing him at this party sparked your interest, maybe because it was your senior year and all your friends all seemed to have found their soul mates? That couldn’t be! You were in the process of job applications and thesis planning– definitely not the time for romance.

You were standing alone near the drinks, the people who you came with were off somewhere playing beer pong or catching up with others who were back from abroad. Bored, you glanced down at the drink that your friend Maggie had concocted for you before she disappeared with some frat boy. You took a hesitant sip, winced, and set it down. There was way too much vodka and you had one too many incidents with the alcohol. Instead, you reached for a bud light.

Suddenly someone approached the table, it happened to be mysterious-theater guy. He glanced at you, and after a beat he asked “Hey, can you hit me up with a bud light too?” You shrugged and passed him the beer. He thanked you, dark, thoughtful eyes never leaving yours, and made his way back to his group of friends.

It had been a normal interaction between two people. Why was my heart pounding so fast? And why was I thinking how his hand had lingered on the bottle for a second before letting go? You thought, taking a gulp of beer. And how he had eyebags and disheveled hair but still looked good? Before your thoughts could spiral even more, her future lawyer friend, Natalie made an appearance.

“Maggie texted me saying she’s staying with the frat guy tonight.” Natalie smirked.

“Huh, I’m not surprised. Guess we’ll get details tomorrow? Ready to go then?”

“Yep.”

As you walked out of the party with Natalie, you didn’t realize that the mysterious-theater guy was still peering at you with curiosity.

After that party, you seemed to be seeing more of this mysterious-theater guy around campus. Either passing him on the way to class or checking your mail at the student center, he happened to be there. You didn’t pay much attention to it considering your school had a relatively small campus where you would see the same people several times a day. Occasionally you two would run into each other at some event, but the only interaction being a simple ‘hey, can you pass me a beer?”

It was soon time for the last finals of undergrad therefore you saw less of the mysterious theater guy, and decided to let it go, focusing on finishing up strong instead. Soon after, graduation approached and, of course, the graduation parties.

Maggie led your group of friends straight to the bar and ordered gin and tonics for the group. Then promptly launched into a conversation about her boyfriend, the frat boy. You, only half listening, examined the room. Most graduates were there- playing pool, engaging in conversations with their former professors, or dancing. A group of theater guys stood off to the side, downing beers like their lives depended on it.

You wondered where THE theater guy was. Usually he would have been at the bar already, asking you, or in this case the real bartender for a beer. Speaking of, you haven’t seen him since the grad ceremony.

“Hey, who are you looking for?” Natalie asked, sipping her gin and tonic, her brown eyes wide with mischief.

“U-uh, no-one. W-why?” You stuttered. Were you being that obvious?

Natalie rolled her eyes.

“Please, you’ve been gawking at that group theater guys since we got here. I didn’t know they were your type. But hey, who am I to judge. Just tell me. You haven’t been on an actual date since September junior year!”

“I have! This past January I went out with that engineering guy.”

“Jeremy?! Y/N, someone who was NOT a complete dumbass.” Natalie ranted to her friend.

“Oh.” You shuddered at the thought. It had actually been one of your worst dates. He wasn’t bad looking but too self absorbed and oblivious. No wonder you blocked the guy from your memory.

“So who is it? I’m actually pretty familiar with those group of guys.” Natalie pressed, looking over at the group herself. “Maybe I could set you up! And you guys could double date with me and Mark!”

“Uh well, I don’t know his name. But I think he’s a theater/music double major like Mark, he’s also on the soccer team.”

Natalie’s eyes twinkled with knowledge. “Hm…I think I had a calc class with him once– does he have ever messy hair, dark dreamy eyes, a little shy, never seems to wear matching shoes?”

“I haven’t really noticed his eyes, but yeah, messy hair, mismatched shoes, also likes Bud Light.” You added.

“How would you know if you never spoken to him?”

“I acted as a bartender for him a couple times.”

“AND YOU NEVER ASKED WHAT HIS NAME WAS?!” Natalie shrieked, causing a couple heads to turn. “C’mon Y/N, don’t throw away your shot.” The future lawyer grabbed your free hand and marched over to the group of theater majors.

“Natalieeee!! What’s upp?” A particularly drunk guy slurred, slinging his arm around her.

“I’m not here for you, Mark.” Natalie wiggled out of his grasp, trying to hide her smile. “I wanted to ask where Mr. Lin-Manuel Miranda was?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” One of the more sober guys asked. “He immediately flew out right after graduation, apparently he immediately got some acting gig in LA, that lucky bastard.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. He had moved across the country–a whole 3,000 miles away doing geeky theater stuff. You didn’t even want to pursue this guy, just intrigued by him.

——————————————————————————————————————

A Year Later

“A medium cappuccino with skim milk and two sugars, please?” You told the barista at the counter.

“That would be $4.25”

You gave her the money and took your drink, then looked around the busy cafe for a spot to sit. After traveling around the world for the past year you needed some time to collect your thoughts, to think about your next steps before flying out again. You noticed one free seat across a familiar mop of dark messy hair hunched over a laptop.

Mysterious-theater- guy? Lin-Manuel? What was he doing here? Even with the nagging from Natalie, you never reached out to him. With the constant traveling and full time career, a boy wouldn’t fit into that equation. You’ve known this since undergrad, but the only available spot was across from him. Taking a deep breath, you walked over to the theater stud not knowing if he would recognize you.

“Well, if it isn’t Bud Light boy.” You queried, trying to sound casual. It has been a while since you’ve seen each other. Lin looked up, facial expression confused for a moment before recognition came.

“Well, if isn’t my old bartender, Y/N right? How’s it going?” Lin asked, closing his laptop.

You never mentioned your name, so must’ve been the work of Natalie? “Work and traveling,” you nonchalantly replied. “What about you, Mr. LA?”

“The name’s Lin actually.” A beginning of a smile forming on the Latino’s lips. “Life’s been hectic, had to come back and visit the parents. Heard you were conquering every continent though?” He asked, then gestured for you to sit. You obliged, taking a sip of your coffee.

“So that’s the word on the street, huh?”

Lin nodded. How come he never had an actual conversation with this girl? Why didn’t he stay a little bit longer near the drinks during those parties? He mentally kicked himself. The only time your name was mentioned to him was when Natalie would talk about her cool journalism major friend who practically lived in the News room. As smart as he was, he never put two and two together.

“From what your friend Natalie has told me, you’re on your way. When’s your next project?”

“May, so in a couple weeks then I’ll be off to Brazil, until Thanksgiving or maybe Christmas.” You explained. “How about you?”

“Sounds like a crazy life you lead. But I have a gig out in LA right now, but also working a play about Washington Heights and growing up there.”

“Sounds exciting! So I guess you’re trying to be the next Shakespeare?” You teased.

Lin smirked, “nah, I couldn’t be compared to the genius, that’s the goal though.”

You and Lin spent the rest of the afternoon talking: everything from freshman year roommate horror stories to incompetent co-workers. Before you knew it the sun was setting and most of the afternoon crowd had dispersed, Lin was in the middle of a particularly intriguing story about him showing up at an audition with his pants inside out, when you noticed the time.

“I would love to find out if you realized you had your pants on inside out in time but I promised Natalie I’ll meet her for dinner, but it was great catching up with you, Lin.”

“Oh.” Lin’s face visibly fell. “It was fun talking with you too, Y/N. When can we meet up again? So I could tell you if I got the part!”

“Was that an excuse to get my number? Cause I’m assuming you got the part?” You quirked an eyebrow.

The boy feigned shock. “Huh maybe it was, pray tell then, what’s your number?”

You gave him your number and asked for his in return.

“I gotta tell you though, I’m heading back to Cali next Thursday so I hope we can catch up before then?” Lin asked, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“If you’re lucky.”

“Here’s hoping I’m lucky cause you’re one interesting girl, Y/N.” He winked and headed out the shop.

You don’t blush easily but the way this overenthusiastic theater nerd said your name made your cheeks color. As cliche as that sounded.

To Natalie 5:35 pm

I have so much to tell you over dinner!!

————————————————————————————————————————-

Several hours later, when you met Natalie at your favorite restaurant, you recounted what happened earlier that afternoon.

“Y/N, girl, I’ve been telling you for the past year to at least message him on Facebook, but did you listen? Nope.” Natalie exclaimed.

“You’re right, I should’ve, I just have this whole field journalism thing which doesn’t allow me stay in one place for more than a week. Any type of romantic relationship wouldn’t fit into that crazy lifestyle. “

“You should get to know him better! From what you told me he could be interested, it’s the twenty-first century, girls have the right to ask guys to hang out first. And Lin’s a nice guy-unlike Jeremy.”

You took in Natalie’s words. Judging by your conversation, maybe you should ask him to hang out-it couldn’t hurt. Even if nothing comes out of it, you might gain a friend on the West coast. Which might be a way to network, in order to find a more stable job.

“Y/N, what’s going through your head?” Natalie prompted.

“I’m going to text him to meet up before he leaves.” You decided. “Because why the hell not?”

Natalie raised her glass to toast with your’s “Hear, hear.”

To: Playwright Lin 7:10 pm

Hey, about your pants & interview, would you be so kind to tell me about it Tuesday?

From: Playwright Lin 7:11 pm

So you are curious? Tuesday works for me, how about dinner? would 7 work?

To: Playwright Lin 7:12 pm

7s fine. I look forward to hearing the rest of your story, Lin.

From: Playwright Lin 7:14 pm

I look forward to telling it, Y/N!

“Judging by how red your face is, he either responded with something sexual or cute.” Natalie teased. You showed your friend the messages which earned you a ‘see I told you’ look.

—————————————————————————————————————————

As Tuesday evening rolled around, You felt a sort of nervousness that you haven’t felt before– not even during the SATs or first job interview. Get it together! You scolded yourself. It’s just dinner with a guy. After taking a quick shower, you contemplated on what to wear. As if on cue, your phone dinged with several texts from Natalie as you stared blankly into your closet.

From: Natalie 6:00 pm

Since ur my best friend, i know ur freaking out about what to wear…u should wear that sweater im obsessed with and those black jeans. U don’t want to try too hard but still look cute.

Txt if u need me.

(Please don’t need me ;))

U got this!

You grinned and rolled her eyes, feeling the anxiety of going on a one-on-one with a guy disappear. Natalie had a point though, the pink sweater had a flirty flair to it and paired with black jeans gave a seamless look. It was an appropriate outfit for a first date if one can call it that. After grabbing your purse, you stepped out the door.

To: Natalie 6:50 pm

Wish me luck!

The restaurant you agreed on was walking distance from your apartment; so you weren’t too worried about leaving ten minutes before the meeting time. It was a small Italian restaurant that you both happened to enjoy while in college. Lin had agreed on meeting outside the place to avoid either one sitting awkwardly alone.

As you approached the restaurant, you noticed that Lin was already there, tapping away on his phone. You walked up and stood next to him. He didn’t notice.

“You millennials and your Apple phones.” You quipped.

“Guilty” Lin responded, putting his hands up. “Ready to go in and stuff our faces?”

“Ready if you are.”

You and Lin entered the restaurant, where you were immediately greeted by a hostess, who escorted you to your table.

“Here you are, your waiter will be with you shortly.” The hostess said.

“So continue about your audition story,” You said, after sitting down. “You must’ve left quite an impression.”

“You could say that, for once I was on time to something, and realized 15 seconds before my audition that my pants were on wrong. So I rushed to the bathroom, changed, with approximately 2 seconds to spare.”

“There should be an Olympic event for that.” You said, earning a laugh from Lin.

For the rest of dinner, you both listened intently on what the other had to say. Lin spoke animatedly about his upbringing in ‘The Heights’, as he called it, which you were beyond intrigued about. You could listen someone talk about their passions on end, especially from a cute boy with a equally as cute speaking voice. Before you knew it, the hostess had come over to give you the check.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the restaurant’s closing soon, I don’t mean to rush but it’s nearing midnight.” The hostess said.

“Shall we split it?” You asked, reaching for the check. Since it was closer to Lin he quickly grabbed it.

“Nope, my treat.”

“It’ll feel more like a date if we didn’t split it. And I was the one who asked you.” You pointed out.

“You’ve got a point there. But it’s all on me next time.” Lin deadpanned as he slid the check back over so you could look at it.

When will next time be? You wondered. He’s going back to California in less than 48 hours. And you’ll be in Brazil for the next 7-8 months. Maybe it was the wrong decision to go out with someone so charming, smart, and funny. It was only the second ‘date’ and you were already falling for him. The thing that you had been dreading.

“Can I walk you home?” Lin asked.

“Sure, thanks.”

You allowed him to walk you back to your apartment but neither one of you spoke. Each wondering what will come next after tonight, knowing your respective careers were demanding and happened to be on different sides of the world. As you arrived in front of your apartment, Lin was the first to speak.

“Look, I had a great time tonight, but given our circumstances, I don’t know when’ll I’ll see you again.” He whispered, his dark eyes meeting yours.

You sighed, a million things going through your head, you ultimately responded with “Let’s make an effort to stay in touch, and not make the same mistake as in undergrad without getting each other’s information.” You gave him a small smile, in which he returned.

“You can count on it, I’m pretty good with the whole tech thing.”

You leaned in for a hug, thinking a handshake would be too casual while a kiss would probably suggest something more.

“Bye, Lin.” You whispered, as you pulled away. “Have a safe flight.”

“See ya, Y/N.”

With that, you opened the door and disappeared inside your apartment, leaving Lin pining for you already.

————————————————————————————————————————-

A Year Later

After spending 7 months in Brazil learning about the culture and reporting about different political issues, you returned home knowing your next assignment wouldn’t be for a couple more months.

You needed these couple months to figure out where she stood with Lin. During the first couple months, phone calls and Facebook messages were daily. You had both wanted to Skype but due to the time difference and hard hours, it was hard for you to find a comparable time. In the last couple months, your communication slowed to only a few texts a week and less often phone calls, since apparently Lin was in the process of getting his musical to broadway and working part time. He would still send you pictures of Shiba Inus almost everyday which he knew were your favorite dog breed.

But when you texted Lin saying that you were going back home, you never received a response, which confused you but eventually brushed it off as him being busy. You knew that long distance friendships were hard, especially after college with everyone off doing their own thing.

Not only was only keeping in touch with Lin hard, it was difficult to get through to Natalie, who was swamped with law school work. You had been back for almost four months before being able to find a time to meet up with your lawyer friend.

Finally one day in April, you finally managed to find a time. You decided to go to the bar early and wait there for Natalie finish up at her criminal law class. You had ordered a bud light, picking at the label on the bottle, when you felt the presence of someone taking a spot next to you, before you could say anything, the person spoke.

“A bud light, please.” The person told the bartender.

Your eyes shot up when she heard the familiar voice. A voice you heard only through the occasional phone call. A person you hadn’t had a real conversation with for the past couple months. A person who ignored your text when you had explicitly said you’ll be back. You looked to the side and there he was, Lin, with his ever messy hair and eye bags, ordering the same type of beer as he did in college.

“Lin.” You breathed.

The actor turned to you, his face lighting up when he saw who had said his name.

“Hey…it’s been a while.”

“What are you doing here?!” You shrieked with a mix of excitement, anger, and shock. How dare he ignore you and then show up? Of all the bars, you run into each other at the same one, giving ‘of all the gin joints’ a true meaning.

“Well to tell you the truth, I quit the acting gig in LA.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “I’m sorry, WHAT?”

“Uh, yeah, didn’t want to pursue something that probably wasn’t going anywhere, so I came back here, looking for another opportunity-maybe really focusing on the musical. In all honesty, I wanted to see you, you’ve been on my mind the whole the whole time I was out West. Seeing those Brazil pictures on Facebook was really something. Doing what you love, it’s incredible and inspiring really. I know our paths are extremely different, but I want to make an us happen.”

You stared at him, taking in every word of his confession.You never experienced someone, much less a guy reveal his true feelings to you-willing to quit a job for you. You were only 24, you had your whole life ahead of you, and this wonderful guy just appears and ruins all that by quitting his job and wanting to be with you-travel with you. All of this was absurd. You couldn’t let that happen so you shook your head.

“Listen, Lin, I like you. A lot actually, but we only graduated college less than two years ago, we only gotten to know each other through technology. As much fun as our brief face-to-face interactions were, you can’t give up your dream of being the next Shakespeare, continue with your play and acting–for me. I’m never in one place for long, my office is out there.” You gestured around and continued. “So Lin, do what you love, keep writing, but be you, and you’ll know when the right time for an us is.”

Lin’s face was unreadable “I guess you’re right, Y/N. See you around.” He sighed, and left the bar.

What you didn’t tell him was your next assignment would be in New York, where you had found a permanent job there, working as an editor for the New York Times.

————————————————————————————————————————-

2 Weeks Later.

“Hello, I am looking for a Lin-Manuel Miranda, I believe he works here?” You asked the concierge at the front desk of an impressive looking New York studio lobby.

“Ah, yes, is he expecting you?” The concierge inquired, looking at an appointment book.

“I’m a friend, tell him… Natalie is here to see him.” You lied.

“OK, give me a moment.”

The concierge pressed a few buttons and said. “Mr. Miranda, a young lady named Natalie is here to see you.” She paused, allowing him to speak, then nodded. “You can go right up, 11th floor.”

“Thank you.”

The elevator ride up to his office gave you time to think. Of course you were nervous, you haven’t spoken to Lin since that night at the bar 2 weeks ago. Natalie had told you that he was heart broken, but you did the right thing. Lin couldn’t give up his whole career to be with you by dropping everything and wanting to travel with you.

The elevator finally dinged and you stepped out and walked down the hall until she saw the door that read 11C. Under that it read, “Lin-Manuel Miranda” You grinned to herself, so he has his own dressing room, you then hesitantly knocked on the door.

“Come on in!” His voice rang from within.

You turned the door handle with shaking hands.

“Nat-oh, Y/N?” His voice was filled with hurt and confusion when he realized it was you.

“Before you say anything, I came here to admit something: I actually got an editing job in New York, and will be moving here in a couple months. The only reason why I didn’t say anything before was that you took me by surprise, showing up to the bar like that. After not speaking directly for so long took a minute for me to process. I know I’m doing the same to you right now, which is completely unfair but I needed time to think and realize that there should be an us.” You rambled.

“Really? You got a job in New York, to be with someone who happens to be working on a play here? And 2 weeks ago when that same someone asked you, you full on shut them down? Leaving them to reevaluate entire life. Huh. Funny how that works.” Lin said, even with his somewhat scathing tone, you still recognized a playfulness to it.

“We were never good at the whole timing thing.” You confessed, noticing the distance between you two has diminished. “I like you, Lin Manuel.”

“I like you too Y/N,” Lin confirmed, “but I have to ask again, is this the right time for an us?”

“Let’s just give it a shot, bud light boy.” You said, closing the space between you and Lin.

#fanfic #lin x reader #lin manuel imagine #lin manuel fanfic #hamilton fic #writings

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