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semperintrepida · 4 years

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The Sellout, chapter three

three: the bad news

"So are you going to look at it, or what?"

Ellen was talking, from her favorite seat on the couch with the best view of the register, but Kyra just stared at the jar on the counter, at the card lying face down and innocent on top of all the other cards inside it. She knew damn well what company that card came from — she'd seen the flash of green as it spun in the air from being dunked into the jar with savage glee.

Starbucks green.

"Kyra?" Ellen's voice was closer now. Right at the counter.

Kyra wordlessly pushed the jar in her direction, and Ellen pulled up a sleeve and stuck her hand in, her head tilting into a question. Is this it?

Kyra nodded.

Ellen fished the card out of the jar, her eyes widening as she read it. "Motherfucker," she said. "You were right — she is bad news."

"Show me." Kyra held out her hand.

The card landed in her palm, and as she flipped it over, her fingertips slid across bumps embossed onto its surface. Braille. On a business card. There was nothing a billion dollar company wouldn't do to give itself the tiniest edge over the competition.

The Starbucks logo greeted her on the front of the card. No surprise there. She scanned the text, eyes glancing over the woman's name — Kassandra Agiadis — but her name was less important to Kyra than her title: Vice President of International Real Estate Development.

The words on the card began to smear, and it was like falling while roped in during a climb; that sudden, twisting spin before the world dropped out from under her.

Real estate development. What's the premium for a high visibility retail space in this neighborhood?

She considered the card in her hand — amazing how something so weightless could be so crushing — then tore it in half, flinging the pieces onto the counter hard enough for them to fly off the edge on the other side.

Ellen's head swiveled to follow their flight path, and then she silently walked past the counter and stooped to pick the pieces up from the floor.

Kyra knew this day would come, but like all disasters, it had sat off in the distance until the moment it showed up on her doorstep. For years, Starbucks had been content to keep mostly to the west side of the river, with seventeen stores crammed between I-405 and the waterfront.

Seventeen stores. Down in the Pearl District, there was a Starbucks on every fucking corner, choking out all but a handful of indie shops. But the river had made a good moat, and with Starbucks contained, she'd been able to make a decent living within the rougher, more corrugated edges of the Central Eastside and Distillery Row.

She'd survived Dutch Bros putting in drive-throughs north and south of her on MLK, the coffee shortage of 2011 that tripled the price of beans, and the slow sprouting of competing coffee shops across the neighborhood. She'd managed to stay on the right side of the profitability line, but she'd been clinging to survival by the smallest of handholds for months now. One slip would be enough to send everything plummeting to earth.

She should have taken Thal's money and opened up more shops. She should have sold to Stumptown when she had the chance. She should have—

Her eyes began to sting. She resisted the urge to flee to the storeroom; if she went back there and let the tears leak out, she wouldn't be able to stop them again. And running off wasn't an option even if she wanted to — she was the only one working this shift and someone had to watch the fort.

She breathed in slowly, breathed out, until the prickle in her eyes faded enough for her to push the retail mask back into place.

Ellen was still standing there, watching her. "You'll figure something out, Kyra. You always do," she said, placing the torn halves of the card on the counter. "Hang on to this shit, huh? Just in case."

Ellen made it halfway back to the couch when Kyra spoke up again. "Do you have your laptop with you?"

"How else would I abuse your wifi?"

"Can I borrow it for a few minutes?"

Ellen's grin was feral. "I thought you'd never ask."

.oOo.

It took a while to get the laptop sorted, much of it involving frantic clicking and password after password as Ellen rambled something about needing a VPN and not trusting the government, but eventually Kyra found herself looking at an empty browser window with a cursor blinking lazily in its address bar.

"Where are we stalking first?" Ellen asked, rubbing her palms together in anticipation.

Kyra pulled up LinkedIn and typed "Kassandra Agiadis" into the search field, and when the results appeared, the photo at the top of the list smiled a familiar smile, the woman's confidence captured in pixel form along with that sharp glint in her eyes.

Kyra opened the profile.

Executive leader and consummate strategist with a proven record of results in aligning real estate acquisitions and portfolios with business goals...

She skimmed the suit-speak until she reached the background part of the profile.

MBA, Sloan School of Management, Massachusetts Institute of Technology BS, Economics, Stanford University

A lengthy list of job titles followed. Kassandra had only been at Starbucks a little more than a year. Before that, stints at Apple, Chipotle, CVS. The list went on. She'd rarely stayed longer than three years in a position.

Ellen whistled. "That's a lot of different companies."

"She's a mercenary," Kyra said. "Hired to do something specific and then move on."

Kyra opened another tab and searched Instagram, finding the woman's profile easily enough. The grid of photos featured a lot of concrete and metal, clean lines and minimalism, more Dieter Rams and Mid-Century Modern than any ostentatious displays of money being tossed around. Kyra kept scrolling. Except for the cars. And motorcycles. Apparently Kassandra liked her cars fast and her motorcycles retro.

"It's all very sterile, don't you think?" Kyra said, tapping a finger against her lips.

"I'll say. It's fucking fake. No one lives like that."

"I'm not sure all of it's fake, but it's definitely curated." She wiggled the cursor over a photo of the interior of a cabin, blonde wood and floor-to-ceiling windows framing a view of a lake. "She's paying someone to manage this for her."

"What's the fucking point of that?"

"Maintaining an image. Projecting a sense of old money." But something didn't add up, and Kyra couldn't pin down what it was.

She opened a third tab, this time for a good ol' Google search, and skimmed the list of results. A press release announcing Kassandra's hiring at Starbucks. More press releases. Talks at various conferences. Nothing particularly revelatory in the first few pages, but then a headline caught Kyra's eye and she clicked through.

Agiadis leads Stanford to national championship win

NEW ORLEANS (AP) — Led by a scintillating performance from Kassandra Agiadis, Stanford won its second consecutive national championship in a come-from-behind victory over rival Tennessee on Monday night.

Agiadis scored 24 points, muscled her way to 12 rebounds, and was two assists away from a triple-double as she powered Stanford to a 76-72 win, including sinking three crucial free throws in the final 34 seconds, in a game where Stanford found themselves in an early 12-4 deficit at the end of the first quarter.

"She wants to win more than anything, and she showed that tonight," Stanford coach Tara VanDerveer said of Agiadis. "We were in a hole after that first quarter, but Kassandra lifted this team up and said, 'Whatever it takes.' She simply refused to lose."

The article was old, and the photos accompanying the text were small, but unmistakably her: Kassandra, basketball in hand, pushing past two orange-clad players under the hoop. There was plenty of broad-shouldered muscle in that white Stanford jersey, but it was Kassandra's eyes, bright and clear with relentless focus, that caught Kyra's attention.

Ellen snorted from over Kyra's shoulder. "So she's a fucking jock. Why am I not surprised?"

Kyra didn't respond, too distracted by the second photo, which showed Kassandra surrounded by her teammates in a storm of confetti as she held an enormous trophy over her head in triumph, her smile as radiant as the sun.

And now she wore a suit instead of a basketball jersey and cut real estate deals for fun and profit. Seemed she was good at it too, but did it ever make her smile like she had while holding that trophy?

Kyra hoped the answer to that question was no.

.oOo.

She drifted through Wednesday and Thursday, irritable by day and sleepless at night, and when Friday evening arrived with its expanse of free time, she made three attempts to dig into Green's translation of the poetry of Catullus before setting the book aside and walking out to the shed in her back garden where she'd built her bouldering wall.

The faint scent of sweat, chalk, and dusty earth greeted her inside. It was her sanctuary, her shrine to defying gravity. Every handhold was as familiar as a lover.

But tonight she couldn't even climb the simplest problems. Her toes kept slipping and her fingers faltered.

She'd lost her grip.

Eventually she gave up and lay on her back on the crash pad, staring at the curving shadows the holds cast upon the wall, thinking of how problems she'd solved a thousand times could suddenly become so impossible.

.oOo.

Five minutes before closing on Saturday night, Kyra was wiping down the fridge under the counter when the door opened and a presence entered the shop. Maybe it was the way her visitor displaced the air in the otherwise empty room, or the sound of heavy footsteps, but Kyra knew exactly who she'd find when she stood up again.

Kassandra was standing next to the table closest to the register. This time, she wasn't wearing a suit — just an untucked linen shirt over tailored slacks — and she'd pulled her hair up into a loose chignon. The effect was to make her seem casual and relaxed, but no less moneyed.

Kyra wiped her hands on a clean rag to keep her eyes off the intersecting curves of Kassandra's jawline and neck. "Are you going to ask me to make you another fucking cappuccino? Because if so, I'm closed."

That drew a short laugh from Kassandra. "No. As much as I loved the one you made for me, even I'm not evil enough to ask for another this late."

"Then why are you here? So you can gloat before you put me out of business?"

"I don't want to put you out of business." Kassandra pulled a chair out from the table and made herself right at home, stretching her legs out before her. "I want your business."

Kyra's eyebrows lifted.

"I'll buy this," Kassandra said, as easily as if she was ordering a drink. She gestured around the room. "All of it. Right now."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious. How much would it take to get you to say yes?"

Kyra walked out from behind the counter to the narrow wooden bar that ran along the windows, and began flipping stools over on top of it. "Never mind buying me out — why are you here? Don't you have some lackey to work deals like this for you?"

Kassandra shrugged. "I like your coffee."

"Enough to buy my shop." She tugged the pull cord on the OPEN sign to turn it off.

"It beats the alternative."

Kyra skirted around Kassandra's outstretched legs on her way past, and when she reached the counter, she leaned back against it and crossed her arms. "And that would be..."

"We put in a new flagship store down the street from you on MLK — and you take your chances."

Ten years ago, Kyra would have been thrilled at the news that Starbucks was opening a store nearby. In those heady days, Starbucks was a tide that lifted every coffee shop around it. It was Starbucks that taught the average American that there was better coffee out there than freeze-dried instant — and that it was worth paying more than fifty cents a cup for. The spillover in foot traffic from a nearby Starbucks could launch a shop's profits to stratospheric heights.

Those days were long gone. Coffee had become cutthroat and commoditized, and now people bitched that her lattes cost a nickle more than the ones they could get at Starbucks. Sure, there were people out there who cared that her coffee was sourced from a roaster who paid a fair price for beans from small, family-run farms, but there weren't enough customers like them to keep her lights on and her espresso machine humming. So she kept trimming her margins, trying to stay competitive on price while offering better product, knowing it was unsustainable in the long run.

Kassandra's offer was tempting. She could take the money, take a real vacation for the first time in years, make the funds last long enough to find a job, somewhere. Fuck, she could go and work for Thal at his chain of shops over in Bend. She'd probably make more money with a lot less stress, and she'd even have time to climb—

The sound of the door opening again brought her back to reality. A man stumbled into the shop, disheveled and dirty, wearing an oversized puffy coat and a shredded pair of work pants. He shuffled closer, stopping a few steps away from Kassandra. His body swayed with the restless twitching of an addict, too far gone to know where he was, much less care about sweltering in a heavy winter coat during a spring heatwave.

Trouble piling on.

"I'm sorry sir, we're closed," Kyra said as neutrally as she could, threading the line between being welcoming and unwelcoming.

His eyes darted to and fro, unfocused, and he kept shifting his weight from foot to foot while he gestured aimlessly around him.

Kassandra eased herself to her feet. "Hey man, what do you need?" she asked, her voice taking on that even, reasonable tone that most people used when talking to the unhinged.

"Got any spare change?" He was shaking now, deep in his need for another hit.

Kassandra slowly lifted her hands. "Sorry, I'm all out," she said. Then she nodded back towards Kyra. "She's all out too."

Kyra shook her head apologetically.

Her movement caught his attention, and he peered at her with manic eyes. "What you doing here? Huh? Huh?" He reached up and pulled angrily at the hair above his ears. "My house. Mine."

"Nah," Kassandra said. "You're all turned around. Your house is out that way." She motioned towards the door.

He didn't seem to hear her, his eyes hardening to glare at Kyra as his face twisted. "You!" he shouted, and then the moment crystallized into a series of quick-cut images, unfurling into a jerky slideshow: the man lunging towards her, Kassandra sliding in between to intercept him, Kyra dodging out of the way as he slammed into Kassandra, knocking her off her feet...

Kyra could only watch helplessly as it put Kassandra's head on a collision course with the display case on the counter.

Chapter three of The Sellout. Continued in chapter four...

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with NCAA women's basketball history here. Apologies to UConn fans — I've borrowed a couple of your titles and given them to Stanford. Creative license, eh?

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #coffee shop au #sorry this update took so fucking long #the sellout

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iwillgiveyoumyhappiness · 4 years

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이장준, Lee Jangjun

anonymous asked:

Hi 화성아! Could I please request a Jangjun imagine where you're their new stylist and he gets feelings for you? (Sorry if it's incredibly vague) as usual take your time!

Group: Golden Child (골든차일드)

Member: Jangjun

Jangjun plopped himself in front of the mirror, mussing his hair up a little, tucking it behind his ears prettily and fluttering his lashes to make his members laugh. They thought it was funny, but they were also trying to reign in their crazy a little bit.

Why?

Because there was an unfamiliar face in the room, and they didn’t want to seem too weird for her tastes.

She was a new stylist, dressed in a nice mixture of business and casual, setting up her work area and laying out all of her eye shadow shades with a sensible, yet somehow random attention to detail.

She was pretty and looked well put together while still having an air of chill coolness about her that didn’t make her seem unapproachable, and of course—when it came to someone interesting like that—the members were thrown into a state of, “Oh my gosh, everyone shut up, we need to make a good impression.”

In Jangjun’s eyes, he didn’t see the point in hiding themselves. Especially since she was going to be around there for pretty much ever.

“’Scuse me!” he called, waving his hands and grinning widely into the mirror.

She met his eyes in the glass, giving a small smile. “Yes?” she said. “You up first?”

“Aye, aye, ‘cap,” he joked. He settled himself comfortably in the leather-covered chair, his sweaty hands sticking to the arms and making a sound akin to velcro tearing when he readjusted them.

She glanced down at his hands as she brushed through his hair. “You nervous?” she asked.

He followed her gaze, chuckling at himself. “Seems like it,” he said, stretching out his fingers and cracking his knuckles. “I don’t actually know why, though.”

“I admire the honesty,” she murmured, trying to carefully comb her way through a small tangle.

He smiled proudly to himself. “Why, thank you, ma’am.” He snapped his fingers, a thought coming to mind. “By the way, what’s my concept for today?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I’m thinking... Misunderstood bad boy? Leather-clad with passionate red undertones. Maybe a bandana tucked into the pocket.” She nodded confidently to herself. “Yup, definitely that. I can envision it going super well with the Without You choreography.”

Jangjun blinked, but his smile never lessened. “I don’t really know what you just said, but I’m down for it and I approve,” he said, flashing a thumbs up.

She chuckled under her breath, too quiet to hear. “Well, isn’t that good to hear,” she joked, pulling some scarlet hair extensions out of her makeup bag. She experimentally held them up to his hair, playing around with a few different placements.

She made an ‘ooh’ noise at one point, commenting under her breath that they “really brought out the highlights in his eyes”, so he could only assume that was a good thing.

She tied his bangs up with a cute Strawberry Shortcake scrunchie, the hair sticking up like a bean sprout. He couldn’t help but snort a little. “This part of the concept?” he asked.

“What do you think?” she challenged playfully. It wasn’t really something that required an answer; they just chuckled easily. “Hey, can I ask you a question?” she said, mixing together a blend of orange and brown eye shadow.

He nodded, smiling in a friendly, reassuring way. “Sure,” he said, “what’s up?”

“Is it just me”—she gave him a look, as if asking for permission to apply his makeup. He closed his eyes as a silent answer—“or are your members kinda scared of me?”

Jangjun almost burst out laughing, but he stopped himself so as to save himself an eye-gouging via makeup brush. It’d happened before and it was unpleasant in every sense of the word.

“Perceptive,” he answered, the hint of laughter in his tone. “It’s really not you, though,” he assured her. “They’re just worried that they’re too weird, so they’re acting all overly-polite and uptight. Heck, Donghyun’s even pretending to read a book! Probably doesn’t even notice it’s upside down. Don’t worry, though—they’ll warm up to you fast.”

She skimmed the makeup brush over his skin, a feather-light and skillful action that felt as if it were barely there at all. “So why don’t you try to hide how weird you are?” she asked casually, as if it were the most normal thing to ask. “Don’t smile, please” she warned, noticing the corners of his lips begin to turn upward.

He sucked in his lips in an attempt to keep the smile under wraps. “Oh, believe me,” he started, “this isn’t half the weirdness that I have to offer. Don’t wanna scare you off too fast.”

She chucked. “Is that right?” She instructed him to purse his lips, applying a light layer of tint to them. “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing the rest of that zaniness, Mr. Celebrity.”

“Mr. Celebrity?” he echoed. “I have a name, y’know.”

She started filling in his eyebrows. “Hey, there’s ten of you guys and I just started working today,” she said. “Cut me a little slack, yeah? Until I’ve memorized all of your noses, you’re Mr. Celebrity #1, he’s Mr. Celebrity #2, so on and so forth.”

“At least I’m number one,” he shrugged, pausing for a moment before a realization dawned on his. “Also, what was that about noses?”

She stopped her movements for a moment, almost as if realizing she’d said something dumb. “Nothing, really,” she said, trying hard to sound nonchalant about it. “It’s just a...” she searched for the right word, fiddling with the brush in her hand, “...thing that I have.”

He peeked an eye open. “And what is this thing?” he asked playfully. “I’m curious now.”

She huffed a breath of air, pulling the scrunchie out of his hair and letting his bangs flop onto his forehead, covering his eyes just slightly. “I have a thing where once I recognize and remember a person’s nose, I can pick them out just about anywhere,” she explained, grabbing a comb from off the side table.

She parted his hair on the side, carefully brushing out any tangles. “Basically, it’s nothing special,” she said. “Just a thing.”

“It’s cool, though!” Jangjun insisted, smiling at her in the mirror. “Out of all the noses in the room, whose nose do you think you’ll memorize the fastest?” he asked, gesturing around the room.

She looked around for a moment, pursing her lips in thought. “Him,” she finally said, pointing off to the left. “The handsome guy with the light hair and thick lips that’s glaring down at his phone because he just lost a round of Angry Birds.”

He laughed loudly, catching the attention of a few of the members. Daeyeol muttered something between the lines of ‘you’re loud’ and ‘I wish you were more awkward, ‘cause I’m jealous’, quickly trying to get back to his pre-performance nap.

“That’d be Jaehyun,” Jangjun said. “Why his nose?”

She shrugged, going back to his hair. “I don’t know,” she said simply, “it’s just not one that you easily forget. It’s kinda bumpy and long, I guess? But in a nice way.”

He laughed again. “Oh, he’s gonna love hearing that,” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

She frowned. “I’d prefer if you didn’t tell him,” she said.

“If it’s a secret, why’d you tell me then, huh?” he joked, quirked an eyebrow up at her.

“Because you asked!” she defended herself.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “So you’re one of those people that does whatever people say... How disappointing.”

Her jaw dropped. “You have got to be kidding.”

He managed to keep a straight face for all of thirteen seconds before he bust out in giggles. “Lucky for you, I am.” He gave her a thumbs up. “Your nosy secret’s safe with me.”

She left out a relieved sigh. “Don’t mess with me like that!” she warned. She put her hands on her hips. “You know I’m in charge of how you look on stage, right?”

He blinked. “You have made a fair point. I’ll reign in the idiot that’s trying to jump out of my body.”

“Oh, he’s not already out?”

Jangjun froze for a minute, letting her words sink in before he laughed and covered his face, feeling a little bit embarrassed. “You know, I think you’ll fit in here nicely,” he said. “You’ve already got the roasting down pat.”

She smiled a little, not letting it reach its full brightness. “I’ve had practice,” she said. “Got enough siblings to keep me busy.”

He made a curious little chirping noise. “Tell me about that.”

That’s how their conversations went for weeks, going on months. Always a new subject, never boring and always filled with laughs. It turns out, even though they were pretty different, they also had a lot of similarities.

They enjoyed cheesy movies with a passion, they had their ‘dumb sides’ (as some of the members liked to put it), they both had a habit of accidentally making themselves seem like fools, but it didn’t matter much as long as someone else laughed—all in all, their chemistry was something he enjoyed.

In fact, he couldn’t remember frowning in front of her yet.

Something he did remember, though—and that liked to wake him up at midnight to torture him with embarrassing thoughts—was how gentle her fingers were, filled to the brim with a tingly kind of tenderness.

The way they carded through his hair to try out a new style, the way they smoothly gilded across the skin of his cheek as she applied concealer or highlights. Not to mention the focus on her face when she was applying his makeup and the ridiculous butterflies he’d started getting whenever she had to lean close and put something on his lips or work on an important detail with his eyeliner.

Recently, all he could think in those moments were, “Shit, shit, shit, please don’t come any closer—I might die.”

Perhaps a bit dramatic, but when wasn’t he?

The only irritating thing was, the closer he got to her, the closer the others got, too. Close enough for her and Daeyeol to go out on coffee runs together, close enough for her to cheer Seongyoon on during games and compliment him on his voice, close enough to have a joint playlist with Youngtaek and so many other things that he didn’t even want to mention.

In summary: they were close. They were all friendly with her and getting closer as the months passed by, and Jangjun supposed that he must like her as more than just a friend, because that bothered him.

A lot.

So, he’d made up his mind. Today was the day.

If she liked him, she did. If she didn’t, oh well. They could still be good friends and have a successful work-relationship. He didn’t have the time to think about consequences or any of that dumb stuff, he just really wanted to tell her how he felt.

His eyes didn’t come off of her once as she spread the powder foundation gently across his cheeks. He couldn’t help but notice the curve of her lips and her nose; the apples of her cheeks. The attention in her eyes as she worked skillfully to give him the best appearance possible.

“How long are you gonna keep staring at me like that?” she asked absentmindedly, capping the jar of concealer. “It’s gettin’ a little creepy,” she joked.

He didn’t really answer. He just chuckled, smiling earnestly.

She gave him a look. “Seriously, you’re being weird,” she said, “and not your usual weird.”

He shrugged. “You look nice,” he said.

“Thanks...?” She furrowed her brows. “That was sudden.”

He laughed. “Not as sudden as this,” he said, leaning forward and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

She jumped back, a cutely surprised look on her face. “Dude!” she whisper-shouted, threatening to smack him over the head with a makeup brush. Her eyes darted side to side, trying to make sure no one had seen. “What the heck was that about?”

“You look nice,” he repeated. “You looked nice, and I wanted to kiss you.”

She stared at him, mouth hanging wide open. “You’re kidding, right?”

He shook his head, his expression getting more serious. “Not this time,” he said. A flash of worry came over him. “Unless... you want it to be a joke.” There was a beat of silence. “If you want it to be one, we can just laugh it off and forget it,” he offered.

She cleared her throat, her cheeks hot and red. “No...” she mumbled quietly, rearranging her lip tints like her life and sanity depended on it. “No, it’s fine.”

He gave her a questioning look, tugging at her shirt for a moment to get her to look at him. “What do you mean?” he asked, a brow quirked curiously.

She looked shyly down at her feet. “It’s just...” She met his eyes, but only in the mirror. It was like a little wall between them that gave her a little courage.

“I memorized your nose first.”

I hope you enjoyed it, 나의 쌍둥이! Jangjun is such a cutie. ;-; He’s like a magical happiness pill. And, if you’re wondering about the nose thing, I have NO idea where that came from. I was just writing it and that came to mind, and for whatever I thought, “Yup, we’re gonna go with that.” Love ya!!

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hanalwayssolo · 5 years

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Between The Phrases and Pages

A/N: Back at it again! This time I return with my obvious bias lmao

Tagging some pals! @raspberryandechinacea @noboomoon @emmydots @bleucommelhiver @gowithme @hanatsuki89 @valkyrieofardyn @animakupo@lazarustrashpit @blindedstarlight @mp938368 @boo-dangy (i have 6 more remaining in the series, so to anyone interested to get tagged, lmk!)

Today marks your seventh visit in Once Upon A Page, and Gladio could not resist watching you read his copy of e.e. cummings’ Erotic Poems with clinical concentration.

He tries to imagine what page of the book you are reading. Are you, perhaps, somewhere in the first half of As We Lie Side By Side? “I shove hotly the lovingness of my belly against you,” reads the first couple of lines in the poem. “Do not laugh at my thighs. There is, between my legs, a crisp city. When you touch me, it is spring in the city; the streets beautifully writhe, it is for you.” Funny how Gladio still has it memorized. He can recite the words by heart, even if each line has been soiled by the memory of the nights he made love to his wife—or his ex-wife, rather. The prefix still pricks like a barbed wire at the tip of his tongue.

Gladio dismisses the horrible thought and chooses to study your face instead. From his cash register counter, he observes you sitting on one of the couches in the reading nook. He can see no sign on your blank face for any sort of reaction. Nowhere in the focused gaze of your eyes nor in the firm line of your lips can he tell what’s on your mind. He can spy a tiny tinge of pink on your face, and it might as well be from the heat of this blistering summer’s day. He’s dying to know what your thoughts are on the poem. In fact, he’s been dying to figure you out ever since you bought books of different genres in the last couple of days you have dropped by his bookstore. One day, it’s all fantasy and science fiction with A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms by George R. R. Martin and the rest of the books in The Broken Earth series by N. K. Jemisin; then the next, a couple of pastel-covered contemporary romance from authors he could hardly recognize. Two days later, you returned to purchase even heavier reads: Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand and Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace—both of which, personally, Gladio found a bit boring for his tastes. He had to admit that you did pique his curiosity when you picked up copies of Delta of Venus by Anaïs Nin, The Wild Iris by Louise Glück, and War of the Foxes by Richard Siken one lazy Saturday afternoon, or that particular weekend you bought all of John Green’s and Rainbow Rowell’s books—effectively shattering his speculation whether or not you’re into young adult fiction. But what truly earned you his admiration was that time you spent one Sunday evening glued to one of the reading corners, dedicatedly poring over Henruit’s Silence of Knowledge. That book is and will always be his personal favourite, and seeing you read it with the spark of enjoyment in your eyes filled him with a pleasant satisfaction.

As far as Gladio can tell at this point, the only thing he knows about you for sure is this: you certainly love books. There’s no doubt about it. Each of your visits never fail to keep him on his toes. What book are you going to buy next? What genre will you be obsessing over? The more you visit, the more Gladio is keen to know you. But what should he say to you? Usually, he can charm his customers with a simple “Hello, that’s a nice pick for today,” or “How did your last read go?” to make small talk, one that eventually leads to an often interesting discussion about their favourite books. With you, it seems whatever charm or charisma he believes he carries in himself ceases to exist. The first time he had tried to make conversation with you, you only smiled at him and left with your purchase without saying a word. His next attempts were a tongue-tied mess, as if you have been designed to cripple his confidence. But this time, he wants to try again. He wants to learn more about you. He wants to learn what specifically tickles your fancy, what turns you on—

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” Gladio barely notices Iris sidling up to him, one elbow propped on the counter and one eyebrow raised in jest. “You know, you can go up there and say hello.”

Gladio scoffs. “And disturb them away from their read? I don’t think so.”

“So you’re just going to watch them like some creeper, huh.” Iris casts him a withering look.

Gladio, however, remains unaffected. Evenly, he says, “I’m not being a creeper, it’s called people-watching—”

“Did I hear that right? Gladio is back on his creeping business?” Prompto bursts in from the back of the shop armed with a box of newly delivered books. Behind him, Noctis is shaking his head, laughing.

“Like I said—” Gladio sighs in exasperation, tries to make his tone less defensive— “I am not creeping—”

“Sure, whatever you say, big guy.” Noctis pats him on the back, a snarky smile on his face. Prompto and Iris laugh. Somehow, Gladio is relieved that Ignis is off busily tending the café counter on the other side, else all four of them would have easily tore him to shreds with their endless stream of annoying banter.

Nevertheless, Gladio loves this banter all the same. He’s happy to have these four troublemakers by his side. Once Upon A Page would have remained a pipe dream if not for the encouragement of his sister, the constant support of his three best friends, and of course, the sage counsel of his father. At thirty-five, running a bookstore was never a part of his long term plan; Gladio thought that by this age, he would finally reach the zenith of some ideal adulthood: a stable job, a nice house in the suburbs, a loving wife to always come home to. Those things, simple as they may be, have always been part of his grand aspirations in life. But the last two years had all been a merciless undoing, as if his life was pulling a loose thread, happening stitch by stitch: first came his ex-wife’s betrayal and the subsequent collapse of their marriage, then came losing his job after a company merger, quickly followed by his father’s battle with cancer. Everything that held him together came undone so ruthlessly. He had no choice but to rebuild himself from the jagged shards of his broken life, and rebuild himself he did. Painstakingly, rigorously, until his old self became a shadow of the man he had once been.

Somehow, opening this bookstore became Gladio’s saving grace. Each nook and cranny of this shop, he had meticulously laboured and designed out of his rekindled love for books: the rows of mahogany shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, all packed with numerous titles of both old and new; the cozy reading corners draped in beaded curtains and fairy lights, decorated in the casual glory of mismatched furniture; the humble café on the opposite side of the cash register, one that housed tiered pastry stands to showcase Iris’s delectable desserts, and the expensive espresso machine Gladio had received on his wedding day—something his ex-wife refused to take and one he gladly kept—that Ignis now used to brew his signature coffee blends. There’s a platform with a mic stand on the other side, a tiny island surrounded with technicolour bean bags that hosted many of Prompto’s spoken word literary nights. In this small and quaint space, every spot is perfumed by the crisp aroma of coffee, every corner incensed by the smell of old books. Gladio never imagined that he would be owning this beauty of a sanctuary with his closest friends, and now, he could only be grateful for the tumultuous ups and downs of his life. Because now, he couldn’t dare imagine trading this bookstore for anything else.

Iris yanks the sleeve of Gladio’s shirt. “Hey, Gladdy—”

“What?” Gladio says snappily, narrowing his eyes at his sister. Noctis has drifted to the café to help out Ignis serving coffee to a group of sleepless college students huddled on the long table, while Prompto has himself occupied with the inventory.

Iris stares at Gladio, as if he hasn’t been paying close attention. She jerks her head in front of the counter. “Uh, a customer?”

Gladio turns to see you standing by the cash register, watching his brief exchange with Iris. The heat of embarrassment rises to his cheeks.

“Oh, hi,” Gladio says with a nervous smile. He mentally punches himself in the face for making a fool out of himself in front of you. “Uh, sorry about that. How can I help you?”

You shake your head, offering him a kind smile in return. “No, it’s alright. Um, so—” you sweep a hand over your hair, all the while gingerly sliding the copy of e.e. cummings’ Erotic Poems over the counter— “do you happen to have a new stock of this book?”

Iris leans over and checks the title. Startlingly, she turns to Gladio and says, “Hey, isn’t this your own copy—”

“Nope,” Gladio says sternly. He shoots her a deadly glare; Iris shrugs it off. Of course his sister would notice that. It’s only a matter of time before she figures out that he’d been purposely selling the books gifted to him by his ex-wife by hiding it with the rest of their sale.

“Is it true?” you ask. There is no judgment on your face, only a genuine expression of curiosity.

“Uh, yeah. Long story,” Gladio says, rubbing the back of his neck. He clears his throat and asks, “How did you like it?”

“I love it, actually.” A shy smile and a faint blush spreads across your face, and Gladio swears that for a moment, he forgets how to breathe at the sight of it. “It’s… sensual. The author has his way with words.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he says, nodding in agreement. “In any case, since my sister had me busted, you can have it. Free of charge.”

You wave a hand. “Oh, no I don’t think I can—”

“No, it’s fine.” Gladio smiles, sliding the book back to you. “You’ve been coming here and buying a lot of books, and you’ve been keeping my sales up. So, yeah. Consider this a gift. I insist.”

You consider Gladio for a moment. The way you are looking at him right now—lips slightly parted, eyes searching in disbelief—sends his heart racing at an alarming speed. Eventually, you say, “Okay. Thank you. It’s weird, this reminds me of that scene in this Disney film—”

“You mean the one from Beauty and The Beast? Where Belle gets a book from her local bookshop?” Iris chimes in, still watching both you and Gladio with brimming amusement.

“Yes, that’s it.” You laugh, and Gladio watches your face brighten into a bubbling radiance. If your smile had his lungs forget how to function, your laughter might have killed him right then and there.

Iris laughs, too. “I think it’s quite apt, in more ways than one. ‘Cause you’re quite a beauty and my brother here’s a beast,” she teases. Gladio only frowns at her, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, but he makes a very handsome beast,” you quickly tell Iris. Then, a pause. A very awkward pause. Gladio looks away with a sheepish smile, hoping against hope he isn’t blushing like an idiot this time around. Meanwhile, Iris is grinning from ear to ear. You nervously stammer, “Uh, I mean, well… never mind.” You heave a sigh and hurriedly say, “I’m so sorry. Thank you so much for this, um—” you squint at Gladio’s nametag, then at Iris’s— “Gladio. And you, too, Iris. Anyway, I gotta go. Bye.”

Gladio and Iris watch you hastily march out of the bookstore, the sound of the metal wind chimes tinkling at your departure.

Iris is still smiling as if she had won the lottery. Wearing a triumphantly teasing look, she says. “Wipe that blush off your face, you handsome beast.”

“Yes, you handsome beast,” Prompto repeats. He is leaning on a shelf, arms crossed over his chest, flashing Gladio a cheeky grin. On the other hand, from across the room behind the café counter, Noctis is looking at him with a giddy smile. So does Ignis.

“Can it, all of you,” he says out of annoyance, but he cannot help the smile that curls the corners of his mouth. He has to admit: he likes the way his name sounds in your lips, how it softly rolls off with the lilt of your voice.

Slowly, it dawns on him that he had forgotten to do one simple thing.

He had forgotten to ask for your name.

Today marks your seventh visit in Once Upon A Page, and you finally catch a glimpse of Mr. Muscle Man’s name tag.

You try to forget how you have so easily embarrassed yourself in front of Mr. Muscle Man—or Gladio, rather—with something completely tactless. A handsome beast. Who casually says that in the middle of a decent conversation? Either way, what’s done is done.

Walking back to your apartment, you clutch the book in your hands. Some part of you wants to entertain the distracting idea that a stranger entrusted you with such an intimate piece of literature, but you are only touched by his gesture. You can only hope that Gladio has not caught you blushing as you read through e.e. cummings’ Erotic Poems, especially when you got to the last half of As We Lie Side By Side. “O mountain, you cannot escape me,” read the remaining lines of the poem. “Your roots are anchored in my silence; therefore, oh mountain, skillfully murder my breasts, still and always I will hug you solemnly into me.” Back in the bookstore, you couldn’t help imagine the rich baritone of his velvety voice reading the lines of the poem to you—or quite madly, you couldn’t help imagine how he’s doing all these carnal things to you that the warmth on your cheeks had traveled between your legs…

You expel the foolish thought, shaking your head at your own severely inappropriate imagination. It is quite obvious that Gladio is awfully attractive and one heck of a devastatingly handsome man; but the guilt of reducing him to a beacon of a fantasy weighs heavy on your stomach. He deserves more than that. After all, with the generosity and hospitality he has extended to you throughout your visits, what you truly want is to earn his friendship. In fact, you’re dying to know what his thoughts are on the poem. You’re dying to know his personal tastes in books. Not once had he ever judged you on your selection of purchases, and you could not help but wonder what his favourite book could be. Or if he even has one. How can a man like him who’s running a lovely bookstore possibly pick a favourite?

As far as you can tell at this point, the only thing you know about Gladio with much certainty is this: he loves books. There’s no doubt about it. He wouldn’t be tending to a bookstore if he didn’t. And that fact alone makes him a hundred times more attractive, which now makes each of your bookstore trips a bit more troublesome. What if he sees you staring at him? What if you see him staring back? The more you visit, the more you are drawn to know Gladio. But what should you say to him? Clearly, you cannot even begin to formulate a normal sentence without embarrassing yourself—as already exhibited in your earlier exchange. Besides, in his attempts to make conversation with you, you always end up shrugging him off with an awkward smile out of your nervousness. You hope he does not think you are too rude or callous. Because this time, you want to properly return his kindness. You want to learn more about him. You want to learn what stirs his curiosity, what makes him smile—

Someone is tapping you over your shoulder. “Uh, excuse me?”

You freeze for a moment. The sound of that voice sends your heart beating violently against your chest. It’s a voice you can probably pick out even in a crowded room. You turn around and see Gladio, all flustered and breathless.

“Hey, so. I think this is yours,” he says, handing you a phone. Which you first find strange. Then, for another second, you realize that it is your phone. Shit. How reckless can you get today?

“Oh my god, I… uh, thank you. So, so much,” you say in a stupefied relief, taking your phone from his hand. “I probably wouldn’t realize that I left this until I reached my apartment.” The sidewalk is glazed with the summer heat and you are already a few blocks away from his bookstore that you just have to ask: “You didn’t happen to run all the way here, did you?”

“Well, I had to,” Gladio says with a crack of laughter. “But it’s fine. I think you’re worth chasing after.” He pauses, then quickly adds, “Because y’know, you left your phone. And besides—” he scratches his cheek, hesitates for a brief moment, then runs a hand through his ponytailed hair— “you got my name but I never got yours.”

You try to chew the smile that threatens to escape your lips, but you fail miserably. You regard him curiously for a second, narrowing your eyes at him. “Do you always ask the name of your customers?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Usually I don’t need to ask since they give it to me on their own.”

You roll your eyes. “Right. Of course. Very charming.”

“So you think I’m charming?”

“Haven’t decided on that yet.”

“How about you decide on that after one date?”

A stunned silence. The cacophony of honking cars and bustling pedestrians fill in the wordlessness. You stare at him and with uncertainty, you repeat, “One date? Are you… asking me out?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Gladio nods with a smile. The way his smile illuminates his face, you can promise that this summer afternoon has never been brighter. He digs his hands on the pocket of his jeans, his expression suddenly dubious. “Is it… too soon?”

“No, not at all,” you say. “I’d love to go.”

The said date did prove that Gladio is, indeed, one charming man. Excruciatingly charming, even. Without a shadow of a doubt. He had arranged to close Once Upon A Page the rest of the evening just for the two of you. Without the sight of customers flocking his shop, the place looks even more magical: the whimsical arrangement of furniture, the towers of bookshelves teeming with books, the soft jazz music wafting from the stereo. The both of you spent hours in the reading nook talking about books, trading recommendations, and exchanging good-hearted criticism on reads that never quite left a mark on your reading experience. (”I gave up halfway on Atlas Shrugged, just so you know. While I support Dagny Taggart as a badass female protagonist, it all felt too... wordy? Prosaic? I don’t know how to describe it,” you tell him when he asked you what you thought of the Ayn Rand book you once bought, and he couldn’t help but laugh, because he, too, felt the same.) The majority of the night was then wasted away in a comfortable silence reading each other’s favourites.

The said date led to another. Then one more. Then two, three, four, five... until the nights you had spent with him could no longer be measured in numbers. Days drifted to weeks, weeks meandered to months. By then, you could only measure it by the way he makes you feel each time you are together. As if you are home, as if you are safe, as if you have always loved him your entire life.

Today marks the night that Gladio openly shares with you the story of his life, and you look at him with a genuine kindness that makes his heart swell.

Sitting side by side on the couch of his bookstore’s reading nook, you rest your head on his shoulder, threading your fingers with his. Quietly, he confides in you the pain. It’s all in the past now, but he has not talked about the gravity of it all with anyone else. Not even with Noctis, or Prompto, or Ignis. Not even with his sister.

“So yeah, that’s why you found that e.e. cumming’s book,” Gladio explains. “Quite a petty move, isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” you tell him sincerely. He pulls you even closer, and you look up at him with a smile. “We all have our ways of coping with heartbreak. I remember my mum once telling me that we do all these things to move on because we put the people we love on a pedestal. And I think she’s right—there's a sense of trust in that, because in a way, we equip them with the weapons we know that could hurt us, all the while firmly believing that they would never wield it to do us any harm. So when they fall from grace—unconsciously or otherwise—the easiest response is to put the blame on ourselves, rip out our feelings and memories of them to be cured faster of the hurt.”

Gladio nods pensively. “Yeah, but most of the time, in the process, some eventually close their hearts to love.”

A solemn silence lingers. Then, you cast him a searching look. “Have you closed your heart to love?”

“At some point, I was about to.” His lips quirk into a small smile. “But then I met you.”

You say nothing. You can’t say anything. Did he just…

Gladio immediately understands the bewildered expression on your face as he goes on to say, “Y’know, you made me realize that I don’t want to live the rest of my life with my heart closed to others just so I could avoid getting hurt. To love is to live. To hurt is also to live. I’d rather feel anything than choose to feel nothing.” He tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, and a wide smile spreads all over his face. “So I guess what I’m trying to say here is yes, I'm in love with you.”

Again, you say nothing. Instead, you meet his lips with yours. Somewhere, you hear the wild cheers from Iris and Noctis, and Prompto saying, “Get a room, you two!” but you didn’t pay anyone any mind. Gladio doesn’t mind them, either. Because he kisses you as if the world is on fire and your mouth is the only way to extinguish the flames. He has been used to carrying the burden alone, but with you, the burden feels lighter. With you, he feels like he is home. Like he is safe. Like he has always loved you his entire life.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #ffxv fanfiction #fanfic #gladiolus amicitia #older!gladiolus amicitia #gladio x reader #older!gladio x reader #my writing

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tllthesundies · 5 years

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I was tagged by @rosegoldhlfics & yes I should’ve done this the 31st of December because it was still 2018 & now it’s 2019 but I Did Not I Am Sorry. love you ri 🥰

—

List of works published this year:

poison & wine

england has my bones

reminiscing the other day

a love reaction

Work you are most proud of (and why):

you know what....I’m equally proud of them all. they’re all dear to me & revive something in me in various ways. poison & wine I’m proud of because....it brought me back to writing & it made me enter a trance I hadn’t experienced in a couple years; it was the very thing I needed to revive my creativity after a year long difficulty of feeling like I had lost it all & lost something significant to me. it was also a pairing I’d never written before but that I loved, & I executed it the way I dreamed of in my head. ehmb I love everything about, and despite a Very Very Minor sentence I’d rewrite, it was something I was begging myself to write. it was dire for my soul, & I love the ambiguity it exudes & how—if you wanted—you can choose what to believe about their relationship. there was no right or wrong. and how they played around each other & the longing on both their parts. for rtod, I’m most proud of the scene that followed louis walking out of the wedding after harry confesses how he should’ve kissed louis the second he saw him. the whole sex scene—it’ll be a rewarding day when I write an intimate scene better than that one; if I ever do. I’ve explained why before in an ask so I won’t repeat myself. I’m proud of alr for the way I could write a sort of love triangle of sorts on the surface while not being a love triangle beneath that exact surface. I’m proud of the way I could write louis, & alex, whom I’ve never written before in my LIFE. I’d been worried I wouldn’t write him the way I had it set in my head or make him come off the way I wanted, & I proved my lowly insecurity wrong.

Work you are least proud of (and why):

none.

A favorite excerpt of your writing:

I tend to choose the same one so let me pull an entirely different one from poison & wine.

Louis takes Alex’s chair that sits opposite the window since Alex took his chair next to the wall, and starts eating. Alex keeps his eyes on the crossword, growing frustrated that he can’t find eighty-one down or across.

He’s looked over this puzzle several times and it all looks the exact same to him, and he doesn’t understand it.

“You look angry,” Louis observes quietly, and Alex blinks, looking up to see him watching him carefully. “What’s the matter?”

“Can’t find eighty-one,” he explains, gruff.

“Le’me see.” Turning the paper around, Louis tilts his head as his eyes trail along it. He straightens himself almost immediately and turns the paper back around to Alex, placing his finger at the bottom of the puzzle and meeting Alex’s eye. “It’s right there. Sure you don’t need glasses, soldier?”

A soft huff escapes Alex. He shakes his head, trying to smooth his deeply furrowed eyebrows. They go right back to the way they were, though, giving him mild tension in the same area. “I’ve never needed glasses before,” he speaks quietly, “and I don’t think I’ll start needing them now. . . .”

He feels Louis’s eyes on him and he concentrates hard on the words to avoid shifting in his seat.

“Are you doing all right?”

Alex didn’t expect that. It’s strange — foreign — no. It’s been anomalous. He’s not used to living in close quarters with someone; no less a man. Living with someone before marriage is looked down upon, and living with a man is even more frowned upon; to a point where it’s life or death, no questions asked. If someone found out they were living with one another, they’d get beaten up then thrown out in the street — best case scenario, of course. But that’s far from what Alex is concerned about. He’s just . . . not used to someone noticing anything about him, or asking him something as simple as Louis had.

He’s been trying to adjust to that in the last few weeks, and it’s been difficult.

“What’s a three letter word for a high hill?” he counters.

“Tor. You’re a fool if you don’t think I haven’t noticed how sleepless you’ve been.”

Alex pauses, pencil tip pressed against the paper. Licking his lips, he asks, “How?”

“I’m a light sleeper, and you’re very loud,” Louis says by way of explaining, and takes a bite of his buttered, bean covered toast. He chews and swallows before continuing. “I don’t know if you know that. You disturb my slumber quite often. And the bags under your eyes are a dead giveaway, too.”

He pencils in Texas across for eighty-one. “I didn’t. I’m sorry, I’ll be quieter.”

“S’okay. So, what’s on that troubled mind of yours, soldier?”

That’s another, little thing. Louis tends to refer to him as soldier with this subtle, humourous note in his voice more than he calls him by his name. As if they’re good friends.

“You act as if we’re mates,” Alex says, lifting his head.

Louis’s quick, thin right brow arched in a harmless challenge. “Well, we are, aren't we? We share this place. I see you every day. I know you’re grumpy in the morning — or maybe that’s just your latest schedule making you that way. You don’t like beans very much, nor bacon, for that matter. You suck at crosswords — eighty-nine across is Assyria —”—he sticks his thumb in between his lips to lick off some bean juice—“and I’m confident enough to say I think you prefer coffee to tea, which is very controversial of you.”

Alex can’t help it, even if he tried — he chuckles. It’s soft, and it’s briefly lived, but it stretches his lips into an irresistible smile that smooths the pinched, tense skin between his eyebrows.

Louis’s own mouth curves into a satisfied smile, gaze lingering on Alex’s face in an indecipherable manner. “There we go,” murmurs he.

“What?”

“Thought I’d never see you smile. It’s a very handsome smile.”

That was bold to say to another man. It was dangerous. But Louis isn’t a fearful man. He’s a man of lively skin, soft, pigmented lips, very faint, iridescent purple bruising right under the inner corners of his eyes, and the sweetness of a sugar shop. He’s a man Alex didn’t think existed.

The compliment widens Alex’s smile an inch, and a cozy honey-like warmth colours his cheeks. It’s the first time in nearly a year he’s felt something under his skin that wasn’t dirt and grime. “Thank you,” he all but mouths inaudibly, his vocal chords’ life forgotten.

“And he has dimples,” Louis continues. “My, my. You’re full of surprises this morning.”

“You don’t have to wheedle my thoughts out of me, you know,” says Alex, and Louis lifts a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, turning his lips down in a similar brief manner. “If you must know, it’s — it’s nothing. I just haven’t been sleeping well lately, and there’s no particular reason why. It’s a normal occurance to everyone multiple times in their lives.”

Humming, Louis nods along as he chews. “Agreed; it’s normal. But it’s been a constant for a while. Sure you’re okay?”

The genuine, friendly concern that fills the crevices of his face and colours his voice stops Alex from making a sarcastic comment in return, inhaling deeply instead as he presses his lips together. “Fine.”

For the rest of breakfast, it’s silent, aside the occasional mumblings of Louis helping him finish the crossword. It’s the only thing they converse over. Then once Louis’s finished eating, he brushes any stray crumbs onto his plate and cleans it whilst Alex drinks the rest of his room temperature tea in calculated sips, gazing out the window at the colours of the risen sun reflecting against and over other buildings, clotheslines, automobiles, in hues of yellow and muted oranges casting shadows over the world.

He listens to Louis retrieve his uniform and make a ruckus in every which way he moves, before the bathroom door closes. Louis comes out few minutes later, but Alex doesn’t look at him when he hears him enter the kitchen.

“You know,” suddenly muses Louis, “I just want you to know you can talk to me. I consider you my friend. Just so you know.”

The muscles in Alex’s throat constrict as he takes a slow, quiet breath in. He looks away from the sun and to Louis. He’s in his work uniform, and Alex can’t deny he looks cute with the apron over his work shirt and trousers. “‘Course,” he replies plainly. “Have fun at work. Sneak me a sweet?”

Louis smiles. “I’ll see what I can do."

Share or describe a favorite review you received:

I appreciate & adore every comment I get, & to narrow it down is difficult. there are quite a few that were very dear to me & that I believe top each other equally. they’ve all made me feel like I’ve done something right & achieved something that can only be reached through souls.

A time when writing was really, really hard:

pretty much all of 2017?? I’ve never in my life experienced anything like it; I was so miserable thinking I probably couldn’t ever write again when it’s the absolute most vital thing to me & about me. I never want to go through that again.

A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

I expect everything I write, even the most absurd and unexpected.

How did you grow as a writer this year:

I stopped caring about anything that would encourage anything to eat away the beauty I see in everything I write, such as lists, others’ negative or unsupportive opinions, etc. the only thing I genuinely care about is my own viewpoint.

How do you hope to grow next year:

in whatever way my future self chooses to set straight.

Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

myself.

Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

always my feelings, which could be anything. it’s not black & white

Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

stop caring. stop acknowledging. start feeling.

Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

hmmm... I’m looking forward to finishing what I’m currently writing. & writing part 2 of alr. there are a few other projects, as well.

Tag three writers whose answers you’d like to read.

I tag @lads-laddylads & every other write I’m mutuals with whom I can’t remember off the top of my head because I’m not looking at my following list jejdnd

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redrobinfection · 6 years

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Coffee, Coffee Everywhere, Pt 20

<< Part 19

This is the “conclusion” to the Coffee, Coffee Everywhere series (for real, this time, but stick around for the epilogue and an announcement about future additions to the ‘verse next week). Thank you to everyone who has read, liked, reblogged any part of the series!!!

~*~

Jason strode into the kitchen, looking to snag some breakfast before he passed out for a few hours, and stopped when he saw Tim at the table in the breakfast nook, nursing something in Bruce's infamous mega mug.

"Hey, there Timbo, what'cha got? Already falling off the wagon?"

Tim turned his bleary, dark-shadowed eyes up at him and instantly Jason knew that whatever was in that mug, it was definitely not coffee, decaf or otherwise. "It's tea. Herbal tea. Mint," he responded tersely. He looked about five seconds away from falling asleep on the spot.

"I'm thinking about making myself some chocolate chip pancakes; you want some? You look like you could use the sugar."

To his surprise, Tim shook his head vehemently. "No. Can't have chocolate. Has caffeine in it."

"Oh yeah, that's right. What about blueberry? Blueberry sound good?" Jason backpedaled quickly, feeling bad for the thoughtless suggestion.

Tim hummed and took a long draw of his mint tea. "Yeah, that'd be nice. Thanks, Jay," he replied drowsily, the words echoing strangely in the mug.

"So, uh, how much longer before you'll start letting yourself have small amounts of caffeine again, Timbo?" he asked, attempting casual conversation as a means to keep the kid conscious.

Tim set down the mug and sagged back, immediately sliding low into the seat. "It's been what… two weeks now? So... at least another six."

"Ouch. Two months total?" he asked incredulously as he assembled the ingredients for pancakes, scrambled eggs and fruit. He'd been planning to ask Tim to slice the fruit, but at this point he didn't feel confident Tim wouldn't accidentally slice a finger off or stab himself in his current state.

"Yeah. At least two months," Tim answered, his words trailing off into a large yawn. He finally gave up on keeping himself upright in the chair and plonked his head down on the table instead, arms hanging limply underneath.

"What is this I hear about you going back to caffeine, Drake?" Damian demanded loudly as he walked through the kitchen door. Dick filed in behind him. They had a full house at the manor this morning, so it wouldn’t be long before nearly the entire Batclan filled the large kitchen.

"Not f'r anudder six weeks, Dami'n," Tim mumbled into the wood, not even bothering to turn his head.

"Good," Damian replied haughtily. "Otherwise my threat to keep you away from caffeine at the pain of stabbing still stands."

"No one is stabbing anyone," Bruce sighed as he stepped into the kitchen a moment later. Tim raised his head at the sound of B's voice, blinking rapidly at the newcomers as they abruptly filled the kitchen with noise and movement.

"You're cooking this morning, Jason?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped up beside the stove.

"Yeah. I ran into Alfie and asked if it'd be okay. He said it was fine by him. That fine by you?" he asked lightly, keeping his attention fixed on the pancake mix he was assembling from scratch. He tried not to let the tension of being questioned show in his posture. B gave a low grunt of assent and patted Jason lightly on the shoulder before moving off towards the fridge. Jason let out a low sigh of relief. That was about as cordial as things got between them these days, but things were better than they had been; it was a start.

"So what are we having," Dick asked as he poured an obscene amount of Crocky Crunch into a salad bowl. Alfred would have a conniption when he came downstairs and saw that.

"We are having blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, and fruit. I dunno what you're having, you cereal-obsessed monster," Jason replied, giving Dick plenty of side-eye as he stirred the wet ingredients into the batter.

He laughed out loud and ambled over to grab the milk from Bruce. "Don't worry, I'll have plenty of room left over for your pancakes, Little Wing."

"You'd better go easy on the pancakes, Grayson. We wouldn't want your posterior to become anymore pronounced or noticeable than it already is. It is already something of an exposure risk at this point," Damian deadpanned smoothly. All motion in the kitchen stopped and every set of eyes turned to stare at him.

"Was that…? Was that a butt joke? From you? Am I awake? Did I hear that right?" Tim asked in awe, scrubbing at his eyes, which were finally fully open, and open wide, at that.

"Damian…" Bruce began in a growl, but Dick laughed and steered him over to the table.

"I'll keep that in mind, Dames," he responded amiably, rolling his eyes at the displeased expression on B's face. "Drink your milk and let him be, Bruce. Do you know how long I've been working to teach Damian to have a sense of humor?"

"Hey, Damian, could you help me slice the fruit?" Jason asked, tearing the youngest's attention away from the table and whatever argument he planned to start over his supposed 'sufficient' sense of humor. Damian nodded and turned to begin washing the fruit off in the sink.

Jason glanced back toward the table and considered what a strange thing it was to not see a single drop of coffee anywhere. Bruce had apparently taken to drinking milk or tea or juice whenever Tim was around, partially as a show of solidarity but also to reduce the burden of temptation, or so he had said. Jason shook his head in wonder. To think Bruce of all people would - or could - give up coffee, at least partially, to help one of them.

Actually, he mused, almost everyone was doing something support Tim's decision to lay off the caffeine for a while; Bruce giving up coffee in the mornings, Alfred providing alternative drink and food, Cass sharing her herbal tea, Dick checking in on him during patrols, Damian stealing all the coffee out of his safehouses and bugging the pantries to deter him from sneaking into the locked-down coffee beans. Okay, that last one was a little messed up, but so was Damian, so in a own way it was kind of touching how far he had gone to keep Tim away from the coffee.

Jason himself made a point to check in with him now and then to make sure he kept up eating well even without all his "coffee creations" to keep him motivated and to make sure he didn't try stay out on patrol or stay up working too much later than the rest of them. With varying success, of course.

Steph and Cass entered the kitchen next, both making a beeline for the tea and coffee section of the counter. Cass went right to work heating up water in the electric kettle and pulling the green tea out of the cabinet while Steph pulled a sachet of something for herself from her pocket.

"The fruit has been sufficiently sliced, Todd. How else may I be of assistance?" Damian asked, rinsing and wiping down the knife briskly.

"Awesome," Jason replied distractedly, briefly glancing over the meticulously cut fruit and nodding approval. "Uhhh… could you take the bowl over and then start setting the table?"

"You need some help, Dames?" Stephanie asked brightly, turning away from the hot water kettle holding a steaming mug. Cass also turned and nodded toward him to offer her aid.

Damian grimaced at the nickname, but continued in an even tone. "If you would set out the plates, Brown, and if you would set out napkins, Cassandra, then I will follow with the cutlery." They nodded assent, and wandered over to set their mugs down at the table; Steph set hers down at the seat next to Tim, Cass set hers across from them, and then they both turned to their tasks.

A few seconds later a loud moan disrupted the bustling tranquility that had fallen over the kitchen. He turned along with everyone else to see Tim leaning away from Steph's mug dramatically, eyeing the steaming mug as if it held a poisonous snake. His face paled and he swallowed convulsively.

"Tim…?"

"Steph, what did I tell you last week?" Tim croaked unhappily, pushing back his chair and sliding over into another seat unsteadily.

Everyone's eyes whipped over to Stephanie, who rolled hers. "Jeez, stop being such a drama queen. Do you remember what I told you? I don't care if you've ruined coffee for yourself; I need my morning fix, I'm going to have my morning fix, and if you're around when I make it, then you're just gonna have to deal with it."

Tim clamped a hand his mouth as he stared, transfixed, at the mug and shook his head. She sighed. "Besides, it's not going to jump out and bite you, or worse, jump down your throat. You're a big, strong Red Robin, I know you can handle a little temptation here and there."

Damian made a sound like an angry cat and stalked over to her. "Brown, I swear upon my blade, if you ruin our efforts to break Drake of his appalling hab-"

"It's not temptation," Tim cut in loudly, standing up and starting to back away from the table slowly. From where Jason was standing, he looked a tad green around the gills. "It's the smell."

They each frowned. "The smell?" Dick parroted in confusion.

Tim grimaced. "Ever since the time I… yeah… the smell of coffee is just…" he trailed off, waving his hand suggestively.

Steph snorted and sauntered over to the table, snatching up her mug. "So, what? You're trying to tell us that ever since your stunt with the mac n' cheese you can't stand the smell of coffee?"

Tim glared and nodded. Steph laughed out loud. "So are you avoiding coffee because you're avoiding caffeine or because the smell makes you wanna hurl?"

Tim's glare darkened. "Both," he snapped, darting forward to grab his tea, then slowly treading in a wide arc around Steph toward the door to the rest of the manor. "I'm serious about breaking my caffeine addiction, but believe me, right now there is nothing tempting about the smell of coffee to me whatsoever."

Steph grinned wickedly. "Are you sure? I mean you put on a convincing act, but how do we know you're not sneaking off to brew a triple espresso in some secret hiding spot right this minute, huh?"

If Tim could have simultaneously set someone on fire and frozen their soul to the core with a single look, Steph would have shattered into a thousands smoldering frozen bits on the spot.

"You sure you're not tempted to sneak a sip?" she teased, darting in close and wafting the mug in his face. Tim literally gagged and dashed for the sink, leaving Steph and the rest of the family gaping in shock as he actually, real life, coughed up his tea into the sink.

Jason couldn't believe it. Trying to imagine a Tim Drake who has an aversion to coffee was like trying to imagine a Dick Grayson who suddenly one day announces he hates cereal. Impossible, or so they thought.

Before Steph, or anyone else for that matter, could recover from the shock, Damian shot forward, grabbed the mug from her slack grip, opened a door to the veranda and hurled the mug as far out onto the lawn as he could. Everyone stared. Steph blinked once then stormed out onto the veranda.

"You brat! My coffee!!!" she shrieked. "And I liked that mug!" She whirled on Damian. He crossed his arms and glared up at her darkly.

"That is what you deserve, not only for sneaking contraband into this house while a ban of the substance - a ban we all agreed upon for the sake of one of our team - is in effect, but for also being such a jerk to Drake when he is so clearly struggling to do better."

Steph stared and shook her head. "Since when do you of all people care if someone is being a jerk to Tim? I thought that was your life's calling, Demon Brat."

"-Tt-" Damian walked back into the kitchen. Steph trailed behind. Dick and Cass had since jumped up to check on Tim and were gently coaxing him back to the table with reassuring words and gentle touches. Jason vaguely registered a burning smell before he realized with a start that he'd been so caught up in the drama that he'd forgotten about the pancakes currently on the stove.

As he cursed and threw them into the waste bin, Damian replied dryly, "I'm tired of having to explain to various people that, yes, 'Fat-girl', I do care what happens to the members of this family, our team, and, in this particular instance, Drake. I've been one of Drake's most adamant supporters. Imagine how much less pathetic and useless Drake would be if he let himself sleep now and then instead of running around Gotham like some kind of coffee-fueled zombie, instead of sticking his exhaustion-clumsy fingers into cases and situations he would be better off leaving to Father and I. Imagine if he only offered his assistance when needed, instead of trying to be everywhere and do everything all at once."

Jason shook his head slowly as he poured out a new set of pancakes. "And here, just when I was thinking the bat brat might have finally grown a heart…"

Dick nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, well, at least it's an improvement over them trying to kill each other. Can you imagine him admitting that there are situations in which Tim's 'assistance' would be 'needed' three years ago? Let's count this as progress and move on."

Jason cut off Damian's indignant growl with a wave. "Hey, Dames, come over here and help me get the eggs going. Cass, can you take care of plates? And you," he stopped and glared pointedly at Steph, "go apologize to Tim. That was a dick thing to do, and you know if I'm the one telling you that then…"

Steph rolled her eyes, but threw her hands up in surrender. "Okay, I get it, 'Alfie Jr'. Keep your eyes on the pancakes."

"I should think such an appellation would be an esteemed honor, Master Jason," Alfred intoned smoothly as he stepped into the kitchen, eyes twinkling with amusement. Jason caught his eye and grinned. Knowing Alfie, he'd probably listened to entire conversation from outside the door before choosing the most opportune moment to make his entrance. Or he'd tapped into the network of bugs that Jason was convinced Alfie hid from everyone, including B - the man had been a spy after all.

"Sure is, Alfie. I think I'll get that engraved on a plaque and hung on the wall of my kitchen, you know?"

Alfred nodded with a quiet smile, then turned toward the table. "Miss Stephanie, once you've finished apologizing to Master Tim, would you be so kind as to set out water glasses for everyone. I think it's high time we sat down to enjoy the breakfast Master Jason has so graciously prepared for us."

Steph nodded contritely and murmured another quiet 'sorry' to Tim before turning to cabinets. Alfred turned his hawkish gaze upon the table's remaining occupants, namely Bruce, Dick, Cass, and Tim.

"Was that a mug I saw someone throw into the rose garden? I don't suppose if I take a stroll down there after breakfast I'll find it crushing one of the roses the groundskeepers and I have worked so hard to maintain?"

Several wild glances passed between them, and across the kitchen Damian paled, then murmured a stumbling excuse along the lines of “need toilet" and skittered away from the stove. Jason shook his head but took over the eggs. Steph stifled a laugh and Cass shook her head. Alfred lifted one brow and swept his sharp gaze over the entire kitchen, stilling everyone. No one so much as twitched even as they all clearly saw Damian dart out of a window a few rooms over then streak across the lawn.

Bruce cleared his throat. "N-no, of course not, Alfred." The kitchen broke out in a chorus of 'no's and Alfred nodded his satisfaction.

"Very good."

~*~

Epilogue (Part 21) >>

#my writing #christmasriverswrites #tim drake #batfamily #something about writing all of these guys balloons a fic like crazy #this is a 3000 word part... I can't even pretend that is a ''drabble'' anymore! >_<

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flipperbrain · 6 years

Text

The Deckhand and The Dagger

CHAPTER 10: A LAZY EVENING

Summary: Hook and Jones spend the remainder of the first day of their holiday together.

[Ao3]

The bathtub has plenty of room for two. Hook prepares the water and waves his clothing away with a flick of his wrist then steps in first, leaning back to watch Jones undress. The deckhand stands with his arms akimbo, ‘You remove your clothing with sorcery but I must undress in the conventional way?’ He complains shrugging off his vest. Hook nods and smirks, ‘One of the many benefits of being me, my love.’ His eyes focus on Jones as he pulls off his blouse and follow his breeches as they slide down his furred thighs. The deckhand sets his garments aside and climbs over the porcelain edge with vigor, purposely splashing his smug companion with his foot.

Hook playfully slaps a round cheek as Jones settles blissfully into the soapy water, tucking himself between Hook’s legs and relaxing against his chest, ‘Oh this is wonderful,’ he sighs watching the steam rise, then drops his head backward onto his lover’s shoulder, angling his head to kiss his partner’s jaw. ‘Yes it is, my sweet’ Hook whispers and wraps his arms around Jones, his fingers lazily gliding across his breast and over his abdomen.

‘It has been an age of sponge baths. You have magic, why have you not conjured a tub on the ship?’ Jones laments. ‘I have not considered it before,’ Hook shrugs, having no one to share it with until now ‘it does require a large amount of fresh water my love, not usually available on the average vessel.’ The deckhand can feel Hook’s erection pressing into his hip, but lovemaking while pleasurable, seems impractical here, at least at the moment. For now he prefers to soak and be close.

He drifts in and out of wakefulness for half an hour or more, thinking about the book and the object revealed within it. Could it be the answer? And will Acela have information that can guide them to its location? He wishes he knew more about its power and would study further if there were time to do so, as much as he has enjoyed this day, he is anxious to continue on. He worries that Hook will be overcome once again, perhaps it is not wise to wait. The darkness seems to be at bay for the time being and should they not take advantage of this reprieve? He decides against pressing for answers and massages Hook’s forearm while he muses.

Hook has controlled the temperature of the bath with small gestures to maintain the perfect degree of comfort, but it has been some minutes now and he is impatient. Jones smiles when fingers begin to brush and lightly pinch his nipples, his own hand has begun to prune, perhaps it is time to wash and dress for dinner. He can smell a delicious fragrance in the air, Sofia is preparing a meal for them and he is curious about what is in store, she had loudly shooed him from the kitchen earlier barking ‘fuera!’ at him and waving a large wooden spoon when he attempted to inquire, so he must be content to wait.

He sighs and leans away with regret. With much sloshing and considerable effort he turns around to face his love; Hook looks on with amusement as Jones twists himself into position then dunks his head beneath the surface of the water to wet his hair. Upon reappearance, the bathwater cascades off of his head and runs in rivulets down his face and body, his dark mane plastered to his skull. He swipes it from his eyes then peers at his lover from under his eyebrows.

Hook is overcome with the desire to kiss him and reaches out to embrace him and find his soft plump lips, his tongue peeks out to lick across the seal of Jones mouth, slipping briefly inside when they separate. Their eyes connect, Hook’s gaze is so intense as if he is memorizing every detail of his his face, The deckhand looks back quizzically, curious why his lover is so rapt.

‘Merely cherishing this moment my dear,’ Hook says in answer to Jones unspoken question. He breaks the kiss, sheepish at Jones’ scrutiny, smiling crookedly he follows suit, plunging his head into the warm water. The deckhand grasps the large bar of lightly scented soap and brings it to his nose, a subtle fragrance of Jasmine and something else he cannot put his finger on. His lover smelling of flowers seems a strange contradiction though he appears so vulnerable now, almost shy with long wet tresses hanging in his eyes.

He knows Hook shows this side of himself only to him and feels honored by it, a worldly and fierce warrior yet so gentle and kind despite the blackness that swirls within him, revealing the man beneath the armor he has built throughout a life filled with loss and hardship is not easy for such a person. Jones begins to lather Hook’s hair, massaging his scalp then working dark strands into peaks, laughing gleefully at his spiked visage. Hook narrows his eyes and returns the favor, they work together until they are both pink and floral and scrubbed.

Hook winces suddenly and tries to hide it, but Jones can see the shadow and turmoil in his lover’s expression as they step out of the tub, Hook is struggling to keep himself in check, distress etched on his face. ‘What do you think about?’ Jones asks reaching out to touch his face, ‘Are you in pain? Is there nothing I can do to ease it?’ Hook hesitates for a moment, ’It is not unbearable…’ he circles Jones waist with his arms and grins licentiously, ‘… I might think of a way you could cure my mood, but let us sup first and enjoy the evening.’ The deckhand nods in agreement, ‘Coffee and pie for dessert?’

‘Anything you desire my love.’

Hook will not say so yet, but he fears the darkness is mounting another attack, it has been increasingly difficult to manage his pain throughout the day. He wonders if these powerful emotions of late, a counterattack of sorts, have launched a war within him that he has no ability to command. He will discuss this with Jones in the morning, perhaps three days in peace was too ambitious a wish, but he will not spoil this night with talk of an early departure.

————————

As they dress a bell sounds to signal dinner is served, Jones insists Hook wear the burgundy coat with gold embellishment he found amongst his clothing and after helping him into it, stands back to admire him with a brilliant smile on his lips. Hook would not however concede to the ivory vest and stood firmly in favor of a black brocade and wool breeches. He looks so different wearing color Jones thinks, so grand and fancy and fine. Hook rolls his eyes at the deckhand’s perusal, ‘How could I have owned such a thing,’ he laughs, ‘but if it pleases you I shall wear it.’

’Thank you, and it does!’ Jones replies.

’So I am forced to be dressed as a dandy while you lounge in my old robe?’ He says wryly

Jones feigns injury, his hand smoothing the velvet collar of the black quilted dressing gown that he has silently claimed ownership of, ’This garment is more elegant than any I have owned! And it is so lovely and soft… but I will don something else if you prefer it,’ he says with an exaggerated frown, his lower lip extended in a pout.

‘Of course not my love, I would have you happy,’ Hook answers chagrined then pulls Jones into his embrace, nibbling the offended lip before bending to thoroughly kiss his neck and suck a brand at his collarbone. ‘Forgive me my teasing, let us enjoy some food and drink. I am hungry for nourishment, unfortunately my thirst for you must go unquenched until later, I fear those responsible for our meal await our arrival.’

Jones bounces and claps upon seeing the dining table so artfully arranged, a large centerpiece made up of wildflower cuttings from the garden and a candelabra at either end softly lighting the room, Sofia has set out the beautiful Delft plates and once seated the deckhand studies the delightful images baked into their surfaces. Garrett and the cook stand ready to serve them, the first course consisting of a mushroom broth and beetroot salad. They welcome the fresh greens having existed on salted pork, biscuits and wine for several weeks.

The main course; roasted pheasant with wild rice and raisins; an herbed pudding; cheese and potato casserole and sautéed green beans with almonds. They sit together at the corner of the table, laughing and tasting each glorious dish, exclaiming at the skill of its creator. The deckhand is careful not to overindulge, saving room to savor a slice of blackberry pie for dessert.

Unlike his partner, Hook is not overly fond of sweets though he does sample them on occasion. He takes only a few bites of his own slice content to watch Jones’ ecstasy at each forkful. He has maintained such youthful wonder at life. considering the difficulties he has faced, remaining positive and hopeful is a talent indeed, and his exuberance has rubbed off.

Hook knows it was not always the case with his companion, he has not pried too deeply into Jones’ past believing he will share what he wishes him to know in his own time… but many of the events he has confided were far from cheerful. He supposes dwelling in history is not in Jones’ nature, preferring to look forward rather than back, with a remarkable ability to forgive the transgressions of others.

When the meal is finished they push back their chairs and thank Garrett and Sofia profusely for their service this night and see them out, the caretaker will ensure the cook arrives safely at home.

————————

Jones takes Hook’s hand when they are alone again and presses his lips to his palm then kisses the pad of each fingertip. ’May we retire to the sofa?’ Jones asks.

‘Certainly my sweet, I would doff this coat in favor of something more to my liking…’

‘I suppose,’ Jones makes a face but acquiesces.

The deckhand pours them each a splash of brandy and studies the soft rug in front of the fireplace, if Hook would be more comfortable then he will as well and begins to remove his clothing, draping them over the loveseat as he peels off each piece. He tosses a few pillows from the sofa onto the rug and lies down, closing his eyes he revels in the plush comfort of the fur and the heat of the fire on his bare skin.

Hook returns a moment later in a blouse and breeches, his violin in hand and does not see Jones hidden behind the sofa when he enters the room until the deckhand’s grinning face pops up into view above its back. He beckons him with a crook of his finger and Hook wastes no time setting the instrument aside and divesting himself of his garments.

‘Had I known this was your intention my love, I would not have changed my clothing,’ he says grinning taking a sip of brandy and pausing to admire his lover before joining him. He lays before him so openly, one arm behind his head, his muscled chest covered with dark wiry hair. A trim waist but not overly so, his shape toned from hard work aboard ship, having sailed on his own for some time as Hook recovered his arms and thighs appear more chiseled with use.

One leg bent, he props himself on his elbows at his lover’s examination, throwing his head back to expose his long neck, an invitation that Hook will not hesitate to indulge in. He lays down beside his love, forming himself to his body, his thigh moving between Jones’ legs and chafing against his groin.

Hook’s fingers spark with magic and roam over Jones body, then move to comb through his hair, clutching handfuls as they kiss roughly until their lips are swollen and red. The deckhand whispers I love you over and over again as their bodies move together, Hook positions himself and pushes inside gasping as he enters his tight opening.

Jones’ long legs wrap around his waist, his hips buck in rhythm to meet each thrust. A sheen of sweat covers their bodies as they rut together in the firelight, Hook grasps Jones’ hard length his hand still humming with magic, stroking and tugging him as he drives inside, feeling his magic pulsing around him as he slides in and out.

His lips drift over his lover’s face then he hovers above to see him when he falls. Jones’ mouth hangs slack as he pants and moans with erotic fervor, his eyebrows arching as he concentrates on the sensations below, he opens his eyes when the warmth begins to spread up his torso, watching his lover's hair flop against his forehead.

Hook’s hips swivel and grind on and on until sweat drips from his brow, his hand working between their bodies until Jones’s mewling sounds merge together into a moaning cry as he spills out. Hook smiles down at him then covers his mouth with his own, kissing him deeply until his own thickness throbs and pours its orgasm inside. When he is finally spent he collapses into Jones arms, breathing heavily and well satisfied, his body flushed and wet with perspiration.

‘I fear we will require another bath,’ Jones grins as he mops Hook’s face with his palm. ‘Indeed,’ Hook puffs rolling onto his back, he sees a fissure in the plaster ceiling that needs repair and cannot think of another time he has looked up from this perspective in front of the fire, but knowing the pleasure of it he imagines it will not be the last.

He waves his hand and cleans away the evidence of their sex then sits up to reach for a brandy, handing a glass to Jones and taking a long swallow of his own, grimacing as it burns its way down his throat. Returning to his lover’s embrace, ’I would have you again and kiss you until morning,’ he says against Jones mouth. The deckhand’s lips curl into a sweet smile, he would not protest.

@laschatzi @hollyethecurious @ashley-knightingale @artistic-writer @suwya @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones

Added a little lover boy art for your viewing pleasure. :)

#HookxHook #hookxhook smut #hookxhook ff #The Deckhand and The Dagger Ch10 #Dark!Hook #deckhand hook #slash

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castawxayaway · 7 years

Text

our unexpected life: p2

part 2 of 3, hope you enjoy and if so please let me know as feedback is always brill.

as I’ve said a lot in my posts after sunday I am not writing til July, but I do have a mini masterlist/collection put together for the meantime. I’ll be active, but not writing as exams come first :)

enjoy!

p1 (cause this’ll make little sense) / p3

Well, we went for coffee. We continued to meet at the same place over the course of a few weeks, some days he had more ginger toned stubble, other times he had a shadow instead. His eyes didn't remain consistent, I remember one day they were clouded like the storm brewing outside. Other days they were full of life as I smiled his way.

The two of us spent the time learning about each other, I learnt he is in a band, they're pretty well known and he's off until the next leg of tour. I remember how he worded it, the corner of his mouth lifting, embedding into the two day old stubble. "I'm wandering to places I don't normally go." I leaned in, resting my elbows up and focusing on him.

His actions mirrored mine as he was inches away, never having been so close I noticed a few faint wrinkles by his eyes. How sunken the bags were getting beneath his pure feather blue eyes, the light glint from cars passing in them rimmed with thick eyelashes as he blinked from the glare. He wasn't the type I'd met nor come across, instead of being filled with quick remarks about my sexuality he had wit, an actual sense of humour.

It had reached the point where we were slowly outgrowing the niceties of the small loving smell of freshly grounded coffee beans, we needed an expansion past the duck egg blue walls. He suggested somewhere perhaps a bit further, where we hadn't memorised the names of every drink and concoction available on the menu. So, as he suggested we did. One afternoon we ate tapas and drank a cocktail, the next we sat where we first met. Neither of us truly settling in on one space.

Three months in, roughly 91 days together we decided it’d be time to not keep it such a secret and instead a marginal one. Lying on my bed I couldn’t help but fidget, sure I’d mentioned to my parents about a guy I liked but besides that, nothing. We agreed to have dinner whilst my Mum wouldn’t stop hounding me for information, I told her about him, but not his age, or his career. As six o’clock neared closer and closer the more empty my stomach felt and filled itself with worry of the unknown, the inevitable even. Taking a deep breath I could feel waves of fear wash through my body, circulating from my thoughts to my heart, passing by like oxygen through my veins.

Hearing the doorbell sound I rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping on the last step as my parents hung back. As I opened it I was greeted with a reassuring smile along with an attempt to dress smartly, meaning he wore black jeans as always but wore a suit shirt. Holding his hands behind his back he wore nerves thick in his eyes and we just stood there, reflecting the same look as my parents neared the door.

I remember it entirely, the sort of surprised smile and noise my Mum made. Dan struggled to fathom words and revealed a bunch of tulips instead to my Mum, muttering something that no one heard. We all walked inside and already the tension was there, the uncomfortable looks my parents exchanged. It took us the entire evening (and a few glasses of wine) to get comfortable, we all laughed and thankfully accepted Dan as my boyfriend. My Mum always said she wanted what was best for me as she giddily asked Dan to play, to which he politely declined. Whereas my Dad was thankful I found someone, that ‘he never thought the day would come’ always good to know.

Knowing we were both in the clear - just I was invited to his place in London. I won’t lie, the impending fear loomed over us but as soon as I walked through the door it felt comfortable, it felt right. The two of us walked around for a bit, as if it were some show room, albeit a messy and scattered with instruments show room but after an hour or so it became less like a hotel room and somewhere to relax, similar to being at the cafe on a Thursday afternoon.

I began to wander around in one of his shirts, the mix of mint and aftershave intertwined into the cotton I wore which always brought a smile to my face. In the room next to his I saw a keyboard, much like his old beloved one yet this didn’t have the infamous white letters across it, instead it remained plain, untouched. Moving to sit behind it I place a few chords, ones I vaguely remembered from my year of piano in Year 5 when I was an overly ambitious child.

Not aware of his presence I gained confidence, my fingers blended into the keys as I played. Smiling to myself I saw someone above my gaze, lifting my head he just watched me in awe. Flustered I pulled on his shirt that I wore, unsure what to say. He walked over towards me, full of intent and sat next to me on the dusty bed. His eyes laced with passion, the sort of love I’d never witnessed. That was when he told me, the first time someone had ever told me those three words I’d secretly dreamt to hear; ‘I love you.’

Little was known of his friends, the band mates he had as neither of us felt ready to, it was becoming an elephant in the room, slowly but surely suffocating both of us. That was until I was asleep in bed, Dan downstairs working and a few voices could be heard. Sitting upright I could feel my heart in my throat, my first thought was ‘this is how I’ll die, in my mickey mouse pjs’ but no, I am living to tell the tale- though I wish I died rather than having to face them there and then.

I could hear Dan’s voice, he was doing the stuttering nervous thing again, the same one he did when he met my parents. Quickly I threw some jeans on and a cardigan, the stairs began to creak so I beat them to the door before they’d intrude. A rather tall man stood before me, hiding his mouth amongst his thick brown beard. “Well shit me.” He muttered as I stood there, my attempts to sizing up against him useless.

“Nice to meet you, guessing you’re one of Dan’s band mates?” I raised an eyebrow to him, not playing the kid role but the adult move, considering I am technically an adult.

He laughed lightly as I stood there, unable to comprehend it all. Looking back on it he reams nothing but apologies, but hey times change. His eyes locked with mine, unable to shift. A few steps and heavy breaths followed behind the bearded one, and three others stood looking at me as if I were a zoo animal. “I’ll be damned.” Someone spoke up and behind them I could see Dan’s socks, unmistakable.

“You guys got a good look?” I remember how sarcastic I was, the defensive side is not always the best first impression. With my hands on my hips I imagined I must’ve appeared as a 5 year old with a temper tantrum.

“Are you sure this is legal?” One with brown hair and similar look to Dan piped up whilst the other two remained quiet. “I mean, girls got a mickey mouse top on.” He pointed out and sighing I knew in that moment I’d rather be murdered.

It took a while for them to let Dan through, who continued to be uncomfortable leaving me to explain it all. None of them really understood, in fact the bearded one couldn’t stop making jokes and remarks. “Just wake up from a nap?” The remarks only continued as I walked down the stairs away from them for a cup of tea.

As I poured a cup of tea I heard Dan talking on the stairs, something about me. Intrigued I walked over, listening in. “I really really like her. It doesn’t matter guys.” Smiling I felt my heart flutter, and drown out his quiet tone. “Just please, go easy on her.”

Moving away from the stairs I continued to make tea as the creaking on the stairs decreased until I felt the presence behind me. Each of them awkwardly introduced themselves as Dan stood like a proud Dad, and I a teacher on the first day of class. After a bit of awkward conversation they all began to leave, Dan showing them out. Left behind from the bunch was the broader of them all, Will. “Listen, I’m sorry about them. If you two are happy then that’s what matters. I’m here if you need me.” With a light touch on my arm I nodded, he too following them out.

Dan came back, standing a fair distance away from me scratching the back of his neck. “Well,” He exhaled loudly. “that could’ve got worse.”

#aw bless them #kyle being kyle #of course #honestly though I found it so hard to write but im happy #bastille #bastille writing #writing #imagines #preferences #imagine #bastille imagines #bastille imagine #dan smith imagine #dan smith imagines #dan smith fluff #fluff #fluff imagine #enjoyyyyy

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franeridart · 7 years

Note

WHERE IS LAVI

Sadly all my magic rituals to try and scry directly inside Hoshino’s mind haven’t worked just yet, so I can’t answer this question - also, looks like DGM isn’t in the line-up for Jump SQ Crown this month either :( so we won’t know for at least another four months still - since Lavi’s my absolute most fave and thinking about the situation he’s in makes me feel literal pain and no actual solution to it seems to want to come any time soon, I try to think about it as little as I can. After six years of waiting for him denial has become my best friend, anon 👍

Anon said:DID YOU SEE MY SON BEING CARRIED AROUND I LOVE HIM SO MUCHH

I’m gonna assume you’re talking about Shinsou! He was adorable, but lbr the habit Horikoshi has of having him and Tetsu always appear together kind of takes all my possible hype away from Shinsou to direct it on the shark child. I hope Horikoshi will stop doing that, actually

Anon said:Lmao, in the coffee shop au I noticed you drew Kaminari with his hair shorter in the back - did you do that so you could avoid drawing a mullet? I cry

Actually!!! I hadn’t thought about that! But there had to be a reason why he looked better like that JK I love Kaminari’s hair and haircut, he’s the only child I’m gonna accept having a sort-of-mullet and still looking fine as hell - it’s because his hair looks so soft? And silky? I kinda wanna braid it I should draw him with his hair braided

Anon said:You know, after last chapter, seeing Kirishima reassure Midoriya and telling him not to talk negatively about himself takes a whole new meaning. This boy, he really cares so much about other people than himself

I wouldn’t say he cares more for others than himself, but he definitely does have different standards for others compared to those he uses on himself - then again, isn’t that just how people with low self-esteem always act? BUT!!! I have all the good reasons to think that Bakugou’s words have significantly lessened Kirishima’s inferiority complex about his quirk (because I’m locating that chat before the license exam and when you think about it since around then Kiri has been acting more confidently !!!) so I don’t think you should worry too much anymore! Kirishima has Bakugou and Bakugou has Kirishima and they keep each other good and positive and that’s beautiful and I’m alive

Anon said:What is your full name, if you don’t mind me asking??

Why anon, isn’t Fran enough for you? *wiggle eyebrows* kidding, I’m assuming all my Italian friends have guessed already since it’s a pretty common name so it’s cool, you can know, my full name is Francesca. Though I’d really prefer it if you’d keep on calling me just Fran 👍

Anon said: Why are you so perfect

Hah I’m really, really, really not anon

Anon said: Honestly their hairs are so amazing in the last one and i absolutely love the way you never do the prompts the way they are expected and idk if you do it on purpose but its just amazing

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you so much????? And I wouldn’t say I do it on purpose, I just draw the first thing with a beginning and an ending I can manage to think about (fun fact, sometimes I deem the first thing too ridiculous or not good enough and I try to think about something else but by then the idea is there and I won’t be able to draw anything else r i p)

Anon said:Geez when Kiri called Baku manly and cool I was just like “end me” how did I not realize how precious he is in s1? He’s so frikkin adorable!

He doesn’t really do much in s1!!! But he is adorable isn’t he??? He’s the sun of my life I love him so much bless his gay heart

Anon said:I LOVE HOW YOU DRAW KUROO

THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:I hope your happy you jelly bean! I started to watch boku no hero to understand the poly ship you ship. Now I can escape this hell cause I know I’ll read the manga next!

I actually am really damn happy!!!!! I hope you’ll enjoy it all till the very end if you do catch up, anon!! Come back and tell me who your fave is, once you’re done °O°

Anon said:Hinata forgot to spike the ball

HE DID I can’t believe that small adorable disaster of a boy how is he even still a regular oh my g O D I love him so much I can’t believe him what a good (mostly tho, he jumped like Hoshiumi holy FUCK I can’t wait to see that one work for him !!!)

Anon said:there’s a terushima week coming up soon?? might we see a cute bokuroteru maybe? :O

Since I’m literally just finding out about this, like, right now and the week starts in about three days or something I can’t really promise I will participate in it, anon ;;;—;;; I don’t have the time to plan for it at this point and in the same period there’s the bakushima week too (which I… still haven’t drawn anything for r I P) and !!!!! It’s just too little time BUT next month it’s polyship may!!! One prompt per day for the whole month and it’s all about polyships, I plan on drawing small doodles for all of them, or at least try, and bokuroteru will DEFINITELY be between the ot3s I’ll draw for!!!! I hope that’s good enough for you :( I’m actually so damn sad I just found out about this ;;;-;;;

Anon said:i think i’m in love with your art (especially youre bakushimanari and your bokuro to be honest !) because everytime i go on your blog i stay here for hours and hope it never end ! well, thank you for sharing all those cute art with us !! ♥

AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!! I’m glad I can make you enjoy my lil blog that much??? This actually made me so happy oh my god (////▽////)

Anon said:How on Earth does Bakugou fit his giant bracers in the tiny briefcase thingy the school gives them to keep their costumes in, do you suppose?

The cases are bigger on the inside *doctor who theme playing in the distance* either that or he’s actually Mary Poppins, which wouldn’t be all that bad would it I’m laughing lmao

(when you think about it really huge costume pieces fit in a few other kids’ cases too - take Iida and Aoyama, or Kirishima’s gears, or Ochako’s arm pieces - so I’m just assuming the support kids are really really crafty… and Bakugou’s gauntlets can probs disassemble, he must take forever to gear up)

The real question here is why Hagakure needs a case at all

Anon said:now that i started reading bnha i appreciate your art alot more. I already loved your art even though i didnt know who all the character were who werent from voltron or hq

Ahhhhh thank you so much!!!!! I really really hope you’ll like the manga at least enough to keep reading, anon!!!

Anon said:I know it’s so rude but, is it somethin’ about Kuroo/Bakugou that makes Bokuto/Kirishima get hot to trot?

ANON I’m sorry but I can’t let myself answer even just vaguely nsfw asks - I just, even though I might have headcanons for these there is a certain line with nsfw I’m really not comfortable crossing and once you start answering this kind of questions it’s hard drawing that line and making it so that you’ll always be sure it will be respected and I just… really don’t want to get to the point where one day I’ll open my inbox and find something I’ll feel really uncomfortable with? Does that make sense??? aaaahhhhhhhh!!!!! I hope you’ll understand ;;-;;

Anon said:Bokutitties. what even. Reminds me of the Shimada brothers (do you play Overwatch??) and their left nipple that is always exposed

I don’t, but most of my dash does so I get what you’re talking about lmao I can 100% assure you it was an accidental coincidence, anon haha

Anon said:okey okey do i was thinking about your art of bakugou being cold and shit and i. i came up with this idea like, what if baku is that sort of person who hates socks? so hell go complain to kirishima and or kaminari about being cold and theyll just go; …..put on some goddamn socks

!!!!!!!!!!!! Anon you wanna know the best thing about this? If you keep an eye out for all the times you can see Bakugou’s ankles in the manga it seems like he actually never wears socks I’ll cry forever your headcanon might as well be canon what a blessed moment

Anon said:I see and accept your hero course sleeplessness and would like to raise it to the teachers giving puppet/shadow shows.

….you can’t make a shadow show without Tokoyami getting involved so I’ll assume he’ll find a way to wiggle into it too, and he’d bring Shouji with because his quirk could help - I bet my head you can’t have Aizawa participate even offering to pay him, and also that it probably started from Mic because he’s extra like that

most enthusiastic participants would be Snipe and Toshi, Cementoss would have no problems with it either and his quirk is handy for cool effects, Midnight is kind of live and let live about the whole deal but doesn’t mind stopping by to look at them making fools of themselves now and again - most of the students are like ???? why tho the first time because they aren’t kids anymore and there’s no reason for this, Iida though doesn’t even question sitting through the whole thing because it’s their teachers and it’s just the right thing to do, Izuku does the same but just because All Might, Ochako stays because Izuku and Iida stay, same for Todoroki, and if Ochako stays so does Tsuyu - Kirishima and Mina are the only actually enthusiastic ones out of Baku’s group but they got a way to bring all of the squad together for it anyway, Baku included, they’re noisy and pushy just enough for that… actually when I think about it in the end everyone would stay at least the first time for one reason or another , and then the show starts, and it’s with quirks and really out of scale on the special effects with microphones and bgm and shifting stages and so on and this was supposed to help the students with sleeplessness but at this point it’s just the teachers having fun and together with them the kids as well no one goes to sleep any time soon when they put together a show lbr

#fran answers #so many #words #r i p #anonymous

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divagonzo · 7 years

Text

Especially from You - a Look at Me installment

Porridge the Tawny Barn owl - residing at the Barn Owl Trust

(Imagine what you can get when you search for Porridge and Owls)

Ao3 // FF.net

A/N: I hadn’t thought of writing anything for OTP Day today, but a before-coffee request came in that I write something so here you are. This is a subsequent chapter to Louder than my Words. – DG

Tagging @ragam-groove since they asked oh so nicely, @barmy-owl because of Porridge the Owl, and @ronaldswheezy since this references her ficlet from this morning to a small degree.

Happy OTP day to anyone celebrating. And this is Rated T for innuendo and crass language. Ace mostly safe. (Cavent Emptor)

Hermione looked up from the morning edition of the Daily Prophet to the young woman plonked her bum down across from her in the Great Hall. She’d been in the Great Hall since half seven, after spending an hour in the Library studying Arithmancy which was giving her fits, unlike the disheveled witch sitting across from her, looking considering worse for wear.

But then winning the Quidditch match yesterday against Ravenclaw, 350 to 200 thanks to the Gryffindor seeker, a sprite of a third-year witch named Imelda Tompkins prompted much celebration very late into the night. Hermione escaped at 6 to go study in the Library while Dean and Luna, along with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, partied late into the night. She returned at half 12, after making rounds tonight with a fifth year Hufflepuff prefect since the Hufflepuff Head Boy Sidney Fysh switched shifts tonight – to console his Ravenclaw girlfriend.

“Finally roused yourself from the comfort of your bed, did you? Serves you right to have a hangover, after drinking so much butterbeer I had to use magic to hoist you up to your bed. Do you know how much mental effort it takes to lift an inebriated witch six flights of curved stairs in the tower? I should have bumped your head a few times for the trouble.”

“I’m not hung over, Hermione.” Ginny looked up from her plate, already covered in fried eggs, bangers and rashers, beans and fried tomatoes, and scones with butter. “Harry was on duty last night with Hemera and he popped over. He wanted to see you but you disappeared. He only had a few hours before needing to return to the Ministry.”

Hermione groaned into her tea.

“Yes, I drank plenty of butterbeer, but that wasn’t all that happened.”

Hermione put her head into her hands. “You are completely mad, Ginny.”

“I’d not seen Harry since Christmas, Hermione.”

“You’re still barmy, you know that?” Hermione ignored the ache in her chest from not getting to see Ron since that morning so many weeks ago. “And how did you manage to escape Jones? You know she patrols the halls at night, under the guise of making sure we’re tucked into our proper places so evil Death Eaters don’t sneak in and kidnap us in our sleep.”

Ginny smirked. “Who said we left the tower?” She picked up her teacup and took a long sip, looking over the rim at Hermione with smoldering eyes. “Being a prefect has some benefits, I reckon. And since I’ve been sharing a room with you all year, and you were gone, I took Harry to ours for a bit of fun.”

A screech from the open windows underneath the hammerbeam roof of the Great Hall announced the morning mail. There might be no post on Sunday but that didn’t apply to the owls at Hogwarts, thankfully.

“Well, since Harry was with you last night,” Hermione raised one eyebrow at the witch tucking into her breakfast across from her, “I doubt you’ll be getting much since you obviously received more last night.”

“Hermione, don’t be jealous. You know my prat of a brother would love to be here, throwing you over his shoulder for a leg over. He’s barking mad for you and you know it.”

“I know,” she put her teacup down, ignoring the bagels and butter in front of her. “And I’m happy for you. Really I am. But I do miss him terribly. Studying today for the Arithmancy exam tomorrow will take all day. And then I have to study for the Astronomy exam that is tomorrow night.”

An owl landed in the porridge in front of the young ladies before shaking bits of oats from her feathers. “Looks like my tosspot of a brother thought of you for today. I knew he wouldn’t let you down.”

Hermione looked down at the owl holding out a leg towards her with a scrap of parchment attached to her leg. “Me?” She unraveled the twine from the owl’s leg before plucking a rasher from the platter to her left and handing it to the appreciative owl.

“What’s he said today? Waxing crass about you in ways I don’t want to hear about?”

Hermione unrolled the parchment and scanned it before standing up and running away from the benches.

“What?” Ginny yelled but Hermione was dashing out of the Great hall, leaving behind everyone for the one she was desperate for.

Hermione ran until her lungs grew a dozen stitches, half-way up the stairs to the Headmaster’s office, before walking the rest of the way to the office on the other side of the complex. She made it to the stone Griffin blocking the doorway to the office. Cranachan she spoke clearly before the stone guardian moved to the side to offer her entrance up to the office. She dashed to the door at the top and froze, finally seeing her paramour standing up from the headmaster’s desk in front of her.

“Miss Granger, I presume you received this Auror’s parchment?”

“I ran once I read the summons,” she huffed out while trying to settle the pounding heart in her chest. “I didn’t want to wait an extra half hour once I read about the unannounced inspection visit.”

“Well, Miss Granger, seeing that you are our Head Girl, and this nice apprentice Auror is here for duty, I would hope you would escort him around the grounds, even if it is rather cold outside, to show him how we are doing in protecting our students.” The older witch in front of her gave a shrewd look with almost a hint of a smile in her worn visage. Ron sat down and Hermione sat in the chair next to him. “He is to report back to the Ministry today at 9pm, so I presume 12 hours will be sufficient for Auror Weasley to collect his information for the report for Director Robards. Isn’t that so, Mr. Weasley?”

“That’s more than sufficient, Headmistress.” Ron kept his eyes forward but Hermione saw his ears were turning pink. “Director Robards thanks you for letting us have a surprise inspection. The threat hasn’t gone away yet, not with so many Death Eaters still on the loose. He wanted to make sure that the grounds were secure, especially after the Quidditch match yesterday.” He glanced to the side for a brief moment. “He has every confidence in Auror Jones but he said additional eyes inspecting the school wouldn’t be remiss.”

The Headmistress pulled a piece of parchment from her stack and wrote a few lines on it before handing it over to Ron. “When you report back to the Ministry, please inform the Minister and Director Robards that we have zero complaints about their concern and well-being, and also the consideration of their efforts, especially with regards to Senior Jones. She has been a wonderful asset to the staff this year.”

Ron stood first, looking dashing in his new robes, and Hermione joined him. “Does he need to leave via your Floo when he is to depart, Professor?”

“It might be prudent, since his inspection of the grounds and building might impede him today.” Professor McGonagall gave them a pointed look. “Now, let’s not hold up Auror Weasley from his duties or yours today. And remember, he is to report back to his desk at the Ministry at 9pm.”

“Yes, Professor.” The two of them left her office and made it to the stairwell, riding it down to the next floor.

The stairs stopped and Hermione threw herself onto Ron, who easily caught her in his embrace. “I missed you too,” he whispered into her hair before hugging her closer. Her muffled sobs in his robes told him that, while being here was going to be brilliant, his girlfriend might have trouble adjusting her schedule to fit his needs – and hers. Going from her tosser of best friend to her boyfriend only changed a few things – but Hermione was still Hermione and adjusting to changes was still hard for her.

“It’s ok, I’m here,” he muttered while her sobbing slowly settled. “I know you like having some warning when I’m going to surprise you,” he kept the mirth out of his voice by the paradox that a known surprise was, “but I was only informed of such last night at the start of my shift by Robards. He’d already sent Harry over yesterday but said that the git didn’t include everything so he sent me too.”

Hermione pulled back and saw his beautiful blue eyes were darker than normal, and not because the alcove they were standing in was bathed in shadows.

“You’re actually here for work? You’re not going to get into trouble with Robards for being here?”

Ron bent awkwardly to kiss her gently, fighting tooth and nail to keep it from turning molten in an instant. “I am, at Hemera’s request. She has everything sorted here but said it would be a terrific training opportunity for the apprentices to see what she has done in securing the grounds, and learn from it. I have to meet her at 5 at the front doors for a flight inspection of the grounds and then a walk-through the castle before we depart. So I get lunch and dinner with you, at least.”

“Her idea?”

“Yeah. When we’re on duty with her, we’re not allowed to show ourselves to students. I’ve seen you so much and it’s a pain in the arse on duty and can’t – “

Hermione pulled his ears down and kissed him deeply, begging entrance with her tongue on his lips which he gladly accepted. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he lifted her up off her feet and moved them around, pressing her into the stone wall behind her back. Her legs wrapped around his waist and the snogging continued until she was close to passing out.

“Robards asked for volunteers for this assignment and I asked to be on rotation here, after I was such a tosser last year and that I wanted to make this Valentine’s Day somewhat special. While – “

“You’re here and I appreciate it.” She hugged him closer, dropping small kisses on his chin.

“You can shag me in a minute but I gotta say this before I lose my nerve.”

“All right,” she whispered and quit kissing him, which he regretted for a moment before pushing aside his discomfort.

“Last year, we were barely speaking, after I was a twat for leaving you, and Harry. You had every right to be mad at me and Merlin knows I earned your anger.”

“Ron, I forgave you months ago.”

He continued, ignoring her interruption. “And yet for all the fuck ups I’ve had, you’re still here, and told me that you love me and that’s bloody amazing. You’ve given me so much and I know I can’t - “

“Yes, you can,” she interrupted.

“Say what I feel for you ‘cause I’m pants at words, I certainly can show you how much you mean to me, by giving you everything I can.”

“So when are we going to do the inspection?”

Ron lowered her to the ground and brushed his hand across her cheek, wiping away a stray eyelash that had fallen among the tears shed. “Later, once I’ve shown you how much I love you, and get a kip. I’ve been awake since 5pm and I am tired, but you come first.” His hands went back to her cheek, contrasting his hands to her skin. “And Merlin knows how much I’ve missed you since Christmas but sleep will wait. I need to show my girlfriend that Valentine’s Day means more than chocolates and plague.”

Hermione burst out laughing. “Plague? Who told you that?”

“Well, yeah. Jones mentioned that Muggles say that St. Valentine’s Day is also a day about plague.” He blushed, hard. “I thought you’d appreciate that nugget of knowledge. She is surprisingly well-read, like you are.”

Hermione pulled his ears down again for another kiss, giving promise what was going to come very, very shortly. “I do. It’s better than chocolates, especially from you.”

#Dragon's fic #hpfic #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Look at Me installment #Rated T for artificial lemon hints and crass language #requested by ragam-groove before coffee this morning #I hadn't planned on writing this today #but she asked so nicely #Ginny was being a bint #and talking way too much #and a read-more only because it's over 2K in length #my apologies to those on Mobile #Will cross-post to Ao3 and FF shortly #Queue up for the Dragon

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my-northern-downpour · 7 years

Text

Chapter 7 of Summon Me

Guess who just finished her first multi chapter story? This girl! Here’s the last chapter of Summon Me! Read it here on Ao3

Emma- Age 23

It’s been about three years since Emma had seen Killian. She’d heard from him, but she hadn’t physically seen him. It’d been hard at first to not have him there at first, but as time went on, it got better. She still had his notes that he’d send with his little shadows and whom Henry had grown to love playing with. After years of playing with her as a young girl, they had lots of experience.

She had tried summoning him, but had sent his shadows with his apologies that he couldn’t leave where he was. When he left her apartment that day four years ago, he said he’d visit the next month, but didn’t actually come until three months later. After that, he’d seen her two more times and then just kind of disappeared from her life minus the letters.

Oh. and the fact that he had sent her enough money throughout the years that she could move to a more decent(safe) part of the city, which meant a nicer apartment with Henry being able to have his own room. And air conditioning that actually worked. Plus, her built in lie detector was a nice added bonus. She had more closed cases under her belt than others who started around the same time as her, and she was quickly catching the eye of the big boss. A promotion seemed to be in her future.

Despite all these things, she still missed her best friend. A lot. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. And of course, she loved him-he’d been there for her when most others left. But lately she had the growing realizations that maybe she missed him more than she originally let on.

Seriously?! was her daily thought when it came up in her mind. He was a demon for crying out loud. A person who served Satan himself, who she heard wasn’t as scary as most people say, but that was coming from something that enjoyed fear and pain and all the other things she didn’t really think about that came with being a demon. All she knew was that he didn’t feel human emotions such as love and joy and happiness. But she thought Killian was different. He laughed with her. He seemed to enjoy being with her and Henry and said that he loved spending time with her at one point in time. But that could just be him picking up on human sayings and using them with her to make her feel better when she needed a confidence boost.

Damn, she thought, I’m in love with that damn hell spawn.

---

The first thing he saw when he woke up was the gray sky. He heard seagulls in the distance and the crashing of waves. Where was he? And how did he get here? Killian sat up from his position and looked around his surroundings.

He was on a beach it seemed. And he was hurt. He looked down to his arms to see that they were bleeding from long, deep cuts going vertically down them. His legs had the same kinds of wounds. What had happened to him? No matter, he could just heal himself.

Although when he tried to, nothing happened. Weird. He tried again and still nothing happened. He tried to get up and leave, but the dark smoke never came. What was going on? Well, he was up now. He should try and get somewhere other than the beach where people could find him like this. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself while he tried to figure out what was going on.

He looked at the city that lay next to the beach he was at and instantly recognized it. Boston. He was close to Emma. If he could just get to her. But in his condition, he didn’t know if he could make. But he still had to try. And so, Killian set off down the street towards the part of the city he knew Emma resided in the hopes of finding her.

---

“Yes Ruby, I’m on my way back. Thank you so much for watching Henry tonight,” Emma said as she walked back to her yellow bug her demon had given her. “Hmm? Oh yeah, if you could please put him to bed soon, that’d be great. I’m still on the other side of the city by Quincy and I need to stop and get a few things before I get back. Alexis should be there soon after he’s down to spend the rest of the time with him till I get back.”

A few more words from her friend and a good night to her son and she was back on the road after chasing down her latest sleazebag and successfully locking him up for embezzlement. This paycheck should be a nice one and set her up for at least the next month.

She had decided to take the scenic route back home and was driving down the ocean lane when she stopped a little ways away from what looked like someone walking, limping actually, down the street. Deciding to get a little closer, she drove a little closer until she saw that the man had dark hair that looked so familiar. But his arms and legs… They were covered in deep cuts that had dried blood on them. Quickly, she pulled her car up to the man and jumped out to help him out, but stopped short when she saw his face. That hair she had recognized, but the eyes gave him away.

“Killian?” she chocked. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she was afraid she would hurt him.

He looked up from the street and the smile that appeared on his face was dazzling, minus his obvious wounds. “Emma, I found you,” he managed to get out before he started to sway. She managed to catch him before he face-planted into the ground.

“Great,” she grumbled aloud. “I don’t see you for three years and this is how we first meet again.” She started to slowly carry/drag him to her car to put him in the back seat and take him to her place. “You owe me a really good reason for this you damn spawn,” she uttered to no one in particular as she got in the driver’s seat and head home.

“Hey Ruby! Hey look, do you think you could actually take Henry home with you tonight? I don’t think I’ll be able to make it back tonight. Hmm? Oh, everything is fine! I just kind of ran into a few little things and I need to go to the office. Yeah, sure thing. Tell Granny I said hi and thank you so much!”

She looked at the mirror to see him sleeping in the back seat and smiled. At least he was back.

---

Two days later and Killian was finally waking up. Henry had stayed with Ruby and Granny with a promise from both of them that it was no problem at all and the occasional picture of him and Ruby. Her favorite was of his face covered in beans from sticking his face in the coffee beans at the restaurant. His excuse was that they smelled good.

She had brought him straight to her apartment, checking that Henry wasn’t there, cleaned him up and put him in her bed to let him rest while she stayed on the couch. And then had done nothing but worry and wonder what had happened to him and how he got all the way in Quincy and why he was walking?

After getting him up when he was finally awake enough, she made him some soup and had asked him to tell her what happened to him. All he did was look down into the bowl with a look of utter defeat on his face.

“Killian?” she asked as she slowly put her arm on his shoulder.

He looked up to her and then back down and quietly muttered “I’m no longer welcome back home.” He looked up at her to gage her reaction to his answer and saw that she was a little confused and trying to process what he had said. He sighed and put the bowl down on the night stand next to him. “Emma. I am no longer a demon. I am a human,” he said with such force in his voice she was taken aback a little.

She quickly got over that and slid all the way onto the bed next to him and just carefully laid her head onto his shoulder. She didn’t ask him anymore questions, knowing that he was exhausted, but she also didn’t really care right now. And Killian only looked at her and smiled as he settled in next to her. This was a nice feeling he thought he could really get used to.

---

Throughout the next few months, the new human Killian became accustomed to life as a human. His wounds had healed, leaving only minor scars thankfully. He was lucky that he had access to all his old accounts and any other worldly holdings he had, which meant he was able to get a job to pass the days. He loved watching Henry when Emma was gone, but he wasn’t used to staying still for so long. And so, he set out to begin work at the children’s home. It seems he was interested in working with children after Emma’s experience growing up.

Speaking of Emma. They had grown close over time. Living together will do that to people. But their friendship was stronger than ever. Emma’s feelings for him only deepened as time went on, but she kept them to herself. Killian had enough on his plate right now. Only, Killian’s feelings for her had been there for a while now and had grown as well over the past few months.

He learned new these new feelings were things he had started to feel when he was still a demon towards Emma during their last few visits together. Things like joy and happiness he had started to feel when the girl was younger. Those were easier to hide from other hellish creatures. But once he started to develop actual feelings for the human girl, what he now called love, well that was harder to hide.

Emma had found out some details about his missing three years over time as well. He had apparently been put on trial, for what she wasn’t sure, but as a result of being guilty, he was stripped of his immorality and became a human. Apparently, it was a merciful way to be punished. Most others were just stripped off their immortality and killed on the spot. It seems that Lucifer had a soft spot for her hell spawn. He never disappointed and was one of his better demons. If she could, she would thank him personally.

“Hello?” she called one evening as she was getting back from the grocery store.

“In the living room!” Killian answered followed by Henry’s ecstatic answer “Mama!”

Emma quickly went to put the things she bought away and ran to the living room to meet her son in their daily hug greeting. “Hey there kid. I missed you today,” she said as she smothered him in the hug. After another few seconds, she put him down and saw Killian standing next to where Henry was, just smiling at her.

“Welcome home Swan,” he said and pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead. She quickly melted into his hold and hugged him back.

The moment was ruined a minute later with her son tugging on her shirt. “Mama. I’m hungry. Can you make me something to eat?” She looked from her son to Killian who only shook his head. “He burnt my grilled cheese. You don’t expect me to eat that when you make it so good do you?!” the five-year-old blurted out. Killian just put his head in his hands and Emma laughed.

“Okay honey. Go get the ingredients ready and I’ll be there in a minute to make you the best grilled cheese of your life,” she said and winked at him. He only cheered and ran into the kitchen.

Killian still looked embarrassed from the child’s confession. She chuckled. He really was cute.

“Hey there.” she waved her hand in his face to get his attention. “You know it’s nice you tried to make him food. But you shouldn’t have tried the grilled cheese. That’s my specialty.” Emma gave him a smile and flicked his nose to try and cheer him up.

He quickly wrapped his hands around her waist and hugged her close to him as she left out a slight ‘oof’ from being caught off guard.

“Maybe you could teach me your secrets to this sandwich so the child doesn’t give me another lecture on the art of the grilled cheese.”

Oh. He was close to her face. Like, very close. Without thinking, she did what she had wanted to for a while now. She kissed him. Emma put her hands around his neck and pulled him down, closing the gap between them quite effectively. It was Killian’s turn to be caught off guard.

As quick as it started, it was over. Emma’s face was bright red and she started to turn her head to the side, avoiding his gaze.

“I... I’m sorry… I don’t. I don’t know what came over me,” she started to explain, but was quickly shut up when Killian’s mouth met hers once again in a gentle kiss that made her legs go weak. Good thing he was holding her up.

Only parting when the need for air became too great, they rested their foreheads together and smiled at each other.

“Hey,” he said at her.

“Hi,” she replied through her smile.

“So, that uh, I hope wasn’t unwanted or just a one-time thing,” he confessed and started rubbing the back of his head. Emma’s smile only grew, so did his, and she brought him down for a quick kiss.

“I hope it wasn’t a one-time thing. I rather liked it.”

They stood there for another minute, letting the moment just soak in before the rambunctious child in the kitchen called out.

“Mama! I’m dying of hunger in here!”

Emma couldn’t help but laugh from his statement. After another kiss to his cheek, she grabbed Killian’s hand and led him to the kitchen with the promise of teaching him the correct way to cook her famous grilled cheese.

As the little family sat down to eat, Emma looked around and couldn’t help but think how lucky she was. She had a son who loved her, friends who she loved and would do anything for. Her best friend was back and now she had found someone she thinks she may be able to spend the rest of her life with. He had never left her, even when he could have plenty of times. He was a constant in her life and memories. She loved him, and he loved her.

Yes, her life had turned out to be better than she could have imagined it could have ever been. And to think it all started on the playground all those years ago. Summoning demons wasn’t so bad if you asked her.

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