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aranarumei · 2 years ago

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the anomalous agate (part two)

now: here's what some of you actually wanted to see yesterday.

a quick rundown for anyone who has no idea what this is: here's ch 1 on tumblr and ao3. I posted an updated version of ch 1 yesterday that flows a bit nicer, and recommend checking that out if you haven't already.

and, while it's even less necessary to do, consider checking this post out, too. the context in which it was written is kind of... irrelevant to this fic, honestly, but it provides a bit of background that I think enhances some of what's going on in this chapter and the next one (that I haven't written yet).

with that out of the way, this chapter is over 7k, so here's the ao3 link if you prefer. (there's also a bit of a longer author's note there at the end) if you'd like to stick to tumblr, follow me under the cut.

edit: part three

case 2-x: the anomalous agate (part two)

Even the usually oblivious Tanimoto-san noticed my listless mood in the following days. It wasn’t unusual for me to worry or speculate about my clients—everyone who stepped into Richard’s store certainly had some kind of interesting quality, but something about Hanzawa tugged oddly at my chest.

To complicate matters, I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only one feeling that way. Richard had spent Sunday carrying on as usual, but every once in a while, he’d drift into his thoughts and his brows would furrow like something was bothering him. This wasn’t a trait unique to Hanzawa’s presence, but this was possibly the first time I’d seen Richard look genuinely unsettled instead of troubled.

It wasn’t an expression I liked seeing on his face.

“Seigi-kun, you seem deep in thought,” Tanimoto-san said. “Something on your mind?”

Class had ended. I flipped aimlessly through the pages of the book on gemstones I’d borrowed from Richard before tucking it into my bag. Somehow, I didn’t quite feel as if I could meet her eyes. “You mentioned there were many gems that did heat treatment, right?” I asked as we began to shuffle out of the classroom.

She responded with less cheer than usual, and I felt dejected to be the cause. “Oh, yes… not just corundum,” she said. “Beryl and quartz, too. That encompasses a large quantity of jewels which are just named as different forms of these materials, really… heat treatment is used often to change their color. Apart from deepening the red of a ruby, there’s aquamarine—a type of beryl—which is most commonly green-blue. Heat treatment tends to enhance the blue color and really give it that expected ‘aqua’ color. One of the most dramatic transformations, to me, is amethyst—it can turn a deep orange when it’s treated with heat.”

“Ah—I saw that last weekend,” I said. “It’s meant to mimic citrines, right?”

“Citrines tend to be a paler yellow, actually,” Tanimoto-san said. “But they’re rare—especially ones with a deep orange color. That’s why heat-treatment of amethysts is so common.” She sighed, gaze drifting off in space as we headed to her next class. “When we think of the term ‘citrus,’ the first thing that comes to mind is often an orange, despite the variety of citrus fruits in other colors. Sometimes I wonder if that’s the reason people mistake amethysts for citrine so easily.”

“It fits with their preconceived notions, huh?” I said, earning an approving nod from Tanimoto-san. “I still remember what you said before—about wanting to appreciate the stones as they were without heat treatment. I thought that was a really beautiful idea.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you think so, Seigi-kun,” she said. We came to a halt in front of her next classroom, but she didn’t go inside just yet. “But we’d talked about this already… is there something else you wanted to ask me?”

I swallowed around an uncomfortable bit of air. We were early for her class—it wasn’t a particularly long walk from classroom to classroom, but I liked spending time with her—but she usually went directly inside. It’s so nice of her to take time out of her day to worry about me, I thought. But again, I knew that I must have been really out of sorts for her to notice.

“It was just mentioned in passing,” I said at her prompting, “But… well, a client was discussing agate, and I heard that some of them were dyed. Is that a common process?”

Her expression immediately soured. For a minute I thought I’d stepped on some kind of conversational landmine, but though she looked unhappy, she spoke without malice. “It’s—not uncommon, no. Agate is porous, so it absorbs dye well, as do any stones like it.” I could see her turning over her words with care. “But… while heat treatment is an irreversible process, dyeing tends to be less effective. The color can fade over time, especially under sunlight, and it may not stain evenly. And depending on what dye is used, it can be removed with solvents like acetone… so it’s a process that’s much less certain.”

“So, they’re kind of fragile,” I observed, “even if they’re made to look nicer.”

“Well, they certainly look pretty—the bright colors can enhance how distinct the banding is, so you could argue the dye only enhances the best features of agate and other types of chalcedony, but…”

“…But?”

“Dyeing stones is really common for selling fakes,” she said. “And well—I just think that’s inexcusable, to conceal the truth like that. Even though dyed stones can be detected, that’s usually only after they’re sold, right? And this often happens with online purchases, so… I can’t help but feel resentful.” She frowned. “And every time I’ve traveled to see something related to rocks, the gift shop always carried those tumbled and dyed stones! It’s hard to find anything else…”

“That must be tough,” I said, though it was hard to suppress a smile at the thought of Tanimoto-san scowling in the middle of a gift shop. She usually seemed so magnanimous, and it was nice to see that she had her weak points, too.

She pouted. “I know it’s a petty reason, okay!” she said. A touch more melancholy, she added, “But every time I see them, I want to stand up and yell at everyone that rocks and minerals are more interesting than that, because it feels like these polished stones and other kinds of jewels are the only kind of beauty that people care about. For all kinds of rocks and minerals… I don’t think they possess a beauty that is just skin-deep. But when you limit the conversation to just rocks, because they look so different, the interests just don’t overlap…” She glanced up at me, seemed to realize that the type of person she was talking about was right next to her, and hurried to clarify. “Ah—I didn’t mean that as a strike against you though, Seigi-kun.”

“No, I totally understand,” I quickly reassured her. “I mean, in an ideal world, that’s how we want to think of other people, too, right? Without judging based on the outside alone. And I think anyone would want to share their interest with more people. So, if what you like is rarer, or unappreciated, it feels sad, right?”

“Right,” Tanimoto-san said. She smiled. “…I really am glad we get to talk about gemstones. I always feel like I end up hearing something interesting.”

Not for the first time, I thought that Tanimoto-san was some kind of angel. I truly didn’t have any questions about rocks to reciprocate with, except— “There’s a few rocks that do count as gemstones, right?” I asked. “Like lapis lazuli.”

“You remembered!” Tanimoto-san exclaimed. “Lapis lazuli’s a particularly special rock, you know,” she said, a gleam in her eyes. “Historically, it was used to make this very expensive blue paint…”

“Ah—ultramarine, right?”

“Exactly!” Tanimoto-san said, clapping her hands in excitement. “Seems like you’re already an expert on it, Seigi-kun.”

“I just heard it in passing,” I explained sheepishly. “That customer from before—he and my boss talked about ultramarine for a bit.” I paused to recollect the various times I’d spotted the stone in Jewelry Étranger. “Though, the stone looks so unbelievable to me on its own that it feels strange to think it would ever be used for paint…”

“It is one of the beauties of metamorphism,” Tanimoto-san agreed. Or at least, I was assuming she was.

“Sorry, but… what exactly is metamorphism again?” I asked. “I feel like I’ve heard the term before, and I just don’t remember.”

Despite the various expressions I’d put on her face today and in all the other conversations we’d had, this was the first time I’d ever seen Tanimoto-san look truly dumbfounded. It took me a while to even realize that was the expression on her face, until she cleared her throat and said, “I guess you said yourself you didn’t know much about rocks, but… well, I thought this was common knowledge, and maybe it… isn’t?” Worriedly, like she’d just learned she was privy to a secret for which she hadn’t voluntarily been made a confidant, she asked, “I mean, everyone knows that the three common classifications of rocks are sedimentary, igneous, and metamorphic, right?”

“…That rings a bell?” I said unconvincingly.

Her eyes flickered towards the classroom—she had only a few minutes before her next class started, so I imagined she would head inside, but instead she squared her shoulders, formed a distinctly “Golgo” look on her face, and said, “Well—metamorphic rocks are basically a type of rock that’s actually a combination of other rocks and minerals. So that’s how lapis lazuli has that beautiful gold coloring—it comes from the pyrite that’s part of the rock. The main blue comes from lazurite, but there’s many more mineral components that are mixed in with an average lapis lazuli.”

“And metamorphism is how these rocks form?”

“Right,” Tanimoto-san said. “Basically, they’re put under a lot of heat and pressure, and because of that, the composition of the rock ends up changing—so, for lapis lazuli, all these separate things fuse—or the crystal structure shifts, which is a kind of complicated thing to explain… But by the end, the new rock is distinct when compared to the simple sum of its parts. Something like marble or slate… you wouldn’t call simply a combination of other things, right?”

“I would never have known unless you told me… that’s amazing,” I marveled. “In a way… it’s kind of nature’s own heat treatment, huh?”

“That’s true,” Tanimoto-san said. “Just one without any motivation.”

This was something that had always fascinated me regarding jewels. Of course, it was untrue that they existed without human involvement. But before any human had laid eyes upon it, lapis lazuli had always been that brilliant combination of blue and gold. That, to me, was something like a miracle.

“You must have had an interesting customer this week, right?” Tanimoto-san guessed.

I shook myself out of my thoughts. “What?”

“Well, Seigi-kun, you’re always curious,” she said, “So maybe it’s nothing. But this time you look like you really want to say something to someone.” She tapped the space between her brows. “Don’t let it give you wrinkles, though!”

With that, she hurried into class, taking her seat just a few seconds before the professor began her lecture. I was left standing dumbly in the hallway, stuck with my swirling thoughts. Though I’d glossed over it at first, I supposed I was of the same mind as Tanimoto-san; dyeing stones felt more like concealment than enhancement. And then I remembered what I likely wasn’t meant to hear—surely that dyed agate is prettier—and reached up to my forehead.

Sure enough, I was frowning. I wanted to pull out my phone and text Richard something along the lines of This is your fault, but that would be truly nonsensical, and really, what I wanted wasn’t to assign something like blame. But since I couldn’t just run to him, I decided to follow Tanimoto-san’s advice and smooth out my expression.

———

“Ah… Nakata-san?”

Richard had said that most serendipitous encounters were just a natural consequence of learning more about the world, but I was pretty sure this situation was the exclusive work of strange fortune. Though I doubted this surprise encounter would go as badly as the last one had, the sharp sense of déjà vu kept me wary.

Still, I inhaled a breath of crisp morning air, and replied, “It’s alright to call me Seigi.”

I was looking up at the face of Hanzawa Masato, who truthfully had been the furthest thing from my mind in the past few days. That space in my brain had been usurped and summarily overwhelmed by the tedium of classes and assignments. If I had to learn how to draw another kind of economic model using another set of conditions and parameters, my head was going to burst. In fact, my head ached at the thought alone.

Now that we were face to face again, though, the rigamarole of university had all but disappeared from my mind, and I watched his face contort into an expression halfway between awkwardness and concern. The awkwardness was a given—I hadn’t expected to run into him either. Half the reason for his concern was a girl from my university who I’d just learned was called Kaede. And the other half of his concern—a quarter of his total expression—was in response to seeing me, who’d just been shoved into the side of a building.

Maybe that was the reason my head ached. It was certainly the reason I was sitting down and staring up at him.

“Are you okay?” Kaede fretted. She had sunk into a worried crouch in front of me, hands hovering around my head like she could divine the nature of my injuries.

I pressed a hand to my cheek, which was stinging, but didn’t feel scraped, and hauled myself upright. Any dizziness I’d felt had faded, and though one of my arms felt numb, I’d gotten worse injuries doing karate. “I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just a surface-level injury. Probably looks worse than it is. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine—not a scratch!” she reported, standing up to demonstrate her lack of injury. “I had no idea he would do that, though. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be,” I cut in before she could self-flagellate. “It’s not your fault at all.”

Were I feeling charitable, I’d point out that I didn’t think the guy in question had even meant to push me into a wall—he’d just meant to push me and bolt. But he was also the kind of asshole that cornered people against the side of a building, so I wasn’t going to defend him in the slightest.

“What happened?” Hanzawa asked.

I felt a little ill-at-ease seeing the sheer expressiveness on his face. Of course, it made sense that he’d be so frazzled, considering what had just happened to his friend, but it was uncomfortable to see his lack of composure. Like this, he looked like an ordinary, unremarkable teenager.

Kaede wrung her hands, stumbling through her words. “I—you know that senior who was bothering me? Well, he cornered me, and we started arguing, and then”—she gestured in my direction—“he hit him and ran away.”

“I heard shouting, so I came over here,” I added when Hanzawa looked to me for further explanation.

It was really as simple as that. After exiting a horrendously early class, I’d heard arguing near the shadowed side of the building. And once I’d seen Kaede telling the other guy to leave her alone, I’d intervened without hesitation. He’d started aggressively posturing at me before shoving me to the side and running away.

The sharp spike of adrenaline I’d felt at the time was now wearing off, and my injuries began to twinge. I took a deep breath, and in an effort not to dash after the guy, I suggested, “We should make a report or something.”

“Oh, right,” Kaede said, fishing out her phone. “There’s like… campus administration or something, right? Let me find out wherever it’s located.” She paused in thought. “Wait… do you two know each other?”

“We just met by coincidence once,” I said, figuring that Hanzawa would value his privacy.

It was enough of an answer for Kaede, who just laughed and said, “Masato-kun knows, like, everyone, so it’s not really a surprise!”

I was relieved to see that she didn’t seem too shaken by everything.

Soon enough, we were pointed the way of campus authorities, and I learned the full story while Kaede made her report. Apparently, this guy had been bothering her for a while after they’d met at a mixer—he’d seen her waiting to meet up with Hanzawa, and then blown up at her when she declined to spend time with him. Since he already had quite a few conduct violations on his record, the administration assured us that they’d act quickly.

Their urgency might have also been prompted by the blatant injury on my face. Every time someone turned to face me, they would reflexively wince at the circle of reddened skin on my cheek. I’d seen it in a mirror while getting my injuries checked out—I was officially deemed concussion-free, which was a relief—and had flinched at my own reflection in surprise.

Amidst the commotion, Hanzawa stayed level-headed, guiding Kaede through the motions of making a report. Even though he wasn’t a student at my university—a fact which was strangely relieving to confirm—it was like he’d gone through this process before. I thought he’d escort Kaede home, too, but once everything had been squared away, she called some of her university friends to pick her up. They arrived with a slew of inventive insults that seemed to cheer Kaede up in an instant. She thanked me again as we swapped numbers, and then she waved us goodbye as she was whisked away by her friends.

“You’re not going with her?” I asked.

“Her other friends will be much better at taking her mind off things,” he said. “Besides, they all go to your university, so they can accompany her during classes.” He turned to face me as he spoke, and though he didn’t wince, his gaze lingered on my cheek.

“I’m alright,” I said. “I even got an ice pack when we were making the report.”

“Still…” Hanzawa said. Hesitantly, he asked, “Could I treat you to lunch? Or a coffee?”

The sun was high in the sky. On one hand, I wasn’t particularly hungry, but coffee sounded nice, and I didn’t have classes until later this evening. On the other hand, Hanzawa looked like he was already regretting the offer.

But Tanimoto-san was right; I had a few things I wanted to say to him. And despite his hesitation, it looked like Hanzawa felt the same.

“Sure,” I said. “You can pick the place.”

———

Hanzawa’s coffee order was a little more complicated than mine. Hearing him rattle off his order made me realize that Richard was right to only offer tea at his shop. The café he’d picked out was like many of the other cafés I’d been to—peaceful, atmospheric, and a neutral ground for conversations. Once we’d taken our seats, we each waited in a brittle kind of silence.

Hanzawa began to fiddle with his phone, and I took it as a clear indication he wasn’t ready to talk. My coffee arrived first, so I savored it while gazing through one of the café windows. Outside, the weather had snapped into a bitter frost, as it seemed wont to do whenever I wasn’t looking. I shivered a little—even inside the temperature-regulated café, I’d dressed a little lightly for the cold—and let the coffee’s steam curl against my skin. Though I couldn’t call myself a connoisseur, I’d begun to appreciate coffee for more than its caffeine.

It was just one more thing I’d learned how to treasure since I’d met Richard. Thinking of him, I reflexively touched my face. We weren’t anywhere near Ginza, but I could imagine the shop’s entrance in front of me as I stared out the window.

“Is there something you’re worried about?”

I started, noting that Hanzawa’s coffee had appeared between his hands. He held the cup strangely, his fingers curled around the sides without any pressure; I worried that it might slip from his fingers if he tried to lift it. Still, the pose seemed so natural for him that I wondered if he’d held the tea at Jewelry Étranger the same way, and I just hadn’t noticed. Like that time, any initial hesitation of his had melted away into a self-assured grace.

“I was just thinking…” I replied, tapping my reddened skin, “it’s going to bruise.”

“Ah,” Hanzawa said. His eyes darted around the room—he could probably sense the curious looks I’d gotten, too, but that wasn’t my main concern. “You’re worried about your weekend work, I assume?”

“No, it’s—actually, yeah, I am,” I said, cutting off my instinctive denial. First Tanimoto-san, and now Hanzawa… I wondered if my face was just becoming easier to read.

“I doubt a bruised face is good for customer service,” he added, clarifying exactly where my thoughts had headed.

I explained, “I’d rather not scare the customers, and it’s something I’ve done even without my face like this, so…”

“That would be troubling,” Hanzawa said. “I’d apologize for the situation, but…”

“There’s no need for apologies,” I stressed. “You and Kaede already thanked me, and there’s no need to apologize for someone else’s mistakes.”

Still holding the cup as if it were air, Hanzawa slowly sipped his coffee. My attention was drawn to his fingers, which were exceptionally long, and neatly trimmed at the nails. “I’m glad you think so, Seigi—it’s alright to call you that, yes?” When I nodded, he set his cup down and made a confession: “I’m not entirely without ulterior motives, though—it’s not every day you meet someone with your job, you know? I like hearing from interesting people, so this is just me indulging in my curiosity, really. What was the application process like?”

“Ah… I didn’t quite apply,” I answered. Maybe I’d just developed a streak of cynicism, but I didn’t believe that he had invited me to coffee out of pure curiosity. I briefly imagined someone taking my place—making tea, talking with Richard, and learning about our clients—and felt a wave a jealousy so strong that I added, “I don’t really think he’s looking to hire anyone new…”

Hanzawa laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m just asking out of curiosity. I’m not looking for a job right now.”

“Ah,” I said, and drank some of my coffee to cover my embarrassment. “Anyways, even when we first met, I don’t think he was looking to hire anyone.”

“Is that so?” Hanzawa asked, a clear prompt for me elaborate.

I had no desire to do so. Instead, I was distracted by the thought of Hanzawa as an employee of Jewelry Étranger. He seemed like he would excel at any job related to customer service, particularly when it came to making conversation. Even now, though I was conscious of the fact that he was leading the conversation, it didn’t bother me. But he wouldn’t know what sweets Richard liked best, or how to watch his expressions to figure out if he was enjoying them. And he wouldn’t know how to brew royal milk tea—not that I’d known that, either…

“I approached him about a family heirloom of mine, and he offered me a job afterwards,” I finally summed up.

Thankfully, Hanzawa didn’t pry any further. “I can see why,” he said. “Something about you must have been unique enough to convince him, right?”

“…You think so?” I asked, ducking my head. It was amazing how one word—unique—was enough to dispel my worries. Saying I had a talent for recognizing beauty—that already made me feel like the most special person in the world. The implication that Richard recognizing that had been a testament to my uniqueness was unbelievably flustering. Rather than think about it for too long, I downed my coffee.

“I just thought that if he wasn’t looking to hire someone,” Hanzawa said, “it means that you must have been important enough to ask for, anyways. The atmosphere at your store would make one think you two had been friends for years.”

I felt warmer than usual. “I just… guess we aligned somehow,” I murmured, feeling a need to deflect the compliment. As much as I privately liked to think of our meeting as “fate,” hearing it from a veritable stranger was something else. “Richard is—he’s almost too incredible, I think. I’m lucky to work there.”

Hanzawa considered my statement carefully, and then asked, “Is it—and I could be overstepping, here, but—is it kind of a… scary feeling?”

“No, you’re right,” I said, feeling a euphoric rush of shared understanding. “It’s—I’m happy, of course. It’s impossible not to be. But it almost makes everything else pale in comparison—”

“And you begin to wonder where you’d be without it,” Hanzawa concluded, perfectly reading my mind.

I sighed. “I mean… it’s not like this will be my job forever, you know? But still, compared to going to university, whenever it’s the weekend, I feel like I’m ten times as real. Like I exist as… I don’t know, more than I am.”

“As in… you’re able to express yourself more?” Hanzawa asked.

I shook my head. “No, it’s like… I’m a more impressive person, even though nothing about me changes,” I said. “It feels like my actions have more meaning. And my world keeps expanding, each time.” When he didn’t respond, still wrapping his head around my words, I added, “…It might be a bit strange to blabber on and on about my job satisfaction. But I really think that being able to work where I do is a miracle of some kind.”

“I see what you mean,” he finally replied as he sipped his coffee. “In a way, Richard-san’s store feels like… a place that’s too good to be true, it could be said?”

“That’s exactly it!” I exclaimed. “And then once you meet Richard, it’s like… he’s a fairy prince or something that’s descended on the mortal world…”

Hanzawa fell into a sudden coughing fit.

I scrambled out of my seat, but he weakly waved me off, and so I stood over the table, watching him regain control of his throat. “Are you alright?”

He took a few deep breaths. “I’m fine,” he said, though he looked obviously embarrassed as he met my eyes. “I was just—taken off guard, I guess. You must really respect Richard-san. Have you… told him this?”

With a new understanding as to why Kaede had so uselessly hovered around me, I slipped back into my own seat. “Well, of course,” I said slowly, wondering what I wasn’t getting. “I needed to express my gratitude to him.”

Hanzawa stared up at the ceiling like he’d received some kind of divine revelation. “And he reacted… well?” he ventured.

I suddenly remembered the many, many times Richard had scolded me for speaking without considering the implications, and I grimaced. “I’m not great with words, so I’ve definitely put my foot in my mouth a few times, but… sincerity is worth the embarrassment, I think,” I said, refraining from adding that I liked to think it was at least part of the reason he’d hired me. “And, though he’s annoyingly mysterious sometimes, he’s sincere to me, too.”

“How nice…” It was impossible not to hear the wistful edge in Hanzawa’s voice. He seemed to hear it too, because he added, “Well, I do wish you two the best,” with a knowing smile.

It wasn’t hard to pick up on the distance in his voice. Despite talking about Richard and the shop, Hanzawa hadn’t once mentioned his own visit or his upcoming appointment.

Before I could prod him about it, Hanzawa cleared his throat and asked, “You’ve finished your coffee?”

I looked down at my cup, which had been empty for quite a while. “Yeah,” I said, bracing for a quick goodbye.

A strange look passed over Hanzawa’s face as he drained his cup, and he set it down on the table with a soft clink. His gaze moved sideways—I followed his line of sight, but it led nowhere. “If—if the bruising is a problem,” Hanzawa haltingly began, “I could… I might have a solution.”

The words looked painful for him to say. “You’re already treating me to coffee,” I assured. “There’s no need to do me another favor.”

He shook his head, firmer. “This… as I said, this was kind of a selfish request, anyways. If you’re willing, I’d be happy to help.”

I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to hear him talk. Maybe, if I gathered enough courage, I’d even be able to ask him about dyed stones. “Well… what did you have in mind?”

———

Much like the first time I’d visited the jewelry section of a department store, I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. This time, it wasn’t at the sight of diamonds as far as the eye could see, but of the bright lights, glossy photos, and shelves upon shelves of products I wasn’t sure how to name. I half-recognized some of the brand names scattered around the store, but otherwise felt wholly out of my depth.

Were it not for the presence of a guide, I’d have never come here. But Hanzawa was shifting his feet next to me, a skittish look in his eyes like he was convinced I’d back out at any moment. That was the same way he’d broached the subject, too, saying, “Well… you could probably cover that bruise with makeup,” in a tone so soft I’d barely heard him.

“How?” I’d asked, pouncing on the option a little too eagerly.

Hanzawa drummed his fingers against his empty cup. “It’s pretty easy,” he said. “I could teach you, but we’d have to buy some products, because we don’t have the same skin tone.” He mulled over his next words.

“There’s a department store near here,” I offered.

At that, he seemed to relax. “My older sister is really into makeup and costuming,” he said with a light laugh, “so I ended up being forced into knowing a few things myself.”

Things moved quickly after that. He paid for my coffee, and I followed him to the nearest department store before he could have too many second thoughts. It wasn’t like I didn’t understand his hesitation—we were still practically strangers, and this was an offer that required considerable involvement on his part. Still, more than anything, I didn’t want to skip work. And as little as I knew Hanzawa, he seemed like the kind of person who would never suggest something that wasn’t an actual solution.

“You’ll have to lead the way,” I finally prompted.

Hanzawa paused and corrected his posture. “Right,” he said, picked up a basket near the entrance, and then struck a path through the various displays, waving off staff with a polite, inscrutable smile.

For all he’d been hesitant, Hanzawa navigated the store with a brilliant kind of confidence. Apart from the two of us, there were barely any men in the store, but Hanzawa didn’t look out of place in the slightest. Soon enough we were left to wander around unapproached.

Finally, we came to a stop in front of a display that carried a variety of tubes in a variety of skin tones. Hanzawa leaned forward to inspect them, and I caught sight of the barely visible piercing holes in his ears.

“You’re not wearing earrings,” I observed.

He answered me without turning his head. “I suppose it’s a leftover habit from high school,” he said thoughtfully. “I didn’t wear them in class, because—well, it’s a bit of a delinquent look, and I was the president of the disciplinary club.”

That explained why he’d been so composed when helping Kaede earlier. I wonder if he’d acquired that sense of reliability from his time in the club, or if had been the reason he’d joined. “What… am I supposed to get, here?” I asked, pointing at the display.

“To cover your bruise, we’ll need concealer, foundation, and a setting spray, probably? So right now, we’re looking for foundations that match your skin tone. What color do you usually bruise?”

“…Purple, I guess?”

“Then we’ll get a yellow color corrector to offset it,” Hanzawa said, plucking a foundation from the shelf. He held it up to the light—the color was kind of close to my skin, I supposed, but there were a lot that looked just like it.

“How are you supposed to figure out the right color?” I asked.

“Oh—you can sample it,” Hanzawa said, and he motioned for me to hold my hand out. We swatched various foundations on the back of my hand as Hanzawa explained to me the basic methodology for covering a bruise. The color corrector would negate the purple hues of my bruise, concealer would properly cover it up with my actual skin tone, and foundation would provide a smooth cover that blended with the rest of my face. The setting spray was just to make sure everything held for the entire time I was working. “You’ll probably want makeup brushes, too,” Hanzawa said as he explained how to apply everything. “We can buy some, or I could maybe lend you mine…”

I could see him trying to work out how to lend me makeup brushes in a way that wouldn’t require an additional meeting. “No, I’ll get one of my own,” I said.

“You sure?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s kind of weird to say this, but… somehow, I feel like this may not be the last time I need something like this?”

Satisfied with the last foundation we’d tried, Hanzawa showed me how to remove all the makeup on my hand before leading me to another display. There he found a standard set of makeup brushes and gingerly placed it into his basket. “Well, I suppose you do lead quite an exciting life,” he commented.

“This is the first time I’ve gotten injured,” I said. “But there are a lot of interesting people at Richard’s shop, so I guess I do end up having interesting experiences.” I paused. Like this, actually, I didn’t say, and instead asked, “You mentioned your older sister taught you this?”

“It’s not really that I was taught,” Hanzawa clarified. “It was more like… a natural consequence of existing around her? I ended up knowing a lot of the terminology, and I’d get dragged to places like these, too. At that point, you have to at least learn the basics.”

I’d never had a sibling before, so I wondered if it was natural for everyone to pick up skills from their family like this. With my mother, we’d always maintained a certain sense of distance, and with my stepfather overseas, the only one who could maybe qualify as family was Richard. Who I had, indeed, learned a lot from. “And you learned more on your own, afterwards?”

“Well, at my high school, our cultural festival holds a cross-dressing competition each year—it was an all-boys school, hence the tradition—and I ended up learning a bit more because of that. One of my classmates actually attends cosmetology school, now, which is where I learned how to do this.” He gestured in the direction of my reddened cheek.

I reached up on instinct, suddenly conscious of the fact that I was walking around with such an obvious injury. I’d attributed the stares of passerby to the fact that I looked out of place in a makeup store, but this was probably the real reason.

Hanzawa studied my face, and his tone gentled. “It’s been a valuable skill to me,” he murmured. “Makeup gives us the ability to beautify.”

Hand still pressed against my cheek, I confessed, “I’d never really thought of it that way, before. Though I don’t really know anything, really. But I’d always thought of it as… having something to hide, I guess.” I felt like a fool as soon as the words left my mouth.

“Well,” Hanzawa said, still low and quiet, “I suppose we are aiming to hide that bruise of yours. But there is value even in concealment, I think.” A wry smile graced his mouth. “Speaking of.”

We’d lingered for too long in one place, and so we moved to collect a bottle of setting spray and a pale-yellow color corrector before stopping to search through a row of concealers. As we compared various shades on my hand, I recalled the conversation I’d had with Richard about tiramisu.

“…Don’t people also value the truth, though?” I asked.

The shade Hanzawa had tested was far darker than it had looked in the tube. He paused over my hand, and without lifting his head, said, “Perhaps I’m being cynical… but I think most people only value the truth when it is beautiful.” He paused to dab a different concealer on my hand. “I don’t think you’re wrong—people do value authenticity. That’s exactly why so many makeup advertisements discuss how to achieve a natural look, or how to enhance your natural features by smoothing out ‘imperfections’… we’ve defined a kind of beauty that is meant to emulate reality, but that doesn’t mean it is reality.”

Though I couldn’t see his expression, I could hear the raw sincerity in his voice. Something clicked into place, and I realized that for Hanzawa, enhancement was the same as concealment.

“The kinds of beauty we recognize are usually just skin-deep, huh…” I said, echoing the conversation I’d had with Tanimoto-san.

“And everyone prefers to be beautiful,” Hanzawa said.

Yamamoto-san, too, had thought that beauty was a great advantage. “Doesn’t beauty come with its own disadvantages, though?” I asked. At Hanzawa’s curious look, I paraphrased how Richard had described his own experiences. “Like, if you’re so beautiful that people think you’re unapproachable, isn’t that hard?”

“I suppose so,” Hanzawa said. “You’re talking about a kind of… unreal beauty, right? Like your boss.”

“Ah… was it obvious?”

Hanzawa smiled. “A little.” He hummed for a bit in thought, and then said, “In either direction, I think there’s a fear of… standing out, or looking odd. That’s why we’re here. Though I suppose there might be some people who have enough pride to eschew standards.”

The shade he’d just tried was a perfect match. “When you put it that way… there’s definitely times I don’t want to say everything about myself,” I conceded, remembering how I’d felt when confronted by Mami-san’s deep, uncomfortable sense of shame. “Having that kind of pride is… an ideal, but just that.” As much as Richard liked to ask if I had ever decided to think before I spoke, I, too, had things I found hard to say.

“That’s everything, I think,” Hanzawa said, adding the concealer to the basket. “I’ve got makeup wipes with me, so you can just have them. Since we’re here, though, do you mind if I make a quick detour?”

“Go ahead,” I said, and Hanzawa drifted through the store at a leisurely pace, inspecting different products. I took the time to observe the various advertisements pasted around the store, noting that Hanzawa’s description hadn’t been incorrect. Then I observed the array of colors scattered around the store as Hanzawa inspected different kinds of eyeshadow. “I guess blue is rare here, too.”

“Hm?”

“I was just reminded of ultramarine,” I said, pointing towards the overwhelming set of pinks and reds in a collection of lipsticks. “It was prized not just because the stone was precious, but because blue was a rare pigment color, right?”

“…Lapis lazuli sure was a precious stone,” Hanzawa replied. “In addition to blue’s rarity, I’d think it would be hard to collect pieces without significant gold spots. When ground into pigment, those colors would muddy the blue. If one needed to source pure blue lapis lazuli for ultramarine, that would only further increase its rarity and value.”

“Wait, are you majoring in economics?” I blurted out, a little bewildered by the clarity of his explanation.

Distracted from his inspection of an eyeshadow palette, Hanzawa turned to squint at me, bemused. “No, I’m not,” he said. “Are you?”

“I am, yeah.” I floundered, wondering how to explain that for just a moment, Hanzawa had reminded me of Richard. Maybe he was training to be a diplomat—that would explain why even when he spoke casually, every word felt measured. He was certainly better at speaking than me, who couldn’t figure out how to casually ask him what he was actually majoring in.

At my lost expression, Hanzawa laughed and went back to searching through eyeshadows. “…You actually remind me of someone I know.”

“How so?”

“A few things, I think,” Hanzawa said. “You’re both… open to many new experiences.” Though the fondness in his voice was palpable, it was deeply careful, like he was letting me know the shades of some terrible secret.

“You don’t find them exciting?”

“And equally likely to be hurtful,” he rebutted, though not aggressively.

Hanzawa took my answering silence as agreement—which it partially was—and continued looking around the store. Conscious of the time we’d spent wandering, he explained, “The color I’m looking for is uncommon. Eyeshadows have more variety than lipsticks do, but the majority stay within the range of pinks to browns.”

“Even though it’s not a problem to make blue pigment anymore, it’s still a matter of supply and demand, isn’t it?” I surmised. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone wear blue lipstick.”

“The kind of people that do are amazing to me,” Hanzawa said. “Whether it’s simply a matter of liking it or wanting to be deviant from the norm—I think there’s a great strength in accepting oneself as anomalous.”

Finally, he picked out a sparkly lime green eyeshadow, and after holding the color up to the light, tucked it into his basket. It was no wonder he’d spent so much time searching—while accompanying him, I hadn’t seen a single product that looked like it.

“You really are fond of that color,” I noted.

Hanzawa froze for a moment. “It’s for—the cultural festival, actually,” he explained. “I’m helping them out.”

“Oh, I do something like that too—it’s with the karate class I used to attend back in middle school, though,” I shared. “You must be close with your juniors?”

As we entered the checkout line, Hanzawa said, “I think it’s something like a leftover sense of responsibility. That guy… we used to be in the same club.”

Before I could ask him what that guy meant, our attention was redirected to the cashier in front of us. She looked surprised to see two men in front of her, but quickly began scanning the items before her. “Picking up products for your girlfriends?” she asked with a smile, clearly hoping to ease our nerves.

Hanzawa stepped forward, partially obscuring my view. “It’s for my older sister, actually,” he replied, the same smile mirrored on his face. “I just hope I’ve gotten it right!”

Caught up in his mild, inconsequential lie, I stood there, hands hung limply at my side, as I realized that apart from her initial shock, she hadn’t once glanced at my cheek. To be accurate, Hanzawa hadn’t let her. This was probably what he’d meant by the value of concealment. It was like when Richard had pretended not to speak Japanese at that department store. While it wasn’t the truth, it was the option that limited any unwanted misunderstandings.

…Was it really because of his older sister that he’d learned how to do makeup? Or was that just the easiest explanation?

We exited the store with our purchases, and I handed over the eyeshadow to Hanzawa. He slipped it into his messenger bag, and in return, produced a pack of makeup wipes for me to take. “If you forget what to do, there’s a bunch of tutorials online,” Hanzawa reassured, gesturing to my bag of makeup.

“Thanks for the help,” I said. “I had a nice time, too—I feel like I got to hear from an interesting person, as well.”

“Don’t think too much of it—I was really just rambling,” he said dismissively before offering me a tight smile. “I do hope work goes well for you this weekend.”

“…You’ll know, won’t you?” I asked, summoning a bit of courage. “Since you’ll be there.”

“Ah,” Hanzawa said, and stilled before giving his confirmation. “…Yes, I will.”

With that promise exacted from him, we naturally said our goodbyes and parted at a nearby street. The early morning chill had faded somewhat under the sun, and as I made my way back to campus, I thought about the many ways Richard’s face might change upon seeing Hanzawa arrive at his appointment. He wouldn’t give me a raise, but I’d get something out of it, nonetheless.

#cfojr #my writing #hanzawa to tashiro #hanzawa masato #the case files of jeweler richard #nakata seigi #the anomalous agate #<3 loved seeing the responses to ch 1 again btw.#and apologies for any typos i might have missed!#I think I could edit this more for like. minor flip flopping on how I phrase sentences but #if I do that this would never actually get posted lol #other things: I considered splitting this ch into two (pausing before the cafe) but decided not to #in return ch 3 is likely to be much shorter #in fact every ch should be. I’ve only got 4 scenes left including the epilogue #though how much does that mean. sure ch 2 was 4 scenes but yknow what was 1? ch 1.#jeweler richard

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kmomof4 · 2 years ago

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It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year…

Christmas is coming and that means it’s nearly time for my Christmas fics to post!!!! I cannot tell y’all how excited I am that we’re FINALLY here!!!! The two fics I’ll be sharing between now and Christmas were written last spring and have just been waiting for the season to get here.

Today, and for next three weeks, I’ll be making a Self Promo Sunday post featuring the 4 fics from A Family Affair, my series featuring the love stories of triplet sisters Emma, Ruby, and Regina, and their older brother David. Then, on Christmas Eve, we will return to the universe to see the entire family celebrating Christmas together. I am sooooo excited to share A Swan Family Christmas with y’all in four weeks!!!! And I also just have to scream about the artwork @motherkatereloyshipper did for the fic!!!! I CANNOT WAIT for y’all to see it!!!

The next fic I’ll be sharing this season, isn’t a new fic at all, but is a couple of new chapters added to A Christmas Surprise written two yrs ago. I came up with more in that universe right after Thanksgiving last year, but didn’t have time to write it for last year’s holiday season, so it had to wait for this year. I’ll reblog the original fic this Friday, the 1st, then chs 2&3 will post on Dec 8 & 15th.

I’m so excited to share these with you and hope this whets your appetite!!! Keep an eye out for the first Self Promo Sunday post in just the next few minutes!!!

#christmas fics #coming soon #krystal writes #a family affair #a christmas surprise

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isabelcor3 · 2 years ago

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Fate Of Journeys

Ch 1: New beginnings

Tw: swearing

Wilbur walked towards the palace eagerly. He was going to see his childhood friends, Prince Technoblade and Prince Tomathy. The guards knew Wilbur. He had been coming to palace every day since he was 5. He had met the princes when the were visiting the Sunday market. They talked and played till Tommy and Techno had to go. They had vowed to stay friends that day and always found a way to be with the other. That was years ago. Wilbur is now 21, Techno was 23 and Tommy was 17. The group was meeting to discuss their plans. They’ve had this plan every since wilbur and techno were tweens. After Tommy turned 18, they would set sail and see all the distant lands. They wanted to sail the seas and climb mountains. King Phil didn’t know about this plan and today was the day when they would pitch their idea. Wilbur walked through the marble halls towards the library. Tommy had his lessons there. Techno would be reading a book and waiting for Will like usual. Wilbur smiled as he opened the huge oak doors to reveal the library. From floor to ceiling were shelves with books. Everything you would have ever wanted to know was in those books. The chandeliers hung down from the roof, glistening the walls with golden light. Father back was a balcony with windows and a loft, Techno’s favorite spot. Wilbur moved towards the mahogany tables with gold designs. There sat Tommy, writing in a notebook, while his tutor was talking to him about ancient history of L’manburg. A city long forgotten by many of the nobles but not by Lumena. Wilbur passed by them and went to the loft where Techno was. “My man, the Blade, how are you,” Wilbur asked as he sat on one of the velveteen chairs. Techno looked up and nodded in response. Classic Techno. “Are you ready for today? It’s finally come.” Wilbur studies Techno’s fair skin and glistening red eyes. Techno grabs a band and ties his hair in a bun. “Yeah I’m ready. But what if he declines? All that hard work, saving, and hoping for nothing.” “Then we can improvise,” Wilbur exclaims. Tommy comes in and plops himself next to Will. “I swear one of these days I’m gonna sucker punch my tutor,” Tommy exclaims and sighs as he leans against Will’s leg. “We have about thirty minutes before lunch with Phil. What ya wanna do?” Tommy says as taps his notebook. “Read,” Techno says as he flips a page in his book. “That’s fucking boring Tech,” Tommy whines. “How about we….walk in the gardens.” Wilbur smiles as he gazes between Techno and Tommy. They both look very different from each other and more different from their parents. Tommy takes up the image of Phil, with golden blonde hair and striking blue eyes. Techno has long pink hair, pinkish like skin, and ruby red eyes. Most would say he looked adopted but he wasn’t. Rumors are just rumors and Wilbur would never believe them. “Sure,” Techno says as he closes his book and tucks it in his satchel. Tommy jumps up and starts to run to the library door. “Last one there is a fucking pussy!” The trio walked into the outside terrace. The table and chairs were glistening in the sun and there sat King Phil and Queen Kristin. Everyone was luscious and beautiful and grand. Techno took his seat next to Phil and Tommy next to Kristin. Wilbur sat down as the maids began bringing the food on platters. A plate of pesto chicken with roasted potatoes was placed in front of Wilbur. The food always tasted good because of Niki, the head chef. Many times the trio snuck in the kitchen to taste some of her delicious ginger snap cookies or her blueberry pie. Oh the memories. Wilbur’s reminiscing is interrupted by Techno clearing his throat. All eyes are on him and Will realizes he missed a conversation and it’s probably time for them to reveal the plan.

Wilbur swallowed and begun his speech. “Phil, Kristin, as you know it’s gonna be Tommy’s birthday in a month. We’ve been talking about this since me and Techno were teens. I feel like this would be really nice for all of us but…..I don’t know if you’ll approve. Will you allow me, Tommy, and Techno to go on a journey to distant lands and see the world?” Wilbur bites his lip thinking the worst. “Of course mate! It’ll be lovely to gain some new allies and you’ll see things you’ve never seen before.” The trio exhaled happily, now knowing their trip would be a reality. “A toast to the adventurers,” Tommy exclaimed as he raised his glass high. “Toast to the adventurers!”

—— — ———

Tommy, Wilbur and Techno walk along the luscious trees and flowers in the garden. The smell of orange blossoms and roses filled the air with their sweet, sweet scent. The dandelions, tulips, and ferns were in full bloom. Tommy stopped to pull some and started to weave a flower crown. Wilbur pulled out his polariod camera and began taking pictures. Suddenly, he feels motion on his head and turns to see Tommy behind him. He puts a hand to his and feels flowers weaved together. “Thanks child.” “IM NOT A FUCKING CHILD YOU BITCH!” “But you’re younger than both of us,” Techno chimes in. “That doesn’t FUCKING matter asshat.” Tommy says as he goes into the flower beds and picks some more. “Tommy stop stepping on the flowers. You know the wrath of mom when her flowers are stepped on.” “Shit sorry,” Tommy says softly as he carefully steps out. They continue walking through the splendid garden until a maid comes from inside and tells them that lunch is served.

#dsmp #dsmp fic #philza x kristen #beeduo #dteam #dsmp au #sbi #sbi fanfic

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clownkiwi · 4 years ago

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i decided to make a new post since i was pretty lazy last time, but i possibly wont get paid again until december, so if ya wanna support your local funny clown streamer, feel free to buy me a coffee!!! itd be nice :]

#ruby says clown shit #edit ALSO TO EVERYONE WHO REBLOGGED THE REBLOG FROM THIS WEEK pls reblog this one instead. ik deltarune ch 1&2 are free #i streamed chapter 2 already last month. ikkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkknow #i'll try to fit in a stream this weekend as of the time of typing this post. mayb a short one-off on sunday of a game ive been meaning #to play. but besides that. eh. streams will happen when im free and when the cats are here #which will happen no later than tomorrow

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felicitykings · 1 year ago

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MILLIE GIBSON as Ruby Sunday

DOCTOR WHO ↳ The Church on Ruby Road (2023)

#dwedit #rubysundayedit #ruby sunday #doctorwhoedit #dw spoilers #dwgifs #rtdedit #smallscreensource #filmtvcentral #televisiongifs #tvarchive #mine #mine: gifs #mine: dw #ch: ruby sunday #tv: doctor who #the church on ruby road

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jedifarmerr · 4 years ago

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When Javier Met...

Javier Peña x F!Reader/OFC (no y/n or physical attributes)

Loosely based on When Harry Met Sally.

Word Count: little over 3k

Rating: T (Overall series 18+)

Chapter Warnings: Language, like one sentence about a parent being in hospital/sick (side character) not angst, but a little dislike. As always let me know if I miss something!

Note: majority of this series will be set after season 3 (except ch. 1 & 2). I just really think Javi needs a friend, and while I was watching the movie this idea came to me. I’m really excited to be writing for him and have tried to stay true to what we see in the show.

Chapter 1: 1987

Beep. Beep. Beep. The faint reflection of an ungodly hour flashed across the protective glass top on the pine nightstand. Javier slammed the snooze on the bulky alarm clock. Quickly, retreating back to the warmth of the paisley comforter.

No matter how hard he tried, Javier couldn’t relax. Not with the stirring city seeping in through the single-paned hotel window. Not when the dreadful anticipation of the long day ahead bubbled inside him. He stared up at the popcorn ceiling. Reminding himself why he agreed to help Joe in the first place.

It all started on a rainy Sunday night when he found Joe at his doorstep. His eyes heavy. White undershirt poking out from the mismatched buttons on his dress shirt. To put it simply, he looked like shit.

The two spoke candidly over a glass of whiskey. His eyes grew misty when he spoke about how he had spent the last 24 hours - Ruby’s dad and the grim prognosis.

Joe told him he wouldn’t be able to attend the DEA conference being held in Chicago in a few days. He just didn’t feel right leaving Ruby’s side. Javier nodded, muttering the fateful words:

Let me know if you need anything from me.

With shiny eyes, Joe asked for one simple thing. To follow through with the original plan; to drive his sister home from Chicago.

This plan had been set in place two months prior after you announced your return home for a summer internship. Everything seemed to line up perfectly. The dates. The proximity of the conference to the University. It seemed like a no-brainer.

The request wasn’t asking for much from Javier. His only reasonable excuse being his own selfish discomfort. Being trapped in a car with a stranger for 18 hours. Just you and him. No Joe to buffer. Just the inevitable suffocating lulls in small talk. It was a nightmare for him.

But when he looked into Joe’s puppy dog eyes. Thought of the pain Ruby was going through. A pain he knew all too well. Javier pushed all the discomfort aside. He couldn’t possibly say no.

Beep. Beep. The alarm signaled the ten minute pity party was up. He dragged himself upright, grabbing the pack of cigarettes sitting next to the overflowing ashtray. Taking a long drag, he let the burn and initial buzz coax him awake.

You were sitting on the curb outside your building. The Reebok windbreaker sealing against your chest with each gust of wind. The chill lingering in the morning hour despite the promise of summer.

You perked up with each car that flew down the street. He was supposed to be here at 8:00. You checked your teal swatch. Ten minutes past. And no sign of any Jeep Wagoneer in sight.

That same swirly feeling that kept you tossing and turning the night before returned with vengeance as you anticipated meeting Joe’s elusive partner - the mystery man responsible for your somersaulting stomach.

His name was Javier. He had been partnered up with your brother a little over two years ago for an operation called Libra. During the late nights and long hours sifting through evidence, the two became friends. He viewed Javier as a mentor even though the man was only a year older. But this wasn’t just for his expertise in the field. According to Joe, Javier was known as some sort of guru when it came to women.

This expertise came in handy when the two first became partners. Joe had been hopelessly pining after Ruby for months with no success. After experiencing second-hand embarrassment one too many times, Javier took the love sick man under his wing. Showing him the tricks of the trade and after two months, Joe landed a date with his dream girl.

Your thoughts poofed away once you spotted the black car peel down the street. You bounced up, dusting yourself off as the car swerved into the small lot. Coming to a screeching halt next to you.

Curious, you peered into the windshield. Even with the green and yellow splattering of bug guts, you could see the thick dark hair. Combed to one side and perfectly trimmed just like his mustache.

“Traffic was shit,” was the first thing he said as he hopped out of the car. Striding over, his large hands dusted against his blue jeans. His top two buttons of his sage shirt were left undone - making the linen material flounce against his smooth tan chest.

“I’m Javier,” his hand dangled in the air as he flashed a mild smile that exuded a quiet confidence. “I’m guessing you're Joe’s sister?”

His hand felt warm against yours as you gave him a quick shake along with your name. He pointed at the luggage scattered across the sidewalk. The both of you turned your efforts to packing the car.

Once the two of you reached the interstate, you unfolded the large flimsy map that was resting in your lap, “So, I have the whole route planned out.” Your finger traced down the drawn out path, “The whole trip is around 18 hours, which breaks down to 6 shifts of 3. The red marks show where we change shifts. Do you think you can do three hours?”

“Want one?” He mumbled around the cigarette pressed against his lips, waving the carton around Kansas and Colorado.

“No,” you gave him a tight smile while you tapped the carton away, “Thank you.”

Shrugging, he tossed the half-empty pack inside the console. He fumbled around as he lit his cigarette, then proceeded to speak as he cracked the window, “So, Joe said you got an internship in Austin.”

You clipped the map to the visor, “Yeah, it’s with a local magazine, Austin Central. I’ll be writing about the summer events being held in the area.”

“Is that what you want to do?” He tapped the orange bulb against the window seal.

“If you are asking if writing about family-fun events is what I want to do with my journalism degree, then no. But, it's a good experience that can be added to my resume.”

Javier grinned as he blew a cloud of smoke from the side of his mouth, “So, what’s the dream job then?”

“A reporter; I’ve had it all planned out since I was a little girl. I would go to school at the University of Chicago, just like my dad. Major in Journalism. Get my master’s. Move back to Austin. And get a job working for the Today Network.”

Javier glanced over at you, his brows creasing in the middle, the cigarette loosely hanging on his lips, “You’ve had that planned since you were a kid?”

The evasive tone made you take a defensive stance. You straightened up against the cloth seat in an effort to look broader, “Yeah. Why? What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” he gave a quick jerk of his head, speaking with that same ambiguous tone.

The street lights were just flickering on as the two of you arrived at the third red dot - a small town located between the Texas and Arkansas border.

The two of you stopped at a diner that was conventionally called Diner. The place was a rundown truck stop. Whose age showed from years of syrup spills caked to the green and yellow tiles - clinging to the soles of shoes like gum on a hot day.

Javier leaned back against the tattered mustard colored leather of the back booth. “This is what I was talking about in the car,” Javier pointed at you as you wiped down the table with a wet paper towel, “You wouldn’t last with a man like Rick Blaine.”

The two of you were in the middle of a conversation about Casablanca right before you arrived at the diner. As you took the exit, he called bullshit on your claim that you would choose Humprehy Bogart in the end - which abruptly turned the light-hearted discussion into a heated disagreement.

Despite only knowing you for twelve hours, he refused to believe that the woman in front of him would last a minute with a man that owned a bar. You were extremely detailed. Uptight. You had a time limit for every rest stop. At lunch you somehow made a simple sandwich a complex order. When you arrived at the diner, you scanned every booth in this shit hole, looking for the cleanest one and still weren’t satisfied. Even if you chose Rick Blaine there would be no way he could deal with the high maintenance you required.

You snatched the menu from his hands to scrub at the unknown residue spots, “I resent that.”

“Tell me,” he rested his elbows on the table as he leaned forward. Hooking his index finger on the middle of the menu he pulled it down to gain your attention. “What’s the riskiest thing you’ve done?

His knuckles hammered into the table top as you pulled the menu out from under him, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You bit back. His head ticked to the side, his tongue grazing his lips as a smug smile curled on yours.

The both of you turned at the bubbly southern drawl, “Welcome to the Diner.” The waitress’s eyes widened as Javier turned to her with that charming smile. The glasses of water slipped from her grip, clapping against the hard surface. She nibbled on her glossy lips, “My apologies. May I?” she pointed towards the clump of paper towels.

Her sea green eyes were fixed on Javier - flickering between his brown eyes to his bottom lip - as she wiped down the table. He glanced across the booth. Finding you with a slight slack in your jaw and avoiding the scene in front of you as you focused on the menu.

The waitress tucked the loose cranberry curl behind her ear as she stood upright, “Now, what can I get ya?” Her chest visibly heaved, her voice carrying a breathy quality.

“Coffee - black and the number three. Thanks.” Javier nestled into the worn leather - preparing himself for the lengthy order.

In a way, he found himself captivated by the whole thing. It was so shameless. The way you requested a different dressing for the house salad; the passion you had about wanting the berry compote that came with a specific seasonal item for the number - both of course on the side. You spoke with such passion as you went around and around in circles with the waitress - something to do about whipped cream and a piece of pie.

“Do you always do that?” Javier questioned as his eyes leaned to the side. Taking a sneaky glance at the waitress’s backside.

“Do what?” You asked as you swirled the ice around the curvy glass before taking a sip.

“Order like that.” With the way you rolled your eyes, he assumed it was a common question for you.

“Yes. I always order like that. I like what I like. I never put up a fight if it costs extra and I am a generous tipper.”

“So, you do that on a first date?”

“Yes,” your head shook with the words. You crossed your arms as your voice turned more haughty, “If they don’t like it, they can leave.” Javier couldn’t help but smile at the comment. “Besides, my friend Sheldon has always told me that he finds it endearing.”

“You’ve mentioned that Sheldon guy a few times. Who is he?”

Your response was delayed by two steamy mugs sliding across the table top. Javier gave the waitress a cheeky wink as he pulled one close to him. Her porcelain skin flushed a deep pink as she walked away.

“Sheldon’s my best friend. Has been since I was 5,” Javier curled his lips, blowing at the steam as he focused on your response, “He’s actually the one driving me back to Chicago in August.”

“What will he be doing up there?” Javier sipped on the watery brew

“Nothing. He just wanted to spend some extra time with me. He’s going to stay with me for the weekend.”

“So, he’s just driving 18 hours there and then back to spend a day with you?” His brow furrowed at the way you glowered at him from the rim of your cradled mug.

“What are you implying?”

“Personally, I wouldn’t do that… for a friend.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you are doing? Right now?”

He shook his head, “No. I was already there. I only had to go ten minutes out of my way. Not 36 hours.”

“What can I say? He’s a good friend.”

“Yeah,” his head notched to the side as he put down the cup, “Well, I’m guessing that isn’t why he is doing it.”

“It isn’t like that.”

“Sure.” He said, “For you.”

The waitress’s voice cut you off again, “Here we are.” She basically dumped your plate in front of you before turning to him, “Careful,” her voice conveyed a forced sultry as she carefully put down the plate, “It’s hot.”

Her acrylic nails brushed along his shoulder, “Everything lookin’ alright?”

“Can we get some syrup?”

“What are you trying to say?” you asked as she handed him the sticky dispenser from the table one over.

“Has Sheldon ever hit on you?” He asked as he drizzled the syrup across his pancakes.

“Why does that matter?”

‘I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“It was one time. Okay? He was drunk, he didn’t mean it,” you shook your head as you flapped the napkin across your lap.

He sucked a bead of syrup off his thumb with a pop, “He meant it.”

You let out a choppy exhale, “And how could you possibly know that? You've never met him.”

“I don’t have to. I just know he wants more.” His fork scraped the edge of his front teeth - smiling around the bite.

“Why on earth would you think that? Because he wants to see me after months of being away?” Your cuts turned sharper - making the dimples on the knife screech against the plate. You winced.

“No,” he took a drink of his water, “I just don’t think guys and girls can be just friends.”

“Oh my - why do you think that?”Your words were mumbled as you spoke with a full mouth, a small bit of food falling from your mouth onto the table.

Javier shrugged as he stabbed a few pieces of pancake onto his fork, “Sex always gets in the way,” he stated his reasoning with with ease - like it was a fact not up for debate.

The sharp inhale from across the booth was not lost on Javier. Or your aggressive chomping as the theory hung in the air. You swallowed as fast as you could, “I would like you to know that I have a number of male friends, and there is no,” you leaned in, your voice barely above a whisper, “sex involved.”

‘No you don’t.”

“Yes. I do.” He shook his head which triggered a frantic nod. “Yes! I do. Are you saying I am sleeping with these men?”

“No, but they would like to.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, a man can’t be friends with a woman he finds attractive,” you rolled your eyes, mumbling something under your breath. “He will always want to sleep with her.”

“What if they don’t find me attractive?” The tone of your voice bordered on meek - ringing with a hint of embarrassment

He looked at you with a sincere expression. You took a massive bite - one cheek bulging out from the size. “Look, I am not trying to come onto you. Trust me. But, you’re -” his hand and eyes went up and down the upper part of your body, “- attractive. It’s just a fact.”

Your chewing slowed to a halt. Each crunch under your teeth loud in the silence of the booth. Your eyes fell from his to the half-eaten food on your plate.

Based on your reaction he wondered if you realized how attractive you were.

Don’t get him wrong, he found you infuriating. But the man could fucking see - not great from a long distance - but, still.

He thought you were beautiful before he even met you. Having seen a few photos that Joe brought to the office after his family vacation to Hawaii in December. He could almost remember the picture too well. John and you posing outside a luau. You in that short yellow sundress, a matching hibiscus flower tucked behind your ear.

That photo didn’t even do you justice to how you looked in person. Those stupid shiny blue biker shorts sealing against your thighs. Torturing him the whole fucking drive.

He left the statement at that, not divulging any further for a number of reasons. Not wanting to give you the wrong idea. The fact you were a pain in his ass. He swore off college girls after he graduated. And you were Joe’s sister.

“Do you not have any female friends?” The question came after a few minutes with only the sounds of the commotion from the kitchen and the faint noise of Elvis Presley coming from the somehow working jukebox in the corner.

He shook his head as he signaled for the check, “Not any close ones. But, I did.”

“Let me guess it got in the way?” you mocked.

“For either her or me.” The waitress gave him a not so subtle wink as she dropped off the two checks. In hot pink ink was her number at the top of his receipt.

You shook your head as you peered over, “You going to give her a call?”

He looked around to make sure she was gone, “No.”

“Why not?” Your voice took on a higher pitch as you slid the tab to the end of the table.

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know. What if you are meant to be?”

He laughed - huffy and short, “Trust me kid. We aren’t.”

You slid him the keys, grumbling underneath your breath, “I’m not a kid.”

The last two shifts of the drive were spent in the company of talk show radio and the other’s soft snores. It was just past 3 A.M. when the two of you pulled into your family’s neighborhood.

The outdoor flood lights sparked on as you parked the car on the driveway. In sleepy silence the two of you unloaded the bags into the garage.

“Well,” your hands clasped against your waist as Javier dropped the last bag on the cement, “Thanks for the ride. It was… interesting.”

Javier couldn’t help but smile as he looked at the ground, “It was,” he said with a husky tone - rich from his cat nap.

When he reached his car door, he turned around, “I’ll see you around,” he said with a small wave.

You shrugged, taking a step up towards the door, “If you’re lucky.” He shook his head as you shut the garage door.

Masterlist

taglist @peoniarose @lowlights @seasonschange-butpeopledont @voteforpedro09 @hypnoash @andiesturgss @pascalisthepunkest @littlemisspascal

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña x reader #Javier peña #javier peña x f!reader #javier pena x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #Javier Peña fanfiction #narcos fanfic #pedro pascal fic

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missmaxime · 4 years ago

Note

how do you feel about the show making rio so unlikable? is the backstory a fix it?

Let me start of with that I don’t think the show is making Rio more unlikable. I don’t know if you mean that they are visibly showing him committing more violence and crime. But I’m assuming this is an ask in response to the wire-scene from Sunday’s episode. Watch me under the cut go through the past three seasons and a little some season 4 to tell you how I see Rio’s character progression. I’m not really sure if this is what you’re asking an answer to, but if it’s not tell me! * Rio’s (non) POV * Escalation in violence * Different views on S3 * More into the wire-scene * Prediction for 4x06 / Backstory

Rio has always been shown to be a ruthless and violent criminal. In the beginning of S1 he had no problem murdering the girls, and has made death threats ever since. He shot Dean, killed Eddie, had Turner assassinated and murdered Lucy in front of the girls. I don’t know how people can see him any other way, it’s not something that was ever hidden by the show. He’ll go through every length to protect himself and his business. We know Beth has been a soft spot for him since Season 1 too. In the beginning because it was a fun and interesting business opportunity, but we’ve seen their relationship develop for better and worse across seasons. I think we have to keep in mind that Rio is a character we’ve seen almost exclusively through POV that aren’t his own, and mostly through Beth’s. And we as viewers see a limited amount of information about him, that we translate in our own ways. I’ve seen people interpreted the 2x01 scene where Rio shows Marcus to Beth through such rose-colored glasses for example. I can see how a viewer, and Beth, could see it as a scene that would frame him as more likeable. But I also see how that was exactly Rio’s point; He wanted Beth to see that it’s not just her who has kids on the line with her crime-life, as a way to invalidate her constant argument of ‘being a mom’ and ‘having a family’ as if that would make her special or something. She’s a drug dealer and counterfeiter like him, not a criminal with a heart of gold because they happen to have a child. Season 2 really started unpacking Rio’s character more. In Season 1, if the whole Rio/Beth – CH/MM chemistry hadn’t existed, I could definitely see the character of Rio being done late Season 1/early Season 2. But that’s not what happened, so now Rio had to become a person with connections and feelings and deeper motivations – but it’s still a character that’s in the base there to drive Beth forward as a character and deeper into crime. Which is a tricky balance, and I don’t think the show always made that work. Obviously the most clear example of that is the loft scene in 2x13. Now there’s more than one thing to be said about that scene, but I’m focusing now Rio himself. It’s the big finale, a lot of things needed to come together here and explode. Overall I don’t think the build-up was executed well, but it doesn’t help that we have no Rio POV here. His decision to kidnap Beth, confront her with her lack of taking responsibility and lying about her rotten eggs, and his complete oversight of her response to being pinned his fall guy really dropped out of – maybe not completely thin, but at least barely medium thick – air for me. Concerning the racial element I think THIS POST by @septiembrre explains this much better than white, non-American me ever will. Regardless of the fact if the racial element of 2x13 affects a viewer, this poorly executed finale left lots of people unsatisfied at best. When Season 3 started we did start to see more Rio POV, or parts of his story told through Rhea, even though it was limited. I know there’s a lot of critique on the S3 we got, that I personally don’t understand – I loved it, it was so amazingly angsty, especially the Beth and Rio interactions were so loaded and simmering with guilt and anger and sadness and desperation – but if you’re searching for catharsis in a way of Rio coming back with a vengeance with guns ablaze, then that’s really not what you got. What Season 3 did do was putting the violence and cruelty Rio is capable of more on the forefront, and making us feel the weight of it more (I don’t know about the rest of you, but in the previous seasons I felt they really underplayed a lot of it). Rio had competing gangs taken out through Turner, has Turner assassinated along with a lot of other FBI agents, he fully intended on killing Beth before the pregnancy lie, kills innocent Lucy through Mick and disposes her body gruesomely, has the girls deliver Boomer with all intention of harming him (if not murder) and full on frames Beth for Lucy’s murder with her prints on the gun. I don’t think these kind of actions weren’t going on in the previous seasons, but now it’s more on display because Rio made Beth a part of this side of crime (and with that, us the viewers). In the beginning of Season 4 I feel like we’re making a bit of a jump when it comes to Beth and Rio’s relationship, maybe one that’s a little too big compared to the distance we ended on in Season 3 (even if they seemed friendly in their last Boland Bubbles scene). Lucy’s body is found and we learn that said gun was also used to taking out some gang member of an opposing gang of Rio’s, so after Turner’s sweep he apparently wasn’t done. That gun now becomes a much bigger thing to hold over Beth (and I’m speculating because we don’t know for sure, but we can guess that now Annie’s prints are on it – which is an ever bigger press on Beth because she won’t let her little sister take the fall, while she would do so herself. And I think she’s up for a rude awakening that while she’s under the impression that Rio has always employed the three of them, what was actually going on is that Rio employs Beth, and he sees Annie and Ruby as Beth’s employees and thereby offers them zero protection). So her counter with his print doesn’t come a moment too soon. I feel like Beth asking him to murder ‘Dave’, albeit with a lie about his identity and not as straightforward as Rio might wish, is a positive shift for him. She might not pick up a gun herself to do the deed, but much like Rio has Mick shoot Lucy, she very deliberately gives a killing order through him. And with a very drama heaux set-up we see him personally – and he has no reason to not have Mick do it – shoot Fitzpatrick. Aside from the fact that I have no doubt Rio may not have knew the specifics but he knew Beth had something orchestrated, the fact that some sniper dude was the target has it really drive home to him that it’s something else than Secret Service, and that they are still active around Beth. So we’re finally here, 4x05 The Banker – which I’m gonna guess was the reason you send this ask in the first place. In particular the wire-scene. In the first scene we learn that Rio has found the tracker on his car, and he turns it off or breaks it – so he knows he’s still being watched. It makes the most sense that even if he takes the leap that he put down a Secret Service agent, that they just replaced them and Beth is likely still working for them. He meets her in her kitchen – which isn’t that common at this point, last we know he was there is after the failed hit on him. And she doesn’t even jump when she sees him, just accepts it. He motions for her to be quiet before slowly stepping into her space, and she very logically responds with a ‘what are you doing?’, and he stares back long and hard to say that he means business. He has all the reason to suspect her wearing a wire, even if this wasn’t a planned meeting, and it wouldn’t be the first time she lied to his face. It’s clear to me (but I’ve seen this interpreted differently) that Beth fast finds a solid stance in this powerplay. Rio doesn’t seem happy about the fact it has come to this, and neither does she. I’m not sure if you send me this ask because you have negative feelings about this scene, but I can tell you I can’t answer those. This scenario could have been portrayed so wrong with any other actors or the way they shot it, but I feel like they delivered superbly on it. It’s in no way sexual or intimidating like I’ve seen some posts suggest, I just see two brokenhearted people who see the little trust they rebuilt fall apart in in thirty seconds. At the end Beth ends up winning, a bitter win maybe, this confrontation. Rio’s obviously still suspicion, but she also gained some trust with her asking him to kill ‘Dave’, so setting her up as The Banker is some sort of twisted reward and punishment and test at the same time. It’s not explained, but I think ‘The Banker’ might have been a hidden figure before Beth stepped up to show her face (before her flunky’s came to collect in name of The Banker) – making this an even better set-up if it’s so because that takes Rio out of the equation altogether even. We end the episode on the note where Rio tells Beth he has people he answers to, and that they want to meet her. Which, again, sound like both a reward and a punishment and a test. We’ll have to see next Sunday what it really means. IN this episode we’ll meet some of Rio’s family, likely his boss(es) and get backstory on him. I don’t see that as a fix-it, but mostly because I don’t see anything needed of fixing. I’m glad we’re getting an insight into Rio’s past, and I love that it likely will broaden his backstory and motivations more. But I feel like the way Rio’s character and the amount and the way of it seems very fitting to the story and the perspective it’s told through. I’m not sure if this is an answer to your question, so feel free to send me a more specific one if you want to!

#gg spoilers #anon ask #rio #gg analysis #beth x rio #rio analysis #nbc good girls

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sleepdeprivedheretic · 5 years ago

Text

Those Shoes (Ch.3)

Song Inspired: I Want You by Savage Garden

Notes: @youtubequeens Hope you stay hydrated and have a lovely time! <3 Here’s this bit for now :3

Warnings: Creepy people, not getting the hint that a person’s uncomfortable, unwanted flirting, and talk about emotions bc honestly what are they?

He smiled as Eijirou took a bite of his onigiri, Tamaki sighed softly at his younger brother, as said boy had specks of sticky rice on his face.

It was a lazy Sunday morning, the boys were home from school, and Taishiro was enjoying his day off.

“Did ya have a good day at work, Papa?” The ruby-eyed boy inquired, and Tai smiled, ruffling his hair.

“Ya bet I did, kiddo.”

He didn’t tell his boys what he had exactly did for a living, but he promised himself that he would, in the future. So far, all they knew is that he was a professional dancer.

“Dancing must be hard.” Tamaki broke the silence after chewing on his scrambled egg, and his father laughed.

“Nah. It takes a lotta practice. Did you boys had fun at yer day at school?” He pondered, sipping from his cup of coffee.

“Yeah! There was a nice new boy who was shy! There were some mean kids, but I protected him!” Eijirou rambled excitedly. Taishiro chuckled, and then looked at Tamaki.

“Mirio fell in a puddle. Face first. I had to take him to the nurse.” He shrugged, yet Taishiro didn’t miss the soft glint that speckled in his eyes. He smiled.

“That kid’s pretty resilient, huh? Anyways, eat yer breakfast, then we’ll head out to the park, alright?”

………………

It was a pretty November day. Skeleton trees hovered beneath the rich blue sky as your shoes crunched up against the fallen colorful leaves. Although it hasn’t been a week, yet, you were slowly re-adapting to your hostess job, and nit and tucking the dancer’s clothes.

You were surprised on how many had requested your services, staying absolutely still as you kept a cool facade, keeping the pointed needle from digging into skin as you measured, cut, and sewed loose fabric. You believed in your abilities, yet it felt as if it didn’t matter.

You weren’t good at holding the obvious flirty conversations that somehow were being thrown at you out of nowhere. They would giggle, and you had to still your hand so that you couldn’t accidentally jab their shaking bodies, whilst trying to be polite.

Where did the sudden interest come from? You wondered. Your mother, undoubtedly, was on high alert as she noticed it, too. The flirting, joking, the inquiring questions. Luckily, the fitting room had a camera, and thankfully, your patients had known it too, so they were extra careful in not doing anything that was against the regulations. Your mother was watching, you all knew.

Speaking of which, she did not try to make things better. She would wink, or make subtle little jokes, as she explained that it was good for business. You couldn’t help but press your mouth in a firm line.

You worked so hard, finding the perfect materials, ignoring your own discomfort as you bit the bullet and tried to focus on making the outfit snug and resilient, while the owners ignored your tense shoulders and set jaw. You were appalled, as they used alluring honeyed words, directed your attention to a “loose” fabric between their thighs, and so on.

You, feeling a surge of retaliation, growled out that it would cost extra for you to fix certain areas, and preferred that the outfit was on a mannequin, instead.

Your spitfire attitude had certainly weeded out a few of the unwanted customers, but, gained some more who thought it was a challenge. You didn’t miss the look of sheer pride from your mother, however, as she sported a wicked grin.

“That’ll teach them. Might make your blond a little less jealous.” She winked, and you paled in question. He was jealous? Of what? You were only doing your job, charging the dancers a certain amount, and giving your mother, your boss, a small part of the revenue as she requested. Although a thorn in your side, she was also a beautiful rose, and you knew that she was helping you in her own way, thus, opening your eyes more to the situation.

It didn’t take you long to realize, that yes, he was jealous, and you were too busy to acknowledge the possibility, until your mother had to basically tell you. So, you took your time to observe your surroundings.

Daggers for a stare had met each and everyone of the customers who had followed you into the fitting room, you’ve seen. While hosting, you started to take breaks to watch him, much to the oddly placed chagrin in the other dancers. His style was a little different, more suave and seductive, rather than downright dirty. Back against the pole, he slid up slowly as he jutted out his chin, staring at you through blond lashes while sucking suggestively at one of his suckers, hardly minding the crowd as he gave you a show that was basically personal.

He was addictive, you couldn’t help but think. His outfits, dances, and downright attitude made the other’s shadow in comparison.

It brought you back to the present. Your feet shuffled against the dirt as you pushed yourself on the swing, breathing out huffs of warm air that meshed with the chilly atmosphere.

He didn’t make you feel too uncomfortable, either. He did make a request, to tuck in a few strings into his nurse outfit, you remembered it so clearly. He had strutted into your office around the right time, white fishnet stockings and heels blended in nicely with the light aqua blue fabric that left very little to the imagination.

“Jus’ some strings near the neck, Sugar. Might even give ya a sucker if ya behave.” He winked, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how corny it was, earning a smug smile and tinted cheeks. Although a little flirty, he stood perfectly still as you fixed the frayed mess that was near his clavicle, feeling his warmth resonate around you as you couldn’t help but seep it in. You hoped that he wouldn’t say anything about it. How you could feel a thundering, fast-paced heartbeat underneath your fingertips, despite his cocky facade, your face blushing immensely, or how the atmosphere seemed as if it might just break from underneath the metaphorical weight between the two of you.

However, true to his word, he began letting out pieces of information.

“We actually go to the same college.”

You stopped to stare at him with full surprise.

“What? Really?”

“Well, ya graduated before I did, but I live near the campus. I…kinda saw ya every day. Not as a stalker!” He rushed before you could think of anything.

“-as in, my road to the school kinda passes your road, and I couldn’t help but not look away when ya were…ya know…It’s a very connected town, so I’ve seen ya…around.”

Then it hit you.

“Ah, so you must’ve seen me doing volunteer work?” You murmured, and he nodded.

“Well, yeah. You’re a familiar face. Couldn’t really ignore ya, ‘specially when you’re bein’ so wonderful half the damned time. Ya don’t know me, and I know it might be a lil’ creepy, but I promise ya that I don’t mean to be.” He babbled, face tinting a little more pink, and your ears burned from the forward acknowledged statement.

So he noticed your volunteer work, and where you lived, and yet you didn’t really see him creeping around the bushes, or any tall figure of his build stalking around, for instance.

“So…is this why you have a sudden interest?” You asked, and you heard him swallow thickly.

“Pretty much. Doesn’t help that you’re kinda allurin’. Like a magnet.” He finished lamely, eyes shifting as he bit his bottom lip, and you couldn’t believe the shy signals that he was giving off as your own cheeks burned.

“Ah. Um…yeah.” You couldn’t help but say, and he snorted. You jutted your chin up and was about to give him a piece of your mind.

“We’re both kinda terrible at this. Anyways, that’s what I wanted to tell ya. Been seein’ ya around and makin’ the world a better place, an’ so I couldn’t help but like ya.” He waved off your short-lived glare as your expression softened.

“I don’t understand? You’re shy but not?” You questioned, nipping the small extra thread that you’ve already tucked in.

He shrugged.

“Emotions are emotions. Ya do things to me that I can’t explain, and I make ya into a flustered mess, and vice versa. I was at first too fuckin’ scared to really say or do anything, because the last thing I wanna be, is to be a creepy stalker in yer eyes.”

“I think I understand. As I don’t believe that you are a stalker…um…how do you? How did you-”

“Body language is a dead giveaway. Studyin’ to be a therapist. Plus, it’s relievin’ to get another validation that ya don’t find me creepy. ‘Specially after hearin’ my story.” He grinned, and your shoulders relaxed as you finished up your work.

“Ah, all done?” He pouted, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“You have another appointments, as well as my number.” You reasoned, and his eyes lit up.

“So, I could call ya?” He asked hopefully, and you found yourself nodding before you could comprehend what he said.

“Awesome. I’ll see ya around, Chickadee.” He hummed, digging into his wallet as he paid you upfront, letting his hand brush against yours, and yet you didn’t mind. All too fleeting, he sauntered away, but not before giving you a final look.

“The ball is in yer hands, in whichever ya want this to be. Although, I gotta up my game, if I wanna keep the competition at bay.” He winked, and then turned to leave the room. The wheels in your head had seemed to stop, before whirling again with realization.

So, he was aware of it all? The flirting and unwanted attention that you were gaining? As if he had to compete against anybody, you couldn’t help but think.

He wasn’t like the other “suitors” who were more aggressive and rude, you couldn’t help but think, your chest fluttering at the idea of him being your partner.

It’s been three days after that. You did shoot him a text, and almost immediately, he responded. He was forward with his interest, and you were still in a bit of confusion, why he, still a stranger, had decided to pursue you so quickly. You couldn’t help but think that the stars must have aligned in the both of your favor, or that it must have been fate, for you couldn’t help but start to like him, as well.

His forward approach, his respectful nature, the duality of his emotions, on how he could be so forward, and yet somehow kind of shy, he hunted at a distance, not too close or disrupting your boundaries, while never failing to look for you, or put on a show.

An excited voice rambled you out of your thoughts, a very, familiar excited voice, and your attention snapped towards the direction at the upcoming person, or people.

……………………………….

He sucked. He was a sucker, and he let his emotions get the best of him. Why did he have to spill out everything? Now she knew that he was an eager fool, and he didn’t mention the most important part; his two boys. Although not biologically his, blood didn’t matter, they were his sons.

Of course, while in his interest in pursuing, he was so caught up with classes, dancing, and raising his kids, a lot of things had passed his mind. He remembered laying in the darkness of his bedroom, staring up at the ceiling as his heart clenched.

What if she was only attracted to his dancing? The two of them had never made plans to meet outside of work, and if they did, would she be turned off by his more shy attitude? His more softer, meeker side? Unwanted thoughts swirled within his head.

He was making a mistake, he was putting too much time into a woman who he barely knew, and if she did like him, would she like his boys? They would always be his first and top priority, he could never lower their needs before a potential future partner.

Growling, he picked up his phone, searching for her contact. He began typing, and re-typing as he made sure that the sentence sounded perfect.

Me: I know it’s late, but do ya wanna go to the park, tomorrow around 9 am?

He bit his lip and pressed send. It’ll just be a hang out, he told himself. He’ll bring his sons, and if she reacted negatively, he would stop cold. Maybe move to another club. It was his fault for not mentioning that he had kids, and he didn’t blame her for not wanting to deal with him for not telling her in the first place. She was an adult, she could make her own decisions, and children might not be her priority, and he could respect that. The fated ding of his phone pulled him out of his thoughts.

Chickadee: Sure. It’s supposed to be chilly, tomorrow, so wear something warm.

His cheeks felt like fire as his heart warmed up from the thoughtfulness. A chuckle escaped his throat. Even while texting, she still used proper grammar, and he couldn’t help but find that adorable. He kind of hoped that she wouldn’t be upset that he had kids, and he wouldn’t force her into anything that she didn’t want, if he did break it to her that he wanted to see her as a partner.

He was a dumb mess, he told himself. However, he wouldn’t mind to have her as a good friend, if anything else. He couldn’t help but like her, and she had a blunt, straight to the point attitude mixed in with that sweetness.

……………….

“-lunch lady?!” A voice gasped in shock, the three familiar figures caught your full attention. Time stood still as you recognized the two small boys instantly, and behind them, stood none other than Taishiro. Surprise had hit you, but you couldn’t help but feel joy as little arms wrapped around your leg as you stopped the swing, seeing Eijirou glanced up at you with a toothy smile and bright eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile, pinching his cheeks a little as he giggled.

“Hey, um, small world?” Taishiro asked, breaking you out of your trance.

“I volunteered at the orphanage a while back. That’s amazing, I’m so glad to you two, again.” You explained, looking at the boys.

“It’s good to see you, as well.” Tamaki said softly, and you smiled at the slightly older boy who gripped Taishiro’s jacket.

“Oh, that’s pretty neat. Ya were in dietary?” He asked, sitting down on the swing next to you, Tamaki following closely. You looked down a bit shyly.

“Um, yeah. They were kind of short staffed, that year, and I was a pretty familiar face, so they asked, and I said yes.” You rambled, and he chuckled.

“You’re right about the pretty part.” He winked, and you huffed out a surprised laugh.

“Do you ever not flirt?” You inquired, and he grinned.

“I don’t flirt as much as ya think. Anyways, I wanted to know, if ya like to hang out with us, for the day?” He murmured softly at the end, and you felt yourself smile a little.

“I’d like to. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the boys. Although I missed the children, I couldn’t really stay, had college to go through, you know? It’s good that they’ve been adopted.” You rambled, watching Tamaki push Eijirou gently on the swing next to yours, the shyest of smiles graced the raven-hair’s features as the two were basically in their own little world.

“When I first came to this town, I didn’t really have anybody. So I took some time to think it over, and decided to adopt. They’ve been the light of my life for three years, now. Can’t imagine bein’ without ‘em.” He said softly, and you felt a burst of warmth envelop you.

“It’s good that they have a good dad. Do they know of your-?” You let the sentence hang, and he shook his head.

“Later. I doubt that they’ll judge, but I don’t want ‘em to know, just yet.”

It surprised you on how easy it was to make small talk, each of you opening up a little bit more. You fixed Tamaki’s coat, brushing the hair out of his eyes slightly when Taishiro had offered the group to get hot chocolate from the coffee shop that was near, chuckling as Eijirou’s eyes widened with pure glee.

Tamaki gripped your hand, Eijirou gripped Taishiro’s, and Taishiro held your free hand as the four of you crossed the street, and you couldn’t help but feel warmth at the domesticated atmosphere within your little group.

You wouldn’t mind if these sudden feelings stayed a little while longer.

#Taishiro Toyomitsu #Fatgum x reader #What are emotions?#mmmM?#No smut or anything just a couple of ppl realizing their emotions and stuff #Like they should have in ch. 1 #Calling myself out

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jj-lynn21 · 5 years ago

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How A Girl Must Live Ch 7

Ch. 7: lovebirds

Ch1: A place for singles , Ch 2: Popular Ch 3:Opening up Ch 4: Dating ch 5: Family ,Ch. 6 Violence begets violence Ch 7 love birds

Ch 8 The Big Fight

taging: @super-pink-a-palouza @luciferreads @glasglowgrin @loomiz @princessloveme123 @hornyhetero @taintedglass @bohemian-brian @maryan028 , @scxrsgxrd, lizziejorgie, @waywardtigersandwich @michellarobinsonmoonchou @graceroarkc @yung-dumb-punk-barbie,@shkaboodle @ikon962ne1ikon962ne1

Notes:Last chapter smut(oral), fluff, talk of violence,

Willard undid his pants. He was fully erect after just finishing talking about her touching him. She could barely see him in the dark so, he guided her hand. “Just stroke slowly for a minute. “

Samantha did as he instructed. She could barely fit her small hand around his girth. His head was back. He was breathing heavily as she kept going. She was curious so put her head down to take his tip in her mouth.

Willard groaned resting his hand in her hair. “That’s it. good girl. Don't be afraid. Take it.” he moaned. “Deeper in your mouth.”

As she bobbed, she thought to herself that it didn’t taste so gross as she thought it would. His skin was salty. The tip seemed to be the most sensitive when she licked it, but she could tell by the encouraging way he held her head he enjoyed when she took him in as much as she could. She couldn’t take him to much because she didn’t want to choke. He didn’t force her either.

Sam kept going until he groaned really loudly and told her in a shaky voice. “I, I need you stop. I don’t...wanna get your pretty dress messed up, good girl.”

Samantha sat up on her knees wiping her mouth. “Did I do good.”

Willard turned away from her grabbing his cock to finish. In two yanks he moaned, “Oh yes, yes. Yessss.” He emptied on to the side of the truck bed. Then laid back in total comfort. He looked at her. Eyes still crazy. “You did great, Sam. Thank you.”

She smiled proudly.

Willard sat up. We should get you home. I wanna take you to visit my mama tomorrow. And I have some other surprises for ya to.”

She clapped. “I love surprises.”

He jumped out of the truck bed and lifted her out carefully. She laid on his shoulder as he drove her home. The radio played. Willard had his arm around her. They would kiss good night sweetly at her door. Willard would sleep peacefully that night.

Willard didn’t have to much left from selling his car and buying a few important things, but he left Miss Rose and extra dollar for the room.

When he went to pick Samantha up her Father opened the door. “I would like to talk to you before leave with my daughter young man.’

“Of course, Mr. Davenport.” Mr. Russel walked into the den. “I would also like to ask you about something important.”

“Tony that runs the Sunoco said he saw you and Samantha heading out to make-out point last night.” He sounded angry. “Did you steal my daughter's virtue before she is married?”

“No, Sir.” Willard answered quickly. “I told her that was for her wedding night. Your daughter is pure. That is how I want her for our wedding night. I would like it if you check out the house you thought I could get in knockkemstiff, ohio. Maybe a job if it ain’t a bother. I would like to propose to her in front of the house and marry your daughter as soon as she says yes.” Willard pulled an engagement ring from his pocket. “It isn’t much, but it took half the money from sellin’ my sports car.”

Mr. Davenports anger softened to happiness. “It's just fine Willard. I will see what I can do to help the two of you. I am sure she will say yes. Her Mother and I will set everything up. This is a great thing Willard. I’m proud you will be my son-in-law.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Willard takes a deep breath as he puts the ring back in his pocket. “Just no lettin’ on when we leave this room.”

Mr. Davenport nods and opens the den door. The men walk out like they didn’t talk about anything special. “Everything is fine Ruby Sue. You kids have a safe trip to West, Virginia. Give me a call tomorrow morning Willard. I just want to make sure you and my baby girl have everything you need.”

“Sure thing Mr. Davenport.” He took Samantha’s suitcase.

Samantha hugged her parents before her and Willard left hand in hand. When they left, Mr. Davenport turned to his wife. “I have to find those two a house, get him a job and you have a wedding to plan.”

“Really?” Her Mother said excitedly.

“That man sold his sports car for a dandy engagement ring.” He was beaming. “He wants to propose in front of their new home. And I think I know just the place.”

It was a six-hour drive to Coal Creek, West Virginia from Summerland, Ohio so Willard stopped at the Sunoco for some extra gas to take along. There wasn’t a lot of gas stations between where they were and where they were going. He already had it on his mind to put the fella straight who told Mr. Davenport he was up to no good with his daughter.

Samantha stayed in the truck with the radio going. Willard got out as Tony walk over to pump the gas. He started filling the tank.

“I need about three cans full also.” Willard kept his composure since his girl was right there. He did not appreciate the man saying his girl was fucking around at the point especially to her Father.

“No problem, Sir.” Tony glances at Sam bopping to a tune. “I see you made your girl happy last night. Play a little stink finger and Back seat bingo?”

“You do not talk about my girl like that.” Willard glared at him. “You’re the one that told her Daddy we were being inappropriate?”

“Suppose I am Mr.” He stared him down as the gas continued to fill Willard’s tank.

Willard grabbed the much shorter man by the collar. “You need to stay out of other people's business.”

“Yeah, sure man.” The man was shaking visibly frightened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Willard tossed the guy aside like he was a rag doll. Tony just stayed on the ground shook. Willard filled the gas cans and tossed Tony a $10 bill.

“I don’t want to hear aboutcha sayin’ nothin’ ‘bout the girls around here when we come visitin’.” Willard lit a cigarette to calm himself. His hands visibly shaking. He got in his truck.

Sam turned to him smiling and kissed him on the cheek. “Got what we need?”

“Yeah.” When he puts the truck in gear, she sees his hands shaking.

“Why is your hands shaking, Willard?” She asked concerned.

“Don’t you fret, little lady.” His cigarette in the right corner of his mouth. He pulls her over closer to him. “I just get shakin’ sometimes. I can’t believe how son of a bitches talk about people sometime.”

She holds his hand. “But there are good people to. Like me and you and our parents of course.”

“Ya are such a positive girl.” He smiles a little. “You are truly good. Maybe to good me.”

“Maybe I was just made for you.” She giggled.

“Maybe your right.” He took his hand from around her to hold the cigarette as he blew smoke out the window. Then he put it back. “Maybe your right.”

They stopped on the side of the road to fill up the truck a few times. And when they went through Meade, Ohio they stopped for lunch at a place called the Wooden Spoon. The food wasn’t as good as home cookin’ but it filled their bellies enough for the rest of the trip.

The sun had gone down by the time they pulled up to the Russel family home. Uncle Earskell and Willard’s Ma Emma were outside waiting. Willard had told them they would be pulling in sometime that evening. Willard hoped out of the truck. He went straight to his Mama.

Emma Russel hugged him with all her might. Tears streaked her face. “I missed you so much.”

“I’m good Mama.” He let her hold him hugging her back. He was just home six months ago for a visit, but his Mother was always so emotional when he came home. “Mama, I want you to meet my girl. She’s waitin’ in the truck. The one I wrote you ‘bout.”

She let go of him so he could help Samantha from the truck. They had agreed she would stay in the truck until he opened the door for her. Even though she was perfectly capable of opening doors herself Willard assured her it was now his job to open every door for her and lift her out of the truck so she would never get hurt.

They walked holding hands toward his family. “Ma, Uncle Earskell, this my girl, Samantha Davenport.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Samantha smiled and curtsied as she was taught.

They both looked at her like she was an alien. “Willard, you get yourself a city gal?” Uncle Earskell blurted out.

“She is a city gal.” Willard stated proudly. “But she ain’t mean or stuck up like some other city gals that come through town with their Ma and Pa. She’s a real nice gal.”

Mrs. Russel put on a smile and hugged Samantha. “Of course, she’s a nice gal for our boy to bring her here to meet us. Come inside. The squeeters are going to eat us alive out here. Samantha will you help me with dinner dear?”

“Of course, I will Mrs. Russel.” She followed the women inside.

“Call me, Emma, dear.” They went to the kitchen where fresh bread was sitting on the cutting board. “Go on and slice the bread while I fry up some liver, onions and peppers. Willard loves my liver and onions. Do you go to church?”

“Every Sunday, Emma.” She slices the bread thin since the loaf seems a little small for four people. The smell of the meal turns her stomach, but she manages to smile though it. She has never been a fan of liver, but she would never say anything being the guest in their home.

“You and Willard will go to church with us tomorrow then.” Emma flipped the organs.

“I’d like that Emma.” Sam smiled. “Should I tell the men they should wash up for supper?”

“Sounds about right.” Emma starts getting table setting out of the cupboards.

After Sam calls the guys inside for supper, she helps Emma set the table. Then they all sit down and pray before the meal is served right on their plates. Willard knows Sam doesn’t like liver, so he takes her share, and she has some onion and peppers on her bread. It will do her. After dinner Sam and Willard take an evening walk before turning in. Willard gives up his room to her. He curls up on the couch to sleep.

When she comes out in the morning Willard is on the phone. Unknown to her Willard is talking to her Father about the house he found them to rent to own. Emma and Uncle Earskell are already up also getting ready for church. Willard has told them his plan.

They are very happy for him even though they are unsure a country boy like Willard can keep a city girl like Samantha in the life she is used to. Emma says a little extra prayer for them at church after talking to Reverend Albert Sykes.

Emma you have yourself a fine son there and his girl seems kind.” The Reverend lectured. “Don’t muck up a good thing for the young man.”

“I’ll pray for the good Lord to grant them strength and love Reverend.”

Willard came over to get his Ma to head home. Sam is right by his side.

The Reverend tells them, “Don’t be such a stranger to the church. We all like when ya visit, Willard. And your girl is always welcome to come with ya.”

“Thank you Reverend.” He shakes the man’s hand politely.

The couple stay a few days. Emma hugs him as they leave like he is leaving forever.

“Mama,” he whispered. “I’ll see you at the church in a few days.”

Emma nods and goes to hug Samantha the same way practically in tears. “Ya take care of my boy, ya hear?”

“I will, Emma.” She hugs her back even though the whole thing seems weird. “He’s a good man. We can take care each other.”

“Have a safe trip.” Uncle Earskall added from his chair on the porch.

Willard made sure to grab some extra gas on the way out of town. Then three hours into their trip as they were driving through Knockkemstiff, Ohio Willard looked at the gas gauge. “Looks like we need to find a place to pull off so I can fill her up.”

“All right.” She sighed. “Can we stop at the next soda shop. I’m a bit hungry and parched.”

Willard nodded with a smile as he drove the truck up a hill away from the main road and town. He stopped in front of a nice bit of land with a nice enough house sitting right in the center.

When Sam saw they were in front of someone's home she looked at Willard. “I don’t think it's very polite to be parking in front of someone's home like this.”

“It's fine.” Willard got out. He took a deep breath. Then he walked around the truck to help her out. “Stretch your legs a bit, little lady.” He walked up to the front of the house.

“Willard,” She stomped over to him. “We can’t be trespassing. She looked at the house. It is nice. I would like to own one like this someday.”

“Maybe we can own this one someday.” Willard said from behind her. She turned to him. He was on one knee looking up at her, ring in his hand. “Samantha Anne Davenport, will you marry me? Make this house our home. And raise my kin here.”

She put her hand out. “Yes, Oh my goodness yes. You mean this is ours.?”

“Not quite yet but I start a new job tomorra so we can pay the rent until its ours.” He put the ring on her finger. “How’s that sound? And our parent will be here to watch us get hitched on Friday.”

“Yes, yes, yes to all of it.” She runs into the house looking around. Willard follows. “It is just perfect Willard.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He was smiling, much like her, so big his cheeks started to hurt. “I promised your Father we would sleep in separate beds until our wedding night. Now let me take you to the closest soda shop to celebrate. Then we will call our parents to tell them the good news.”

As Willard worked at the slaughterhouse the next day Samantha got to work on making their house a home. She had a steak dinner for him when he got home from work. It wasn’t how they would always eat but her Father stalked the refrigerator and pantry with food and drink enough to get by until Willard’s first check.

They were married in the small-town church witnessed by friends and family. His uncle and ma. And Mr. Jones and Mrs. Sally sat on the groom’s side. Her Mother, Father, best friend Tami and Johnny sat on the bride’s side. They didn’t have big money for a fancy honeymoon, but they were happy to come back to their new home after.

Willard swooped her off her feet. He carried her over the threshold right to their bedroom to finally take his bride. With the wine from the reception she was giddy and relaxed. He carefully took her wedding dress off even though he really wanted to rip it right off her body.

She laid in bed waiting as he stripped to join her. “I’ll be slow and easy Samantha. I love you so much. I feel like I have waited forever to make love to you.”

“I love you to, Willard.” She ran her hands over his bare chest. “I’m ready.”

It was nothing like she ever dreamed. He did his best not to let loose but when he broke her, she cried. To him it felt so freeing even though he finished quickly. He held her until they drifted off to sleep. They worked on becoming better at satisfying each other. It was better, longer and deeper each time.

One night about five weeks into their marriage it finally happened. Willard had called his Uncle for some advice. “I’m not sure I’m doin’ it right Uncle Earskell. She ain’t got a bun in the oven yet.”

“Be patient Willard.” Uncle Earskell advised. “Prop her hips up a bit with sum pillas. Two minutes ain’t gonna put no baby in her. You gotta think of somethin’ else while you drillin’ her deep. She gotta feel it to so you make a strong baby boy. Don’t be to gentle or you will have a girl first. You can give her, her girl after you get your boy child.”

“I don’t care ‘bout a boy or girl first.” Willard whined. “I just want a few of both.”

His uncle laughed. “All right boy. Get on it then.”

Samantha was soaking in the tub when Willard went to her and picked her right up. “We’re gonna make a baby right now.”

“Alright we will try again but my thighs are really aching.” She sighed deeply.

“Maybe a new position will help, Darlin.” He plopped her onto the bed. “Scoot these pillows under your hips.” He took off his clothes and lined himself up with her opening. “Ya wanna have my baby, don’t ya?”

“I really do Willard.” She pulled his face down to kiss his lip.

There was something more merciless as he held her face kissing her wildly. He entered her quickly. She screamed out throwing her head back against the mattress.

“It’s all right, Darling.” He breathed in her ear.

With the new position and how deep he is burying himself she finally feels something building. Finally, something good. She chases the feeling with her hips meeting with his. She clasps her hands in his as their passion continues to build.

Part of Sam feels guilty for the how good she feels as he pounds into her with purpose. Willard is just amazed at the way she is moving with him so good he can barely hold out. He gets into a good rhythm inside her.

“This is it, Samantha.” He pants.

She is a complete mess underneath him as her walls start to clench around his cock. “Oh, Willard.” She moaned in pleasure.

Willard groans ready to burst. A few harder deep thrusts and he is done for. Samantha’s first orgasm hits her hard as he finishes. Her body shakes under him as her eyes roll to the back of her head.

Willard freaks out and gets off of her but holds her legs to her chest. “Sam, Sam, you alright?”

She focuses her eyes on him. A huge grin lights up her face. “That was amazing Willard. Can we do it again?”

Willard chuckled laying down beside her. “Not right way but as soon I am capable, I’ll give it another go.”

“Swell,” She relaxed on his chest.

Neither of them really had another go like that in them that night. But they had sex like that many more times through the months that followed.

Within ten months of their marriage a healthy baby boy was born. They named him Arvin after Willard’s Father. They considered themselves the luckiest family in Knockkemstiff, Ohio even if Willard would sometimes come home all bloody from what he told her was getting hurt at work.

Really, he joined a fight club to get all the aggression out of his system so he wouldn’t use it towards his family. But that is a story for another time.

#willard russel #fight club willard coming eventually #bill skardgard #au fanfic #fan fiction #romance #love #fiction #short story #original work #smut #thanks for reading

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kmomof4 · 2 years ago

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Sneak Peek Time!!!

We are coming up on Part 3, and we’ll see a few new faces and a few familiar ones in the coming weeks!!! But now, it is time for a sneak peek!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.

Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

On ao3 From the beginning/ Current Ch

On Tumblr Current ch with links to the others

New Tag List! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @xarandomdreamx @undercaffinatednightmare @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @superchocovian @pirateprincessofpizza @tiganasummertree @anmylica @cosette141 @motherkatereloyshipper @zaharadessert @jonesfandomfanatic @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kymbersmith-90 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @wistfulcynic @mie779 @snowbellewells @lfh1226-linda @aprilqueen84 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @pirateherokillian @elfiola @ilovemesomekillianjones @justanother-unluckysoul @poptart-cat-78 @myfearless-love @goforlaunchcee @searchingwardrobes @gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @djlbg @cocohook38 @cs-rylie @thisonesatellite @donteattheappleshook @deckerstarblanche @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @fleurdepetite @alexa-fangirl-forever

“Where were you this past week?” she asked, ignoring his question completely and smoothly changing the subject. He moved into the parlor and sat down on the sofa, propping his feet on the low table in front of him. He probably should have waited for Ruby to sit, but she was only his sister after all, and company manners didn’t necessarily apply to sisters. “Went to the Gold party. It was abominable.”

“Mother will have words with you if she catches you with your feet up,” Ruby commented. “And why was the party so dreadful?”

“The company. A more boring bunch of lazy louts, I’ve never met.”

“As long as you don’t mince words,” Ruby replied with a smirk and rolling her eyes.

Killian raised an eyebrow at her sarcasm. “You are hereby forbidden from marrying anyone who was in attendance.”

“An order I will likely have no trouble obeying.” Ruby drummed her fingers on the arms of the chair she sat in. Killian had to smile. She’d always been a ball of excess energy. “But,” she continued, “that doesn’t explain where you were all week.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are exceedingly nosy?”

Ruby waved his comment away. “Oh, all the time. Where were you?”

“And persistent, as well.”

“It’s the only way to be. Where were you?”

“Have I mentioned I’m considering investing in a company that makes human sized muzzles?”

Ruby threw a pillow at him, making him laugh. “Where were you?!”

He tossed the pillow back in her direction. “As it happens, the answer is not the least bit interesting. I was at My Cottage recuperating from a nasty cough.”

“Weren’t you sick before the party?” she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought you’d already recovered. Did you have a relapse?”

Killian couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or annoyed at her knowledge. “How did you know that?”

“I know everything, I told you. So you had a relapse?”

He nodded. “After driving in the rain.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Not particularly smart, if you ask me.”

Killian looked around the empty room and raised his arms as if he were directing his question to anyone but Ruby. “Why am I sitting here allowing myself to be interrogated and insulted by my ninnyhammer of a younger sister?”

“Probably because I do it so well.”

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! I’d love to know what you think! Full chapter will be up on Sunday!!!

#a mistress to no one #sneak peek #krystal writes

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captcas · 5 years ago

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Worth Fighting For

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2

[CHAPTER 3/?]

Saturday night brings their monthly movie/game night and Emma has never been more grateful for a distraction. Ruby and the Nolans will come over around 6 o’clock and Henry is practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. Tonight’s theme is Star Wars and this will be Henry’s official introduction to the series; at David’s insistence they’re starting with A New Hope and going release order from there. They’re also going to play Star Wars trivia which Henry will undoubtedly suck at.

Should be a fun night all around.

And it was, until Henry went to bed and the “adults” got to talking.

Ruby cracks another beer and turns to Emma, “So, Emma, you’ve got probably the coolest new job in the world and you haven’t said jack shit.”

She shoots Ruby an icy glare as David and MM stop bickering over whether or not Kylo Ren deserved a redemption arc to hear what Emma has to say.

Emma sighs, “It’s going alright. All the onboarding is underway and between the perks, benefits, and pay, Henry should be set for life.” She’s been fortunate to live off her winnings for the past nine years, being mindful of money and not giving into the lifestyle of frivolous spending many fighters take on, but -even her friends know- she doesn’t have a money tree.

The looks on their faces when she mentions Henry being set for life could melt 1000 Olafs. When she arrived at Ruth Nolan’s home at the age of 16, she never expected to find a family. Hardened by a life too lived for anyone her age, Emma assumed they’d be like every other foster home and use her for the money. To this day, she’s never been so happy to be wrong.

Emma’s not sure what twist of fate landed an orphan with such a great support system, but she’ll be forever grateful. David took to the “protective brother” role immediately. Soon after Emma moved in, he met Mary Margaret (fireworks and butterflies and all that mumbo jumbo) who introduced them to Ruby. They’re small, and maybe a bit scrappy, but they’re family.

She breaks out of her thoughts and returns to the present, “I will need some babysitting though; I’m required to attend each of my client’s Fight Nights. But overall it’s great, really!”

She hopes she squeaked away without having to mention Jones at all but the glint in Ruby’s eye tells her otherwise. “Ok that’s all fine and dandy,” Mary Margaret shoots Ruby an incredulous look, warning her to tread carefully, but Ruby ignores her and continues, “but who’s the client?”

David is giving her a protective father vibe, Ms is practically vibrating, and she's pretty sure Ruby is salivating. Emma sighs realizing she shouldn’t postpone the inevitable, “Killian Jones.”

Ruby practically drops her drink and Mary Margaret squeals, David rolls his eyes and turns back to the TV where SportsCenter has been playing in the background. Mary Margaret beats Ruby to the punch, “THE Killian Jones?! As in Killian “Hook” Jones?!”

Emma nods, standing up to refill the only slightly empty chip bowl in front of her. She knew this was going to happen and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to her friends thirsting over her client– client… right.

Ruby speaks next, “Well that is probably the best case scenario. Do you think he can get us tickets? Have you met him? Is he as gorgeous in person as he is on TV? Can we meet him?”

Emma, now glad she’s in the kitchen with space to breathe, is starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. She knows Ms can sense it and is unsurprised when she speaks next,“For Christ’s sake Ruby let her breathe. She’s probably only had her initial meeting with him.”

Ruby seems to get the hint and it doesn’t take long before Ms is in the kitchen helping Emma pick up the leftover pizza, “We’re happy for you, Emma. He’s a huge client for them, they obviously trust you to do a good job.” Emma nods in thanks and they both head back into the living room. Her sister-in-law’s warmth always calms her (and Ruby) down which allows David to jump in and change the subject to the coverage of some football player’s arrest on SportsCenter. Emma finally catches a breath and realizes just how lucky she is for the friend dynamic they have before settling in to debate if this James Spencer kid should still be eligible for the draft.

As she lays in bed that night, Ms’ words ring through her head. Despite the rollercoaster of emotions she’s been feeling, Killian is a huge client, one that was formerly represented by a namesake for the company. This re energizes her a bit and helps her fall asleep, actually excited for what's to come.

She wakes up Sunday morning and makes Henry some pancakes and declares it a lazy Sunday. Henry happily obliged, cuddling up on the couch with The Deathly Hallows while Emma threw on some shitty reality TV.

. . .

When her alarm rings Monday morning, Emma pulls her pillow over her head like some teenager from one of those Disney Channel movies.

It takes her a second to remember what day it is and why she’s up at this godforsaken hour.

Killian Jones. Right.

She audibly groans before rolling out of bed and getting ready for the day. Between her shower and breakfast she gets Henry up. School starts at 8 so he’s technically running a bit behind but he’ll make it on the bus in time… hopefully.

She’s pouring him a bowl of cereal when he comes out of his room zipping up his sweater and rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, kid. Coco Puffs or Fruit Loops?” He mumbles some semblance of what she thinks is Fruit Loops so she pours the bowl and slides it across the kitchen island. He smiles in thanks as she pours her own bowl and sits beside him.

“So today’s the big day?”

She didn’t tell Henry about her new client and when she spoke to the Nolan’s and Ruby, he was definitely supposed to be sleeping. “How could you possibly know that?”

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are and I’m not as tired as you think I am.” He yawns as if to punctuate his point.

“Uh huh, sure, kid.” He gives her a knowing glance and she realizes she’s not getting out of this. She runs her hands over her face and sighs, “Yes, today is the first meeting and I’m only slightly nervous to fu— screw this whole thing up.”

Henry chuckles at her attempted censorship (she never said she was a perfect parent), “You’ll be great, Mom, and Hook seems like a decent enough guy. I’m sure he won’t give you too much trouble.”

She stares at Henry a bit dumbfounded. It shocks her everyday how old he’s getting– nine going on nineteen for sure. “Are you hiding some Weasley’s Extendable Ears in your room or something? Are you a wizard? Should you be at Hogwarts?” Emma is very obviously trying to derail this conversation but it works, setting Henry off about how he’s finally on the sixth book and explaining the concept of a horcrux.

Oh, her sweet summer child.

God, maybe he is old enough for UFC.

When did that happen?

She ushers Henry to the bus, promising him they’ll watch the sixth movie tonight if he finishes the book today and is to school on time. It’s only September and he can’t be late three times in the first month of school. She kisses his forehead and he wishes her good luck.

Sometimes she wonders how such a screw up ended up with the perfect kid.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Emma finishes getting ready. She jumps on the subway and finds herself at the office with a half hour to spare. She’s never early so she chalks it up to nerves and uses the time to prep for this meeting.

Over the weekend she received multiple emails from Gold’s team surrounding a possible spot for Killian on the card for the pay-per-view Fight Night in November.

A pay-per-view card. She did enough research about Killian this weekend to know that would be his first.

Emma feels like she’s been thrown into the deep end before being taught how to swim.

Go big or go home.

She did a lot of research about Killian and learned practically nothing. She knows he came here from London almost ten years ago and that his team includes his head trainer Robin (husband of now former manager Regina Mills), and three other men named Will Scarlett, August Booth, and William Smee (he’s really selling it with that whole Hook theme). Other than that all she found was his record and highlights. He’s 6-0 which is insane for only being in the circuit for a year and a half– fighters are usually limited to three, maybe four fights a year.

4 of his 6 are knockouts.

He’s good… really good.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a light tapping on the edge of her cubicle. She glances up to find none other than the man himself. She can’t help but double take.

Real professional, Emma.

She's only ever seen him in the ring, at the gym, or dressed up for a business meeting. She’s not sure what she expected, but a leather jacket and pants that fit him like his own skin definitely weren’t it.

He looks good… really good.

Emma snaps herself out of it, “Hi, Mr. Jones, just give me a moment and we can head to the conference room.”

“It’s Killian, love, please.” She notices he winces at the seemingly habitual pet name. Emma ignores the ring of disappointment that runs through her gut at the realization that it may not be reserved for her. “A conference room’s a bit formal, don’t you think? Let’s get out of here, Swan.”

He grabs her hand before she can answer. “Mr.— Killian. Is this allowed?”

He chuckles. “We can plan the meetings at our leisure,” he says the last bit in an almost scary imitation of Regina, “but even still, Regina and I never met in office. A bit silly for two people to take up an entire conference room, yeah? Come on, lass, try something new. It’s called trust.”

Emma rolls her eyes but follows along anyway. The elevator ride should’ve been awkward but Killian kept the conversation flowing by asking her preferred drink. “Coffee, tea, or smoothies?”

Despite the risk of sounding like a child, Emma finds herself being honest with him, “Uhh, I actually prefer hot chocolate… with cinnamon.”

He smiles brightly at her, as though her drink order was the most brilliant discovery this century, “Perfect, Swan. I know just the place.”

She was so swept up in his ambush, she doesn’t realize that this isn’t the cocky, asshat Killian Jones she sees on tv or at the gym until he’s practically dragging her across the street to a small cafe. This Killian seems genuine and carries this almost childlike excitement.

Emma tells herself she has no interest in learning more about this Killian.

(Emma doesn’t have to tell herself that that is complete bullshit.)

. . .

He can’t stop himself from beaming when she offers up her drink order without hesitation. Killian feels like a bloody teenager around her. He promised himself he wouldn’t feel this way again, but something about Emma Swan has completely entranced him.

He finds himself fascinated with every part of her, including the small things, like the fact she takes cinnamon on her hot chocolate.

Once they get to the cafe across the street, Killian forces himself to dial it back. He can tell she’s guarded and as much as he’d like to be friends (more than friends) with the lass, he knows business has to come first.

It wouldn’t exactly be a good look for him if he ran “The Savior” out of the office on her second day.

Somehow he thinks he doesn’t have that power.

He’d like to. (Obviously not to run her out of the office, but he’d like his existence to mean that much to her.)

Bloody hell, he's being ridiculous.

They sit down across from each other at a small table by the window. He expects to start the conversation but before he can form a coherent thought she’s speaking.

“So, Killian. I’ve already received some correspondence from Gold’s team. I’m not sure how much time you usually take between fights and I know it’s already the end of September but…”

She’s rambling and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anybody so adorable when they’re nervous.

Adorable is not a professional descriptor.

Killian Jones doesn’t want “professional” with Emma Swan.

Fuck.

“...Gold is hoping to get you on the main card for November 14th.”

Did she just say main card?

He chokes on his coffee.

“Main card, Swan? I’ve never been on the main card. Strictly early prelims…”

She eyes him suspiciously, “Usually that’s a good thing. Upward momentum and all that. His team is clearly impressed by your dominant record.”

“Is his team the only one impressed?” The flirt escapes him before he can stop it.

Bloody idiot.

She doesn’t even bat an eye, “The entire league seems to be impressed, Jones.” Her tone tells him she knows what just happened but she shut it down immediately.

He likes a challenge.

Emma Swan may be his favorite challenge yet.

Emma Swan is off limits, but Killian will be damned if he cares.

. . .

Emma is surprised when Killian pays for their drinks despite her insistence that she can charge it to Mills Management. She’s also surprised by how nice he is.

She keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She’s still waiting.

He’s definitely flirtatious, every other sentence being easily twisted into some sort of innuendo, but she can tell it’s a front. The little things he does like tipping the barista an extra fifty cents or holding the door for her, let on to the man behind the persona.

Well, and the fact he practically chokes when she tells him they want him for the main card.

He seems genuinely shocked that anyone would be impressed by him. His mask comes out almost immediately, another innuendo laced into his question. She doesn’t let him go there, shutting it down as quickly as it started. For this to work, she needs him the real him. Not the cocky MMA fighter who he used to catch the eye of UFC execs. She compliments him, and it’s beyond genuine. That seems to calm his nerves a bit as they move into social media management and he shifts into a professionalism she’s not entirely prepared for.

She’s not sure she wants professional Killian Jones.

Whoa, Emma, pump the breaks.

She shakes it off as she watches him take notes on what she’s saying about the importance of a lead up on Twitter and how it can set the tone for the entire fight. His tongue runs along the inside of his lower lip as he concentrates and she can’t help the overwhelming wave of attraction that hits her.

Like lightning.

It’s not just the tongue, (but that’s not helping) it’s his dedication to this sport and how he actually gives a fuck about what she’s saying. Killian never displayed even a hint of the deeply rooted misogyny that runs rampant throughout the industry. He actually seems almost humbled by her presence. The words escape her mouth before she can’t stop them, “Why are you actually taking anything I say seriously?”

Very professional, Emma. Way to instill confidence in your client. Smooth.

His head snaps up at her abrupt question and he looks confused. “I know you don’t like being called a legend, Swan, but you were a damn good fighter. If I walk out of this partnership with half the following and success you had, I’d call that a win.”

She’s stunned by his sincerity.

Brick. Wall. (She thinks she hears Pink Floyd somewhere in the distance.)

“And I suppose you think you know all about me from our, what, three conversations now?” She knows it’s snippy, that’s the point.

He stops typing and puts his phone down. “Pardon me, love, but you’re a bit of an open book.”

Emma scoffs, “Anyone with the internet knows I prefer people don’t call me a legend.”

“Aye, but do they know it’s because you feel too young with a career too short to have made an impact? That you feel choosing yourself, a life, over MMA removes all glory from your name?”

Emma is entirely shaken by his apparent ability to read her like a fucking picture book. (Does that even make sense? Do you read picture books?) Emma never had a formal retirement ceremony; gloves in the middle of the ring and all that. She had asked Gold to be taken off the roster and for a quiet exit and that’s what he’d given her. The public doesn’t know the real reason she left MMA, her attempt at keeping Henry’s life as normal as possible, but somehow Killian–

Brick. Brick. Brick.

“Let’s talk about Instagram.” She sees the disappointment sweep across his face, realizing she can read him pretty well too. That’s terrifying.

Way more terrifying than social media plans.

They keep it strictly business for the rest of the meeting. She’s startled when her stomach rumbles and she checks the time.

12:00. They’ve been strategizing for three hours.

She’s not sure where the time went, and when Killian asks her if she wants to grab a bite to eat together, she’s startled again by her initial gut reaction to say yes.

Obviously, she says no and makes up some lie about needing to get back to the office. He knows it’s a lie, she can see it all over his face. He doesn’t push her though, and she’s grateful. They set their next meeting and Emma’s heart speeds up, seemingly unaware that this is a business meeting and not a date. She shakes his hand and promises to have a full plan ready for Thursday before practically sprinting out of the cafe.

In three conversations Killian Jones has gone from asshat to… who knows. One thing Emma does know is that Killian Jones is off limits to the highest of ethical degrees. But what scares her most, is that she’s not entirely sure she cares.

. . .

As soon as he asks her to lunch he knows he’s pushed too far.

Actually, he perhaps pushed too far by letting on just how easy it was for him to read her, but lunch, well that was just asking for a brick wall. He runs his hands across his face, completely taken with someone he has no right to. She’s witty, smart, and could probably kick his ass— scratch that, could definitely kick his ass— but she also has demons, he can see them swimming behind her eyes. Demons that seem scarily similar to his, maybe not on the surface but definitely in their damage. Emma is raw and unapologetic; a real human being who is, for all intents and purposes, unimpressed by the suave persona of Killian “Hook” Jones.

She’s bloody perfect.

He’s fucking fucked.

Eloquent.

Killian decides to grab a quick lunch from the cafe and head to the gym. He has a lot of pent up frustration and really feels the need to punch something. Thank god that’s his job. He scarfs down his sandwich, not realizing how hungry he was and jumps on the subway to the training center. He miraculously finds a seat and is able to scroll through his phone a bit. As he pokes around Twitter he finds an article announcing Emma “The Savior” Swan’s comeback to the UFC. He clicks on it, curiosity getting the better of him despite probably knowing the gist of the article.

He didn’t expect a timeline of her very impressive career:

2008: Swan joins the UFC with her Boston gym. Her debut match against Aurora Rose ended in a TKO. She’s back in action six months later fighting Ella Tremaine. She wins again, this time after three rounds by split decision.

2009: A dominant start to the year for The Savior with a first round submission against Tiana Dampier in January. She rounded out her year with another first round submission against El Oldenburg in May, and a third round knockout against Esmerelda Gringoire in October.

2010: Swan goes three rounds with Merida Baer and wins by unanimous decision. Swan wins again after three rounds by split decision against Megara Alcmene. The Savior’s final match is a KO against Mulan Fa rounding out her record to 8-0. Her next match, meant to be for the women’s title, was declined with no comment from The Savior.

2020: Swan joins Mills Management as a talent manager assigned to Killian “Hook” Jones.

Killian knew Swan was good, an early legend in her own right, but he had no idea she was this dominant. He also had no idea she left without so much as a wave goodbye. He figured he’d just missed the announcement seeing as it came well before his introduction into the sport. Against his typical moral code, he tries to google why she left but finds nothing. She knocks out Mulan Fa and then just stops being added to cards and fades away as new fighters take her place.

He knows there’s a reason for her secrecy and he’d be lying if he said curiosity was the only driving force behind his attempt to learn more. He finds himself wanting to know everything there is to know about Emma Swan; a deeper part of him aches for her to be the one who tells him.

He’s positive he can only dream of gaining that level of trust from her, but he has to try. Liam's words ring heavy in his ears, "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets."

He gets off at the stop closest to the training center and walks through the front doors, waving to Belle at the front desk before heading into the locker room. He’s fortunate to be on the UFC roster, allowing him to keep his training gear at the center and not have to worry about lugging it around with him. It also gives him the freedom to come here whenever he needs to let off some steam. He changes quickly and finds a treadmill to warm up. He jogs a mile and a half before picking up the pace. Killian’s in the midst of his runner’s high when someone steps into the machine next to him. He turns his head to offer them a small smile in hello, it’s not that big of a gym, exclusive to the UFC industry and a few friends of friends, so chances are he knows the person at least in passing.

Oh, Killian knows them alright, and he practically falls off the treadmill when he sees her green eyes blown wide.

#Captain Swan #cs ff #cs modern au #emma swan #killian jones #capthamm #worth fighting for

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