#just me and my cringe age of sail officers

[maturiin]

the deepest blue could never define you

[the-wardens-torch]

FFXIVwrite2022 Prompt #12: Miss the Boat

((Cieldalaes Islands, 10 or 12 summers past))

“Rymmharr!”

Raising his head from the sails he had been securing, the silver-haired Sea Wolf peered over the railing of the ship. He had recognized the voice as belonging to the Fox and Shrew’s accordion player, but couldn’t catch sight of him.

“Where are ye, lad? I can‘t spot ye!“ Rymm yelled.

“Over here, Rymm! Don‘t leave yet!”

Instantly, Rymm’s eyes were drawn to the source of the voice: a scrawny, dark-haired teenager who was barely visible on the crowded docks. Despite his age and stature, the young Hyur had a distinctively deep and clear voice that carried well in a crowd.

“There’s that future ladykiller voice!” he bellowed, touching his hat in a jaunty salute.  “Is summat amiss, Fal?”

“You forgot your wife‘s present!” the young man waved a small box wrapped in violet satin ribbon over his head.

Shite shite shite shite.  The color drained from Rymm’s face as he began frantically looking back and forth across the deck of the ship. The gangplank had already been raised, and once the captain called for a soundoff, they’d be bound for Limsa at full sail. Madam Siha had hand-picked that perfume from a bazaar in Thavnair just for him when he’d told her that his wife loved jasmine.  He knew she’d be like to murder him if he left the Cieldalaes without it, but equally likely to murder him if he went to go get it was his commanding officer.

“Nah, captain’ll have my head if I finds out I dilly-dallied on the Maelstrom’s time for a lady‘s gewgaw.” Rymm yelled.  Hastily, he glanced across the boat to the dock.  A literal stone’s throw away… And he knew that the boy had a steady hand and a sharp eye.

“Throw it to me, lad!  I’ll catch it!”

“Are you sure?” Fal hollered back at him.

“There’s no time! Just let ‘er rip!” Rymm took off his officer’s cap and held it over the railing to give the boy a place to aim for.

Fal squinted momentarily to judge the distance and angle before raising the bottle to his eye level.  After a second’s hesitation to sidestep a burly longshoreman, he wound up and threw the box.

A huge smile spread across Rymm’s face as he watched it arc beautifully into the air, on an absolutely perfect trajectory to land in his proffered hat.

….Or it was until it vanished into a screeching, feathered blur. Rymmharr yelped as his eyes made sense of what he had just seen… His precious and exotic gift for his wife - clamped mercilessly in the filthy beak of a very large gull.

Still watching from the deck, Fal gritted his teeth.  It was literally out of his hands now. But maybe there was still hope. The gull was now flying directly over the ship, towards the prow.  Having thought the same thing, Rymm had already clamped his cap back on his head and taken off running after the bird, bowling over more than one shocked Maelstrom sailor.

“THAL’S BALLS YOU HAD BETTER DROP THAT THING YE THRICE-DAMNED SHITE-EATING FISH-DICKED WHOREMONGER SON OF A HARPY‘S PIMP!”

The stream of profanity seemed to hit the gull like a bullet, and seeing that its new prize couldn’t be eaten anyway, decided it was not worth the trouble. The beautifully wrapped box that had come all the way from Radz-at-Han fell from the bird’s mouth in a violet flash…

…And plummeted straight into the sea, missing the boat, and Rymm’s outstretched hands, by mere ilms.

Rymmharr howled in anguish and slumped his arms and chest over the railing, a defeated man. From back on the dock, Falerin cringed.

“I won’t tell Ms. Siha about this if you won’t!” he yelled.

“Ye got yerself a deal, lad.” Rymmharr raised his thumbs weakly without lifting his head.

((Rymmharr Sylbundsyn was Fal’s accordion teacher and substitute father figure, and as he found out years later, was the *actual* father of one of his best friends, Sunnthota. He was a Maelstrom officer and always came by The Fox and Shrew when he was stationed in the ‘Ciels.  He just about the best client they could ask for; polite, soft-spoken and willing to pay like he was cheating on his wife… even though he never did. Even the stern Madam Sihaha Siha who ran the place was charmed by him. But she really would have killed him if she found out he lost that perfume…))

[pagesoflauren]

Siren’s Call (Steve Rogers x reader; Pirate AU) - Ch. 2

Warnings: mentions of sword fighting and drinking

Previous Chapter

Once the last soldier was cut down, you and the rest of the crew triumphantly celebrated. Well, you tried to. Your parents fretted over you.

They asked you the same questions countless times. Are you alright? What happened? Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?

Your responses were the same every time. Yes. He just came in thinking I was some girl who had been kidnapped. No, I’m fine. We just held hands.

Your palm tingled at the memory of your hand in his. Behind your eyes, images of his eyes flashed across your memory. You had never seen such eyes before. 

You shook your head furiously, shaking the memory away with it. Don’t be silly, you chastised yourself, you’ll likely never see him again. 

Steve was hauled up onto the naval ship by the rope he held onto for dear life. Once on the deck, he was roughly hauled up to his feet. 

“Lieutenant,” the captain rounded at him, “explain yourself.”

“I was-I was just-there was a girl--”

“A girl?”

“She said she needed help--”

“And she hauled your ass over the side of the ship!” he cried. If there was a crew member who wasn’t paying attention to the situation, they were now.

“Captain, I--” 

“I’m not an unreasonable man,” he interrupted, “it’s your first day at sea, your first battle. But take my advice: the next time you’re meant to fight, don’t get distracted by the first thing you see with breasts.”

Steve cringed.

“Am I understood?” 

“Yes, Captain.”

Steve’s head hung heavily as he settled into his sleeping arrangement in the wardroom that night. His uniform hung to dry and other men muttered about to themselves and each other around him. Part of his embarrassment made him wonder if they were speaking about him. Maybe officers who witnessed the captain laying into him were telling the ones who weren’t present what happened. Maybe they were ridiculing him and scheming up how they could further embarrass him. 

He resolved to closing his eyes and trying to get some sleep. Though, the only images that danced across his memory were of you. How your hand fit into his so well, how you looked at him with such relief that he had come to save you. The way you smiled and blew him that kiss...

He snapped his eyes open and he shook his head. No! he thought, She’s a pirate. That’s why she threw him overboard! She was one of them. 

Steve stared up at the wooden planks above him, formulating a plan. One day, when he was captain of his own ship, despite whatever orders he was given, he’d drop them all for you. He’d find you one day and bring you to justice; in retribution for fooling him and throwing him off a ship and all the other crimes he’s certain you’ll commit until that day. 

He crosses himself, says a silent prayer to seal the deal; that he will do it or God take him if someone else does before he gets the chance. 

Five Years Later

At twenty-three years of age, Steve is thrilled to stand on the docks as he looks at his new ship. It’s brand new and one that he’s proud to captain. The Achilles. Named after the fastest name in Greek antiquity, because it’s meant to be the fastest in the armada. 

When a hand claps at his shoulder, he turns to see his first mate, Bucky.

“We’ll start loading in an hour, sir,” the brunet says.

“Perfect. We’ll set sail first thing tomorrow.”

“After a drink?” “After a couple of drinks, Bucky,” he corrects with a laugh. 

The tavern is dim and damp as you and your first mate watch what’s left of your crew members drink. The rest had been moving your supply from your old ship to your new one. The old one was to be shoved off and burnt, as a tribute to your fallen father. He had died recently and quickly, with little to be saved. Your mother had only passed a few months prior. 

You remain in the dark corner, out of clear sight from the soldiers that file into the establishment. You don’t mistake the jawline of the man you had met five years ago. As others toast to him, he looks down bashfully, eyes crinkling in a smile as he does so. 

Your name diverts your attention to your friend.

“He’s handsome, innit he?”

“He’s a soldier,” you say, “Not one for me. Too structured.”

You’d always alluded your spirit to that of the ocean. Vast. Untamed. Immeasurable. In your father’s dying breaths he had said there would be no man worthy of you. 

But could you help the fact that you liked this man’s smile so much?

“Captain,” a man addresses you.

“Sykes,” you acknowledge him with a raise of your glass.

“It’s time to shove off.”

In the cover of night, you and your crew hurry onto the new ship. It’s freshly painted the gaudy yellow and blue of His Royal Majesty’s fleet. You’ll give it a proper paint job at the next port, complete with a new name. You make to depart and all goes well until a bell rings as someone raises an alarm. 

“Someone’s stolen the Achilles!” 

In a panic, you torch an old emptying bottle of rum and throw at your father’s old ship as it drifts and watch with tears as the mast falls. But hopefully, the fire will give you a cover. 

Figures rush onto the dock, one ahead of the rest. A man carrying a lantern runs up next to him, illuminating both of their faces. You recognize the man from the bar who tried to rescue you years ago, apparently having been promoted as you notice the additional stripes that were added to the cuffs of his jacket when he takes the lantern from his friend. 

Steve’s good time is interrupted by a frantic shout. He can’t quite make out what’s being said to him, he’s had a few drinks. A few words stand out to him: Achilles. Stolen. Fire. Pirates. 

Woman. 

Steve is fully aware that you’re not the only pirate that identifies as a woman in the world. But on the off chance that this is you, he slams his stein on the table and moves past everyone, even commanding people to get out of the way. He runs to the docks, his heart pounding in his ears.

He can make out the name of his ship and how it’s sailing further away every second. He doesn’t know what ship is on fire, but he knows your face when it’s illuminated by the flames.

He feels his face pull in. You blow another damn kiss to him. He suppresses the flutter in his heart. 

Let me know what you think!

Next Chapter

Tagging: @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff​

[a-ratt]

Building Bridges

Day 1: Kindness

Marinette March 2019

Marinette tapped her knees impatiently as she sat on the floor of Master Fu’s massage parlor. Nearby, Master Fu, himself, was opening the phonograph hiding the Miraculous, placing the returned Bee Comb back inside. She’d only just arrived several minutes ago, and he’d given a relieved sigh when she held the briefly lost Miraculous up.

However, she didn’t watch as he set it back where it belonged. Instead, she stared off into the distance, her mind muddled and messy. Thoughts ran rampant at a thousand miles per hour, crossing and clashing and crashing as she tried making sense of the scene that’d played out in front of her.

“According to me, Chloé just clearly demonstrated that there’s nothing exceptional about her.”

How could anyone say that? About their own daughter, no less.

“Marinette.”

She blinked. “Huh?” She looked up and found Master Fu sitting in front of her.

“I said, thank you for returning the Bee Miraculous, Marinette.” He smiled and bowed, hands pressed together. “I knew I chose you for a reason.”

She blushed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Of course, Master Fu. I’m still really sorry about losing it in the first place.”

He shrugged. “We all make mistakes. Is there something the matter?”

“No, master….” She looked down and tapped her knees, but then looked back up. “Well, actually, yes. I need to be somewhere soon.”

“I see, well, you are free to leave.”

“Thank you, Master Fu.” She bowed briefly and stood up. Then, turning to Tikki, she asked, “Do you have enough energy for another transformation, Tikki?”

Her kwami nodded. “Mmhm. Just say the magic words.”

Marinette smiled and brushed the hair over her earrings away. “Spots on!”

-

She landed on the roof of Le Grand Paris and glanced around before de-transforming.

“Um, Marinette, this isn’t your house.”

“I know, Tikki,” she said, stepping over to the roof access door.

“But you need to pack to go to New York City with Mme. Bourgeois! She won’t be happy if you’re late!”

“I’m not going with her,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Tikki. “I’ve got something more important to do.”

She opened the door and walked down the steps until she reached the top floor of the hotel. After getting her bearings, she moved towards the only room in the hall. She could already hear Chloé sniffling on the other side.

She raised her fist to knock but faltered. There was a tug on her purse strap, and she looked down at Tikki.

“Marinette,” she whispered, “what are you doing?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but a crash cut her off. She gasped and stepped back, but then heard a furious cry, followed by a choked sob. “Why won’t you love me!”

Marinette faltered, but tightened her fist and swallowed down her fear. She looked at Tikki, who retreated into her purse, giving a small, reassuring smile as she went.

“Okay,” she breathed, “here goes nothing.”

She knocked. There was a sniffle, followed by another, then Chloé shouted, “Go away!”

She waited a moment before knocking again.

“I said go away!” Chloé screamed. “Leave me alone, Jean! Daddy! Whoever you are!”

There was a moment of silence before she went back to sobbing. Guilt and pity twisted her gut painfully as she stood there, listening to the girl who’d bullied her for years in the most vulnerable state she’d ever been.

Whatever hatred or rivalry they’d had, she didn’t care. This was about more than past judgements and retribution. Someone pettier might’ve chalked it all down to poetic justice, but Marinette put it at a tragic childhood that no one should’ve ever endured.

She checked the door and found it unlocked. Opening it, she stepped inside Chloé’s room and found her curled up on the ground, back facing her. A vase was shattered nearby, shards, dirt, and roses scattered across the carpet and marble tiles. Beneath her shoe was the sunglasses she always wore, some of the glass sticking to her soles.

Marinette took in the sight with a grimace, but then found her resolve and took a step forward.

A hand wiped over Chloé’s face as a sob wracked her body. Marinette reached out a hand and touched her shoulder gently. “Chloé-”

The blonde girl jumped and swung an arm. She instinctively jumped away, dodging it by an inch. Her arch-nemesis scowled at her, running mascara turning her tears black and making the red of her bloodshot eyes pop out. “What part of leave me alone don’t you understand… Oh, it’s you.” Venom dripped from her voice. “What do you want, Dupain-Cheng? You’ve already won.

Her heart dropped and she opened her mouth to speak but closed it. Chloé glared at her for a second longer before she turned back around to burn holes into space. The tension was thick between them and she didn’t know what to say without setting her off.

There was a buzzing nearby and Marinette looked over to find Chloé’s phone on the ground. She glanced at the blonde girl before stepping over and picking it up. The screen was cracked, but not distorted enough for her to mistake the image of André Bourgeois.

She offered the phone to her. “Um, your dad’s-”

Chloé slapped it out of her hand before she could finish. The phone sailed into the next room over, hitting the ground with a crack. She cringed and backed away but couldn’t help the pitying look that crossed her face. “Chloé.”

Chloé, in turn, bared her teeth in a snarl, but halfway through expressing her fury, she let it go and slumped her shoulders. A few tears hit the floor before she wiped her face and sniffled. “Just… go away. Go to New York, at least you’ll be gone too.”

She looked down at the daughter of the mayor who’d always seemed invincible on her pedestal. Pity coiled in her stomach and her heart bled. Swallowing down her hesitation, she balled her hands into fists and took a deep breath. “I’m not going to New York.”

She waited. A second passed. Then, Chloé lifted her head up.

A weak “What?” was her response, followed by a confounded face. Marinette crossed her arms and looked away, wearing a frown the entire time.

“I… I’m not going,” she repeated. “I can’t-... I can’t do that to you.”

Chloé furrowed her brow and tilted her head, utter bewilderment all over her features. She could see her mind trying to wrap itself around the concept of her moral choice, but just not getting it.

“What game are you playing?”

Marinette frowned. “I’m not playing any game. I just… I can’t….” She shook her head and gave an exasperated sigh. “She’s your mother, Chloé, I can’t just go with her. That should be you.”

She expected an outburst. A confirmation. Some kind of Chloé-trademarked, snide remark. But all she got were falling eyes and drooping shoulders.

She shifted uncomfortably in front of the unusually quiet bully. “Chloé… why do you even look up to her?”

The blonde girl didn’t give an answer. She sat silently and Marinette watched her.

“Because she’s exceptional….” She curled up, drawing her knees to her chest. “She’s everything I’m not and… and I….” Her face scrunched up, something between anger and misery crossing her features. “I wanted to be her… ever since I was a little girl.”

She stepped over tentatively before sitting down next to her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Daddy used to want me to grow up like him. He wanted me to sit in a dusty, old office and sign papers all day, but mother… she wanted me to be like her. She wanted me to be her legacy, to be everything that was perfect about her and more.”

“But you didn’t live up to her expectations.”

Chloé glared at her. “Who’s telling this story? Me or you?”

“Sorry… but, I still don’t get it,” she rubbed the back of her neck. “Why her? Why not… anything else?”

“Why? because she has it all,” she snapped, rising up to stand over her. “Fame. Fortune. The love and adoration of her fans.”

“But?”

“But what? She’s got everything, she’s perfect.”

Marinette frowned. “But you’re not.”

It was less of a claim and more a prodding, a soft suggesting that Chloé confirmed with a brief glare before she flicked her eyes away. “All I’ve ever wanted was to be her.”

“Well, you don’t have to be.”

“What! Of course, I do!” She put her hands on her hips. “Weren’t you listening! She has everything! She is everything!”

“But she’s not you.” She stood up and looked her in the eye. “And you’re not her.”

Chloé pursed her lips before she bowed her head. “How could I ever be anything else?”

She reached over to put a hand on her shoulder, but the blonde snapped up and grabbed her ponytail. “I’ve modeled my look after her when she was my age, ponytail and everything!” She picked at her jacket. “Even my entire wardrobe has the same color scheme! There’s nothing that’s not her!”

What hatred or sadness had plagued her before was replaced with desperation and fear. She was forced to grab her wrists before she started drawing blood with her nails.

“Hey, calm down! It’s alright!”

“Nothing is alright!” She struggled in her grasp, tears streaking her mascara further. “I’m nothing if I’m not her! I’m- I’m-”

“Chloé Bourgeois!” she shouted. “Your name is Chloé Bourgeois and you are exceptional!”

Chloé stared at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. She swallowed and let go of her wrists.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of you, especially your mother. No one can make you be something or someone you’re not.” She shrugged her shoulders and gestured over at the Ladybug themed carpet in the next room over. “Ladybug wasn’t always a superhero. She wasn’t always supposed to save the day. I wasn’t always going to be a fashion designer… I used to just want to play video games professionally.”

The blonde girl in front of her searched her face with lost eyes while she laughed awkwardly. “Look, the point is… you are exceptional, Chloé, no matter what anyone tells you. The only one who can tell you what you can or can’t be is yourself.”

They stood quietly for a few moments, studying each other. She wasn’t sure what Chloé was looking for, but she was searching for any hint that the blonde girl would be alright. She didn’t find it, at first, but slowly, the pain and anguish that’d stayed in her eyes waned away, leaving the blue a little brighter.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but she resisted the urge to break out into a grin. “I’m going to, um, leave now.” She pointed at the door and stepped around her. She stopped just past her and turned around, patting her on the shoulder. “You’re going to be alright, Chloé. If you ever need anybody to talk to… I’m always open.”

With that, she opened the door and walked out into the hall, daring one last glance into the room at her arch-nemesis.

-

“Nino?”

Nino raised his hand up front. “Here!”

Mlle. Bustier scribbled on her clipboard. “Rose?”

“Present!”

“Kim?”

Marinette glanced back at Kim, who was in the middle of a conversation with Max. She rolled her eyes and looked back at Mlle. Bustier, who was looking over her clipboard.

“Kim?”

The Vietnamese boy turned his attention down to the front of the classroom and flushed red. “Uh, here!”

Their homeroom teacher shook her head and laughed under her breath. Then, she frowned. “Has anyone seen Chloé?”

Everyone glanced over at her seat, their eyes lingering on the empty spot next to Sabrina. The redhead, herself, seemed crestfallen, almost depressed.

There was a nudge from her left and she glanced over at Alya.

“Bet she’s busy crying about mommy,” she teased.

She responded with a frown. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Adrien tensing up. Nino, beside him, looked over then back and up at them.

“Talking about Mlle. Unexceptional?”

“Guys.” She narrowed her eyes. “Come-”

The classroom door opened before she could finish and in came a tanned girl dressed in white. Her blonde hair tumbled down her head, freed from its usual ponytail and a new pair of sunglasses sat on her head. A simple, white designer purse sat at her side.

Marinette sat up and locked eyes with Chloé. There was fear in those blue orbs, of judgement and jokes, but she sent her a smile and an encouraging nod of her head.

Chloé swallowed and looked at Mlle. Bustier. “Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t decide on what to wear.”

Their teacher, who was usually on top of things, blinked and stared at the mayor’s daughter for a second longer before she regained her senses. “That’s… alright, Chloé. Just don’t let it happen again, okay?”

“Of course, Mlle. Bustier.” She nodded. “Thank you.”

With that, she strode to her seat, walking up the steps. While Sabrina stood up to let her in, she leaned over to Chloé and whispered, “I like your new look. It’s very… exceptional.”

Chloé almost grinned, but then glanced around her and reduced it to a small smile. “Of course, it is. It’s me.”

She sat down then but gave her a final look of gratitude before turning to pay attention. She would’ve done the same if Alya hadn’t nudged her again.

“Girl, what was that?” she whispered.

She shrugged. “Just me doing what I do best.”

[keeroo92]

True North Part 5

For @clevermentalitybeliever. You said, and I quote, “lots of spice” so fair warning! Also some tooth-rotting fluff and jokes between out two favorite folks. Thank you, truly for the commission! This project has been an absolute delight :D

Partially inspired by this song

Word count - 4,504

Word count (all parts) - 16,902

Part 1 --- Part 2 --- Part 3 --- Part 4

________________________

---Reader---

Christmas was less than a week away, and still you had nothing for V.

What gift could say “Hey, you gorgeous person! Thanks for helping me and letting me crash with you. I’m your boss and I’m head over heels for you, by the way!”

You sighed. There had to be something. He’d given you so much, you wanted to do the same for him. Somehow, a gift card seemed inadequate for the guy who beat your abusive brother with a baseball bat and threatened to kill him if he ever contacted you again.

Not to mention the fact that you lived with him, rent-free. You could probably sleep on your own now, if you tried, but having him in the bed next to you was too wonderful. Hearing his light snores, feeling the mattress move every time he rolled over, watching his eyelids flutter in a dream…

It was almost enough to make you believe you were more than friends.

Almost.

Fuck, this is brutal.

You wanted to know what he tasted like, what sounds he would make when he came undone. What positions he liked and whether he preferred it fast or slow. He probably had a few choice kinks; he seemed the type. How fun it would be to explore that with him.

But not if it cost you his friendship.

After the first week after the confrontation with Caleb, it felt like nothing had ever gone wrong. You cracked jokes back and forth, teased him until he blushed and started keeping count again. It was like the beginning all over, but better because you felt even closer than before. It was maddening.

You sighed and tagged the last vase. Appraisals were caught up, the sales floor was packed and there was nothing else you could do to prepare for the onslaught of last-minute shoppers. You grabbed your purse and headed to the front to join V.

To your surprise, he was with a customer. The store was technically closed, but from the way he chatted with the white-haired stranger, they might know each other. When the two shared a quick hug, you froze in shock.

Is he gay?

Holy shit, that would explain everything! Only a gay guy could sleep next to a woman for weeks and not even get morning wood!

You hid behind a shelf of clocks, embarrassment flooding your cheeks with blood as the pieces fell into place. He never brought women home, didn’t mention any past relationships. True, it was a stereotype, but his hair was perfect, and he loved cooking. And now this man, this stranger giving him a hug?

“Y/N, can we talk for a moment?”

He turned the corner and you schooled your features into a neutral smile. No reason to embarrass him about it. You really should just be grateful you figured it out before making an ass of yourself.

“Yep! What’s up?”

He followed you into the office, a determined look on his face. Something weird was going on, that much was obvious. What could it be? You closed the door and took your usual seat, folding your hands and waiting for him to begin.

He didn’t sit. The look in his eyes was one you’d never seen before as he stepped closer, until he stood mere inches away. He licked his lips and spoke.

“I quit.”

And then he kissed you.

Wait, what?

His lips were so soft and timid you thought you imagined them. The kiss was so brief you didn’t even get to learn what he tasted like. It was torturous; you wanted more. So much more.

But he’s gay?! What the hell?

“What the fuck?” you cried.

You looked up into his eyes to see the hurt blooming in their green depths. His arms went to his back and he started untying his apron with a resigned frown. Your confusion knew no bounds as he folded it and placed it on your desk without a word.

Your mind was nothing but static as he turned and walked out the door. Did that really just happen? You brought your fingertips to your lips. If he had kissed you, shouldn’t you be able to tell? But it was so light, not leaving a trace behind to prove it even happened.

Your eyes flew to the carefully folded apron on your desk. V’s nametag was displayed on the panel facing up, with pride and respect. What reason could he have to quit? He loved this job, didn’t he? You stared at the two converging lines that formed his name for what felt like an age, puzzling on the man they represented. His mannerisms, his behavior and character. His humor and integrity. His… everything.

He just quit. I may never see him again.

Just to think the words sent a blade into your heart. Agony. None of the last ten minutes made a lick of sense but it didn’t matter. It boiled down to one, simple fact.

The fear of missing the chance to be with him, truly with him, was far stronger than the fear of losing him entirely. You’d rather push him away with the truth than risk living with the pain of unfulfilled hopes. You stood on shaky legs and took the first step toward the door. By the third step, you were sprinting.

I hope I’m not too late! Damn these short legs!

The twisting path through the shop had never felt so sinister. Shelves that normally made you smile now made you wince as you were forced to weave through them, wasting precious seconds navigating the maze. If he ran when he left, you’d never catch him. Your only hope was that he walked slow, just this once.

Please, please, please!

The globe marked the turn to face the door and you gasped as you saw out the glass storefront. He was already outside, his long strides devouring the distance to his car. You could barely breathe, holding a stitch in your side as you raced to the entrance and screamed his name at top volume, praying he’d hear you through the glass.

He didn’t.

No, no, no, no!

The closest item was an extremely pricy sculpture from last century. You didn’t care, and you exploded through the door with it raised high. His car was facing away, gathering speed.

Don’t you fucking miss, Y/N!

You threw the sculpture with everything you had, your entire body twisting in the follow through and watching with bated breath. It sailed through the air and shattered against his windshield; a perfect throw.

Red brake lights lit up and the tires squeaked against the asphalt as he slammed the pedal. You kept running, reaching the back of his car just as he opened the door. The windshield had spiderweb patterns running through it and you cringed.

Oops…

You reached the barely opened door and shouted the only words you could think of.

“You can’t quit!”

You reached out and pulled him to your level by the collar of his shirt, staring him right in his bewildered eyes. The racing pace of his heart set you on fire as you felt it through the thin fabric.

“You’re fired.”

And you kissed him, hard.

Fuck, it was glorious.

Even though you couldn’t fucking breathe.

You retreated with a gasp, your panting almost as quick as your racing heart. Neither of you blinked as you slowly steadied your breathing. A glimmer of humor bloomed in his disgustingly beautiful eyes and he nodded his head at the ruined windshield.

“Was that really necessary? You could’ve sent a text.”

Oh. That would’ve been smart.

Blood rushed to your cheeks and you shifted your weight awkwardly as a sly grin spread over his features. “Thirty-two to twenty-nine, in my favor,” he observed, turning off the car.

There was no stopping the eruption of laughter and you didn’t bother trying. You definitely didn’t need to do any cardio this week. Tears formed and you held your stomach, bent over to ease some of the tension.

V’s long arms reached you easily and tugged you into his lap. If he weren’t so damn tall, you never would’ve fit between his chest and the steering wheel. To your credit, you only honked the horn once while turning to face him, straddling his lap. He leaned forward and kissed you again.

You shuddered with the knowledge that the only thing separating your heat from his was cloth and scooted closer to angle yourself, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. His every motion fanned the flames licking at your belly. In unison, both sets of lips opened and tongues met at long last in a flash of lightning.

He smelled like juniper and woodsmoke, like a forested safe haven. It was already familiar from sharing the bed but never had it enveloped you so thoroughly. He tasted spicy and herbal, some mixture you couldn’t identify even if you cared enough to try. All you knew was you loved it.

The first stirrings of his cock beneath you made you moan, shivers running up your spine. You parted to rest your forehead against his, trailing your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and hummed his contentment, and for a moment all was still.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he asked after a beat.

“I could say the same!”

He chuckled ruefully. “Lying next to you all night has been torture, are you saying we could’ve been doing this instead?”

With a wicked grin, you thrusted your hips forward to rub against his length. “We could’ve been doing more than kissing.”

He hummed and rolled his hips forward, running his length against your core. “I suppose the only question, boss, is if you’d like to go home first or shall we ruin your desk?”

Oh, fuck… just as I was catching my breath.

You leaned forward to plant kisses along the dark lines of his tattoos, trailing up to his jaw. “Why not both?”

When your lips reached the hollow of his neck he gasped, twitching under you. “Obviously. But which one first?”

You chuckled and planted another kiss in the exact same spot, gratified with his hitched panting and the responsive jerk of his hips. “I don’t think we’d make it home at this rate.”

He smirked and inclined his head, acknowledging your point. His arms cradled you against his chest and he carefully rose, using his foot to slam the car door shut behind him. You locked your legs around his waist and he grunted, hands taking a firm hold of your ass for support. He barely paused at the door and navigated through the winding path to your office in under a minute.

You disentangled yourself to pass through the doorway, seizing the opportunity to focus before all rational thought abandoned you.

“For the record, I’m on the pill.”

“Noted,” he replied with a smirk, then leaned down to kiss you again.

His lean arms wrapped around you, enveloping you in his delightful aroma as he picked you up and set you on your desk, knocking an assortment of office supplies to the floor. The angle was much better, and your neck sang its praises of his thoughtfulness as you opened your lips for another taste.

You moaned as he pressed against your knees. Without thinking, you parted your legs and scooted forward to feel his arousal, reveling in the proof that he was enjoying this just as much as you were. He pulled back and you sucked at his bottom lip before letting him go. The groan he released was downright sinful and you shuddered, already aching for more.

His fingertips trailed sparks across your spine, and even as he lifted the hem of your blouse you were unbuttoning his work shirt.  The silky fabric of your top caressed your arms as he pulled it away, his own shirt barely a second behind. The whorls of the ink decorating his slim chest made your mouth water and you pulled him closer to trace the lines with your tongue, nipping across his collarbone.

Your hands trembled as they drifted lower, caressing the smooth skin just over his belt as you searched for the buckle. His hand stopped yours and you stared at the mess of digits in confusion. Did he want to do it himself?

“Are you sure you want this?” his soft voice rumbled. His hesitation startled you – just seconds ago you felt how hard he was. Was he trying to be dirty? You met his gaze and caught your breath.

The vulnerability in his eyes showed the true question he was asking.

Are you sure you want me?

Oh, V…

You brought his hands to rest over your heart and smiled, letting him feel the steady thump before you spoke. He really was dense sometimes.

“Why do you think I threw a seven-hundred-dollar sculpture at your car?”

You paused to gather the right arrangement of words. A repeat of your hasty exchange in the parking lot was exactly what he didn’t need right now. You bent your head to kiss his knuckles as he shrugged.

“Because I couldn’t stand to watch you walk away, and because that damn thing was more replaceable than you are.”

You lowered his hands and waited for him to understand; you knew he would. It was only a matter of how long it took. His eyes widened and his brows rose in startled comprehension. There it was.

“The Jenobi!? But that was one of a kind!”

“Exactly.”

He smiled and a light blush stained his cheeks. Warmth flooded your chest and a matching grin split your features. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he gave up and lurched forward to kiss you, his hands releasing yours to tug at his belt. The rustle of fabric announced his success and you trailed your palms down his back, sliding forward to feel his length. He whimpered as your slim fingers stroked his shaft, a thumb crossing over his tip to spread the bead of wetness around.

You pulled back to glance at it and grinned. “Wow, you make my hands look really small.”

He snorted. “Your hands are really small.”

You gave him one quick pump and cleared your throat. “That’s fun-sized, thank you very much!”

His answering groan was positively lewd and you grinned at how vocal he was. You could hardly wait to discover his other preferences.

“My mistake,” V said, his hands shifting to work at your pants. It took teamwork to get you free – he lifted your hips and you shoved the cotton away to join the pile on the floor. He stepped back and stared at you, his lidded gaze heavy on your exposed skin. You broke out in nervous goosebumps and tried to resist the urge to cross your arms.

“What?” you asked after the silence became too much to bear. His eyes flicked back to yours and he smirked.

“I don’t have words to describe your beauty.”

You shuffled your feet where they hung suspended over the floor. Trust you to not only fall for the guy with the cheesiest lines imaginable, but also find the one who meant every word. You stretched your arms out to him, beckoning him closer again. He didn’t complain.

He pulled you right to the edge of the desk and rested his cock against your folds, his eyes locked with yours. You took him in your hands and stroked, spreading around every bit of fluid seeping from him. His muttered curse made you clench, aching with need and you brought him to your core. As the first inch sank in, his deep groan mixed with your gasp of pleasure.

He slid further with ease, your arousal giving him all the lubrication he could possibly need. Ice and flames ricocheted across your every nerve, a sensory overload so intense you couldn’t breathe. He moved so slowly it made you want to scream, even knowing how he’d split you in half otherwise. You just wanted more.

“V, please…” you choked out. He smirked and quickened his pace, crawling past the ring of muscles you clenched so tightly to feel his every ridge.

A wave swept across you as his head finally broke through, your walls stretching oh so deliciously to accommodate him. He leaned closer and pressed kisses across your shoulder, his hair tickling your collarbone. You arched to give him more room and threaded your fingers in his obsidian locks. Every exhalation of his staccato breath sent shivers up your spine.

“You are so damn tight,” he murmured.

It was all you could do to mewl in response as he finally bottomed out, his hips flush with you at last. You clung to him as he started pulling back, eyes rolling back into your skull at the plethora of sensations he was supplying.

And he’s barely moving!

He quickened his movements with the next thrust and you clawed at his back. Half of you wished he’d just pound you already; the other half hoped he’d never move again and just live inside you. Such perfect torture, and you were already addicted.

You tugged at his hair, dragging his mouth to meet yours. Time had no meaning as you swam in his embrace, his slow buildup bringing you to the brink of bliss. You were begging, pleading him to speed up but he only smirked and kissed you again. It wasn’t until he moaned in your ear that you came unglued for the first time. He held your trembling body close and murmured praise as you shuddered your release, his hips still not accelerating.

Never had you peaked from such slow strokes, and the knowledge of what he could do to you without resorting to brute force made you dizzy.  How had you gotten so lucky?

It didn’t matter. He was here, and he was yours, and everything was perfect.

Except for one, tiny detail; heat.

He braced one hand on the desk and rolled into you, faster than ever. Obscene slapping noises accompanied his every move. Sweat beaded across his forehead and over your shoulders, the stifling lack of ventilation overpowered by the gasps and sighs rending the air. You stretched out an arm to flick on the fan but couldn’t reach and had to direct one of his patterned hands to do it for you.

“We need to get a bigger fan,” he commented with a wry smirk. You nodded your agreement and leaned back into the blessed breeze.

“We could go home, too,” you added as he shifted his weight.

He flexed inside you. “But it’s such a long drive…”

“I’ll keep you entertained.”

You’d never seen a man get dressed so fast.

He stalked you through the shelves, somehow only catching up to you in time to hold open the door despite his lengthy stride. You gave him a playful swat on the ass as he locked it behind you, and he repaid you in kind. You tossed him the keys to your car and climbed into the passenger seat, grateful for the lack of a center console. He barely got the car started before you were pawing at his zipper and drawing his still-wet cock out to play.

“Try to avoid any bumps…” you said and leaned over to trail kisses down his length.

His whispered curse electrified you and you shifted your weight to ease the ache between your thighs. He had both hands on the wheel in a white-knuckled grip as you pressed your tongue against the throbbing vein running down his shaft. You tasted yourself mixed with him and hummed, the naughtiness of it an absolute delight.

He groaned and pulled onto the main road. It was close to dinner time and traffic was light, not to mention the tint of the windows would keep your ministrations private. Still, the idea of another driver peeking through the glass to see you bobbing on V’s cock sent shudders through your core.

You dipped a hand under his clothing to caress his balls, squeezing ever so gently as you took him in your mouth. With a swirl of your tongue you had him panting. You heard the click of the blinker and braced your weight as he took the first turn, not missing a beat and skillfully maintaining the pressure around him.

“You’re quite good at that,” he murmured. You pulled him deeper in your mouth so his head rested against the back of your throat and hummed, knowing he’d feel the vibrations. He cursed and let go of the wheel.

One of his hands cupped your cheek, the other resuming his tight grip on the steering. His thumb caressed your jaw and you hollowed your cheeks in reply, stroking him with tongue and lips alike. Another click; the second and final turn. You braced again as his hand held you steady, fingers tangling in your hair. Once the car straightened, he shifted his hips and guided your head with the softest of nudges.

You teased at his slit as he pulled into the driveway, savoring the more concentrated salty flavor before pulling away with a sinful pop. You smirked at the look on his face and put the car in park for him as he turned the key, other hand gathering the fabric of his pants to cover himself before he opened the car door.

He beat you to the house, of course, holding the door open for you like a proper gentleman. The instant it was closed he pounced, pinning you to the closest wall and claiming your mouth in a scorching kiss. His pants dropped to the floor as both hands worked at your top. It was mere heartbeats before you both stood unclothed. He wrapped his long fingers around your thighs and lifted, taking your light weight upon himself to carry you to bed.

The chilled sheets sent goosebumps across your flesh as he lied you down. You weren’t cold for long – he covered you with his own body and pressed his lips to yours. Flames of need heated you from the inside out. You pulled him closer, forcing his back to arch in order to maintain the kiss and bring his hips to yours.

“Don’t go slow this time,” you said, breaking away.

He grinned and slammed himself in, making you cry out in shock and pleasure. There was barely a beat to adjust to the feeling of fullness before he deprived you of it and you whined in complaint. He didn’t let up, bracing his forearms on either side of you and peppering kisses wherever he could reach between pants.

The rhythmic impacts had you reeling, clinging and clawing at him in bursts. Your senses were saturated with him; every touch, every taste and smell and sight and sound revolved around your best friend in a cacophony of perfection. It was all you could do to keep inflating your lungs, each inhale stolen away by a fresh moan. Your peak was so close, so damn close and you brought a hand to your folds.

He bowed his head at the crux of your neck and shoulder, grunting with every stroke. You knew he was close too by the way he tightened inside you. You quickened your fingers, sending bolts of electricity racing through you.

“I’m close,” he growled in your ear.

You clenched around him and locked your legs in place, keeping him captive. “Don’t you dare pull out!”

“You want me to—”

“Yes, let me feel you cum!”

Your fingers found the perfect spot and rubbed a frantic pace as he let out the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life, his hips stuttering and jerking erratically as he pulsated his pleasure inside you. You were less than a second behind, arching into him and screaming his name. It was a whole new level of ecstasy to cum together, a different plane of existence only the two of you occupied for those brief seconds.

Your skin was like the surface of a pond, ripples of orgasmic bliss disturbing the surface. The room flashed black and white as you rode out the last few waves, every muscle twitching into relaxation. V hovered over you, refusing to vacate his position. He brushed damp strands of hair from your forehead, smirking at the echoing moans you still emitted.

You opened your eyes slowly, meeting his euphoric expression with one of your own.

I’ve never seen him this happy.

You giggled and wiped the sweat from his brow. His low chuckle joined a beat later. You pretended to be upset, flexing the muscles still wrapped around his cock to emphasize your words.

“What’s so funny?”

He winced and twitched his hips away, pulling out with an obscene sound. His lips met yours for a tender peck and he rolled to the side with a content sigh.

“You laughed first.”

Your thighs ached at the loss; you’d be sore in the morning, but it was so worth the pain. The rustling of blankets accompanied your motion as you rolled over to cuddle against him, draping an arm and leg across his body.

“Far enough. I was thinking that I’d never seen you this happy,” you replied.

He wrapped himself around you and hummed. “That’s because this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Well, he must have enjoyed himself them. A thought interrupted your glow of feminine pride and your smile faltered. “What about work?”

“If I have you to come home to, it doesn’t matter where I work.”

He traced an idle path on your skin as you furrowed your brow in thought. What if he didn’t have to? He had the knowledge and the interest; all it would take was a few bits of tedious paperwork. Easy. You could have it done by next week, official by the end of the month.

“What if you didn’t have to?”

He raised an eyebrow. “That sounds terribly improper.”

You grinned. “Not if I make you a co-owner of the shop.”

He bolted upright and erupted in laughter. You threw a pillow at his head, missing entirely. He laughed harder and you blushed.

“Well, at least I didn’t miss when it mattered!”

The mattress creaked as he fell back, struggling to stifle his amusement. The pillow remained where it had landed in the corner and you stared at him, waiting for an answer.

“I stand corrected. This is the happiest I’ve ever been.” He turned his head and met your eyes, his expression utterly serious. “I love you.”

Holy shit…

You snuggled into his side, nuzzling his lined chest with a wobbly smile. The moment was so damn perfect you felt like your heart would burst. What could possibly be better than the last few hours?

Tomorrow.

And the day after. And all the days to come.

“I love you too.”

[romioneflufffest]

Simple Pleasures

Author: @idearlylovealaugh

Prompt: Diagon Alley, date night

Description: Where better to celebrate a special occasion than the fanciest restaurant in town?

Rating: T

The atmosphere at Le Cochon Peint justified its reputation as the most fashionable and hard-to-come-by reservation in Diagon Alley. On a Saturday night in June almost every table was occupied by elegantly dressed witches and wizards, and a number of those heads turned as a young, attractive couple was shown to a table in nearly the exact center of the restaurant. The man, tall and strikingly ginger, pushed in the chair of his petite, bushy-haired companion in an unobtrusive display of chivalry before taking his seat amid the buzz of interested chatter from diners seated nearby.

“Quite the place,” Ron remarked, glancing around as the napkin in front of him sailed elegantly into the air, unfolded itself from it’s complicated swan design and drifted neatly onto his lap.

“It’s lovely,” Hermione agreed, smiling at him warmly. “I’m so glad we finally made it here. I’ve been hearing about it for months!”

“Seems like the right kind of place for an anniversary dinner,” he reasoned. “These posh drinks are alright, really,” he added thoughtfully, swirling around a ruby-coloured concoction he had ordered at the swanky bar in the restaurant’s lobby.

“That bartender thought you were quite alright, too, I think,” Hermione replied slyly.

“She was just being friendly,” Ron scoffed, though his ears pinked ever-so-slightly. “And she got a lot friendlier after she heard me give my name to the bloke at the front,” he added skeptically.

“The maître d’,” Hermione supplied automatically.

Ron smiled knowingly at her as he shook his head. “Right.”

“Besides, I doubt she needed to hear your name to know who you are,” she conjectured.

“The red hair I’ll grant you, but these robes are brand-new!” he joked. His eyes glowed with warmth as he watched her laugh. “Have I told you how bloody gorgeous you look tonight?”

She flushed, feeling slightly absurd to be so pleased. “Yes, but you also told me that last week after I went twelve rounds with Crookshanks and the bath, so I’m not sure I trust your judgement.”

“Hmmmm, I stand by that statement,” he mused, regarding her appraisingly.

“You’re ridiculous - I was drenched!” Hermione cried in amusement, remembering the soaked and disheveled state she had been in.

“Exactly,” he replied, mischief in his eyes. “I….”  

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, what a delight!”

A booming voice cut him off as a florid man in ostentatious golden robes planted himself beside their table. Hermione glanced around self-consciously as he heartily shook Ron’s hand and feigned an elaborate kiss on her own. Every head in the restaurant seemed to have swiveled in their direction and was watching the scene with interest. “I have the honor to be the proprietor of Le Cochon Peint and please allow me to say that we are so, so gratified to have you dine with us this evening, and we hope that everything is to your express liking. If either of you have a particular appetite tonight, please permit me to communicate it to the chef. He will be more than happy to cater to your every whim.”

Hermione, still caught off guard, demurred. “Oh no, I’m sure the regular menu is…”

“We want to make sure we have the pleasure of your patronage again. Perhaps we could have a quick snap for our Wall of Fame?”

A slender, nimble man appeared to materialize out of thin air by his elbow and before they were fully aware of what was happening, they were enveloped in a explosive puff of purple smoke, the cameraman deftly slipping away with what was assuredly a picture of a supremely dumbstruck Ron and Hermione.

“Fantastic,” the manager beamed. “And when you return, perhaps you would be inclined to bring a friend? A very close and well-known friend?” he finished with an insinuating smile. And with one more effusive “Fantastic!” he was gone in a swirl of shimmering fabric.

Ron and Hermione could only gape at each other for a moment, before Ron set his jaw angrily.

“That was …”

“Ridiculous,” she supplied, shielding her burning face with the leather-bound menu.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Ron grumbled under his breath, still glaring in the direction the manager had retreated.

“Good thing Harry isn’t with us, can you imagine what that man would’ve done?” she giggled.

“Yeah, probably would’ve dropped on all fours and started licking his boots,” Ron snorted.

“He was fairly horrid,” Hermione allowed, “but the food is supposed to be delicious.” She felt the heat leaving her cheeks as she put the encounter behind them. “Let’s just ignore it and enjoy ourselves. We haven’t been out in ages!”

Ron’s expression was still rather sour, but it lifted as a smart and blessedly discreet server came by to take their order.  Moments later a small, round tray zoomed neatly to their table, hovering in midair as Ron took the two cocktails it was bearing and placed them on the table. They sipped their drinks as the tray soared back to the bar, banking a wide turn around a woman carrying a flaming entrée. Hermione was about to ask Ron what he thought he’d order when she noticed him looking down at something on the table with a frown on his face.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, concerned.

Ron looked up at her with wide eyes. “Switch me places,” he whispered urgently, glancing quickly over her shoulder. She turned to see what he had been looking at and he stood, pushing out his chair with a loud scrape.

She rose almost automatically, and he quickly ushered her around to the other side of the table, pushing in what was previously his chair as she sat.

“What was that about?” she asked, bemused, as he took her seat across from him.

“The bartender put her floo address on my napkin,” he muttered.

Hermione laughed. “I told you she fancied you!” she exclaimed. She leant to the side and was just able to catch a glimpse of the sleek blonde mixing drinks at the bar, ignoring Ron’s muted squawking not to look. “I’m beginning to think you have a special fondness for barkeeps,” she teased as she straightened up. “First Madame Rosmerta, and now this…”

“Very funny.” He was quiet for a moment, before looking at her intently. “Has it really been so long since I’ve taken you out?”

“ Oh Ron, I wasn’t complaining!” she reassured him. “Honestly, we’ve both been so busy.”

“Still…”

“It was really thoughtful of you to make the reservation, you know,” she put in, smiling to herself as he scoffed. He had always been so terrible at accepting compliments, a trait she found adorable and exasperating in equal measure. “And even more so because you made sure that they paid their kitchen elves fair wages.”

He snorted even as he deflected her praise. “Well, you know people still try to get out of it if they can.”

“It’s outrageous that we haven’t been able to pass that statute yet,” she frowned earnestly. “Former house elves have desirable, marketable skills, but unless we… I’m sorry,” she caught herself in exasperation. “I don’t want to talk about work all night,” she added, sliding her hand across the table toward him.

Ron grinned as he covered her small hand and with his own. “No mind. It doesn’t bother me, y’know.” He laughed as she raised a skeptical eyebrow, lacing their fingers together. “I always like it when you get all worked up.”

“Hmm, so that’s why you’re always trying to drive me mad.”

“Hermione,” he said in a deeply wounded tone. “Just trying?”

Her laughing retort was drowned out by a piercing, reedy voice accosting her from across the room.

“Ms. Granger-Weasley! Ms. Granger-Weasley! Oh, how lucky to run into you here!”

The startled look Hermione exchanged with Ron confirmed that the balding, bespectacled man bearing down on them was just as unknown to him.

“I’m sorry, Mr…. er…”

“Blunderman, Walter Blunderman,” he supplied. Hermione watched in disbelief as the man spotted a vacant chair at a neighboring table and drew it up between them. “It really is too lucky to have met you here, because I have this fantastic - well, revolutionary, really - idea, and what’s astonishing, truly astonishing, is how few people in the Ministry have been receptive to it.”

Hermione cringed internally as he continued to expound upon his pet project, completely oblivious to his audience’s mounting vexation. The man seemed capable of sustaining an astonishing flow of speech as she waited in vain for him to take a breath.

“…and with your name attached to it, it could hardly fail to succeed, wouldn’t you agree?” the man finally finished, looking between the two of them.  

Sensing that Ron’s response was going to be decidedly south of proper, Hermione cut in quickly. “Mr. Blunderman, I appreciate your commitment to the concept, but my husband and I are here as private citizens and… oh look, our first course is here!” Hermione exclaimed, silently thanking the kitchen staff for their unknowingly impeccable timing. “I’m sure you’d be happy to continue this conversation on Monday during office hours, when I can give it the attention it so clearly deserves,” she added sweetly, leaving very little room for disagreement.

After a regrettable assurance to set up the first available appointment and a glance at Ron’s stony face, Mr. Blunderman beat a hasty retreat. With the table to themselves once more, Hermione exhaled.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Why are you sorry? It’s him as should be apologizing,” Ron snorted. “Bloody nerve.” He looked down at their plates and sighed. “Bad timing, but I have to nip to the loo really quick, ok?”

“Of course!”

“You don’t have to wait for me to start,” he added as he slid out of his chair and set off for the restroom.

Despite Ron’s urging, she didn’t feel as if it’d be right to start without him, so she contented herself with studying the plates that had be set in front of them. The food was elegantly and artfully arranged (not that there was very much  of it, but still). Tasteful string music played low in the background, but now that she was alone she couldn’t help hearing her and Ron’s names repeated often in the conversations floating around her. She was uncomfortably aware of eyes on her as she took a sip of her drink and then folded her hands in her lap. It didn’t seem safe to look anywhere, as every face she glanced at seemed to be looking directly at her.

She was wishing that they had been placed at a more secluded table (although she had a strong suspicion that they were intentionally not) when it occurred to her that Ron was taking much longer in the men’s room than she could ever remember. Hoping he wasn’t feeling unwell, she turned slightly to look in the direction of the restrooms and was startled to see Ron emerge from the corridor, ears blazing red and a mortified expression on his face.

“Ron, what…!”

Ron seemed to struggle for words as he retook his seat. “Three women - ambushed me outside of the men’s!” he whispered agitatedly, looking around. “They wanted my autograph, and when I told them - nicely, y’know - that I was just out for a quiet night and turned to leave, one reached around and grabbed my… my…” He widened his eyes and jerked his head toward his lap expressively.

Hermione’s burgeoning amusement was immediately supplanted by a surge of white-hot fury. “Which woman?” she hissed, looking around. “Point her out!”

“I don’t see her! And I don’t bloody want to,” he added emphatically. He raked a hand through his hair, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You know what? Let’s get out of here.”

“And go home?” she asked as she rose, somewhat crestfallen. Though the restaurant had shaped up to be a bit of a disaster - and as much as she loved spending time with Ron in their flat - she had been looking forward to their night out together and was loathe for it to end so quickly.

“No, not home,” he replied, digging into his pocket and dishing a pile of shining coins onto the crisp linen. “That should more than cover it,” he said. “C’mon.”

She took his hand, grabbing her wrap from the back of her chair before letting him lead her back through the artful lighting and tasteful music and into the warm June night. _____________________________________________

“This is amazing,” Hermione raved. “This is honestly the best chippy I’ve ever had.”

Ron hummed his agreement, grunting with pleasure as he crunched into another gorgeous piece of fried fish. He had draped his robes over the back of the bench and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to the elbow. Hermione passed him a paper napkin and he grinned a thank-you as he took it with oil-slick fingers. She gazed out at the river as she bit into another steaming hot chip, enjoying the light breeze and twinkling lights of the city.

“How did you ever know about this place?” she asked idly.

“Your dad, actually.”

Her eyes snapped to him in surprise, but he was rooting around in the newspaper for another chip. “My dad? But I’m quite sure I’ve never been here. When did you ever come here with my father?”

Ron took his time swallowing before he replied. “Day we got married. So, three years ago exactly.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope,” he answered with a smack of his lips. Realizing that she wasn’t going to be satisfied without the full story, he continued. “It was sometime that morning - blokes don’t take that long to get ready, you know? So there was rather a lot of time just sitting around and thinking.” “Not always the best situation for you,” she teased affectionately.

“Alright, alright,” he laughed. “But… yeah, actually. And people were coming in and out - my brothers, and Harry and my dad, but there was one moment where they must’ve been out helping with stuff, and your dad came in. And he took one look at me and I think he could tell that I was in a rough way with nerves.”

“What?! You said you never were!”

“I said I wasn’t nervous about marrying you,” he clarified. “I knew I wanted to marry you for yonks. But I was nervous as hell about you marrying me.”

She peered up at him through narrowed eyes. “That’s very sneaky,” she commented.

“Well either way, I’m telling you now,” he replied mildly. “I was really bloody nervous about messing up the vows, or the rings… or of being a rubbishy husband generally,” he continued seriously. “You know, I always want you to have the best, and there were just a lot of ways I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to give that to you.”

“Ron…”

“Anyway, your dad saw me looking like I was about to Keep for my first Gryffindor match and he took me here. Said there was nothing to settle a bloke’s stomach like greasy fish and chips, and that this was the best place in London to do it. I reckon he was right on both counts. And we talked a bit, about life and marriage and stuff like that.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never told me!” Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head in wonder. The mental image of Ron and her father sat on this same bench, having a heartfelt conversation in their formalwear, was making her feel decidedly emotional.

“Well, it was a bit personal,” he said good-humouredly. He paused. “But it was the moment I really felt like I’d be a part of your family. I mean, your dad asked me to apparate us to London, and you know they don’t like traveling that way. It took some trust. I just felt better, after that.” He looked down at her intently. “And then when I saw you coming down the aisle, I wasn’t worried about being a good husband, because I knew I’d do anything on earth to make you happy.”

There was no way she could resist kissing him at that point, and all the fishy grease in the world wasn’t going to stop her. Her fingers twisted into the front of his button-up as she pulled him closer, savoring the warmth of his lips and the feeling of his large hand cradling the back of her head. She pressed her forehead to his for a moment as they broke apart, thanking the universe that she had this man to share her life with.

The night was warm and pleasant, but she snuggled into his side all the same.

“I think we should come here for every anniversary,” she sighed contentedly.

Ron wrapped his arm more tightly around her, resting his chin on her curls. “Well, I was going to take you to Paris next year, but if you insist…”

She laughed for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. There was no one that could make her feel as free and happy as Ron, in any situation - no matter how ridiculous. Free and happy and safe and loved. It was amazing, when she really stopped to think about it, and it deserved to be celebrated every chance they got.

“You know, it’s almost a shame that we decided not to exchange gifts,” she remarked, casually stroking her hand up and down his toned forearm.

“Why’s that?”

“Because the traditional gift for a third anniversary is leather.”

Against her will, the corners of her mouth pulled up of their own accord as she sensed his eyes boring into her. She finally gave in and looked up at him, seeing his mischievous grin mirror her own.

“I think we can work something out.”

[kingteeshops]

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

I can relate in an Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way tshirt. I was never one of those people who was desperate to become a grandparent, it never crossed my mind except as something that might happen in the far distant future. The future arrived way sooner than any of us anticipated and it turned out that I love being a grandmother. It is a completely different relationship to the one I had with my children. I am much more relaxed, I have more patience and I find my granddaughter to be a constant source of amusement and entertainment. She and her mom live with us so I see her every day. However, the idea of actually being called a granny by anyone other than my granddaughter bothered me some. Every time someone else said Granny to me I would cringe. Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt, hoodie, sweater and v-neck t-shirt

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Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way sweatshirt Offical Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt Then one day I realized how silly I was being and Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt. I had a little chat with myself that went something along these lines. You are a grandmother so suck it up buttercup. The only reason it bothers you is because of the ridiculous notion perpetrated by society/the media/advertising that there is something wrong with being over a certain age. Perhaps your mother is really struggling with the fact that she is no longer young and being called grandma would just be proof of her advancing age. You and I know that the ship has already sailed but maybe she is still in denial. She might still come around but then again, she might not. Not everybody takes to grandparenting well. Read the full article

[storetshirtonline-blog]

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

I can relate in an Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way tshirt. I was never one of those people who was desperate to become a grandparent, it never crossed my mind except as something that might happen in the far distant future. The future arrived way sooner than any of us anticipated and it turned out that I love being a grandmother. It is a completely different relationship to the one I had with my children. I am much more relaxed, I have more patience and I find my granddaughter to be a constant source of amusement and entertainment. She and her mom live with us so I see her every day. However, the idea of actually being called a granny by anyone other than my granddaughter bothered me some. Every time someone else said Granny to me I would cringe. Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt, hoodie, sweater and v-neck t-shirt

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Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way sweatshirt Offical Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt Then one day I realized how silly I was being and Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt. I had a little chat with myself that went something along these lines. You are a grandmother so suck it up buttercup. The only reason it bothers you is because of the ridiculous notion perpetrated by society/the media/advertising that there is something wrong with being over a certain age. Perhaps your mother is really struggling with the fact that she is no longer young and being called grandma would just be proof of her advancing age. You and I know that the ship has already sailed but maybe she is still in denial. She might still come around but then again, she might not. Not everybody takes to grandparenting well. Read the full article

[lovediva013]

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

I can relate in an Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt. I was never one of those people who was desperate to become a grandparent, it never crossed my mind except as something that might happen in the far distant future. The future arrived way sooner than any of us anticipated and it turned out that I love being a grandmother. It is a completely different relationship to the one I had with my children. I am much more relaxed, I have more patience and I find my granddaughter to be a constant source of amusement and entertainment. She and her mom live with us so I see her every day. However, the idea of actually being called a granny by anyone other than my granddaughter bothered me some. Every time someone else said Granny to me I would cringe. Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt, hoodie, sweater and v-neck t-shirt

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way Hoodie

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Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way Ladies Vneck

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way Sweatshirt Offical Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt Then one day I realized how silly I was being and Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt. I had a little chat with myself that went something along these lines. You are a grandmother so suck it up buttercup. The only reason it bothers you is because of the ridiculous notion perpetrated by society/the media/advertising that there is something wrong with being over a certain age. Perhaps your mother is really struggling with the fact that she is no longer young and being called grandma would just be proof of her advancing age. You and I know that the ship has already sailed but maybe she is still in denial. She might still come around but then again, she might not. Not everybody takes to grandparenting well. Read the full article

[tshirtonline79-blog]

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

I can relate in an Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt. I was never one of those people who was desperate to become a grandparent, it never crossed my mind except as something that might happen in the far distant future. The future arrived way sooner than any of us anticipated and it turned out that I love being a grandmother. It is a completely different relationship to the one I had with my children. I am much more relaxed, I have more patience and I find my granddaughter to be a constant source of amusement and entertainment. She and her mom live with us so I see her every day. However, the idea of actually being called a granny by anyone other than my granddaughter bothered me some. Every time someone else said Granny to me I would cringe. Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt, hoodie, sweater and v-neck t-shirt

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way Hoodie

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way Ladies Tee

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way Ladies Vneck

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way Sweatshirt Offical Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt Then one day I realized how silly I was being and Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt. I had a little chat with myself that went something along these lines. You are a grandmother so suck it up buttercup. The only reason it bothers you is because of the ridiculous notion perpetrated by society/the media/advertising that there is something wrong with being over a certain age. Perhaps your mother is really struggling with the fact that she is no longer young and being called grandma would just be proof of her advancing age. You and I know that the ship has already sailed but maybe she is still in denial. She might still come around but then again, she might not. Not everybody takes to grandparenting well. Read the full article

[tshirtfunny79-blog]

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

I can relate in an Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt. I was never one of those people who was desperate to become a grandparent, it never crossed my mind except as something that might happen in the far distant future. The future arrived way sooner than any of us anticipated and it turned out that I love being a grandmother. It is a completely different relationship to the one I had with my children. I am much more relaxed, I have more patience and I find my granddaughter to be a constant source of amusement and entertainment. She and her mom live with us so I see her every day. However, the idea of actually being called a granny by anyone other than my granddaughter bothered me some. Every time someone else said Granny to me I would cringe. Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt, hoodie, sweater and v-neck t-shirt

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way Hoodie

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way Ladies Tee

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way Ladies Vneck

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way Sweatshirt Offical Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt Then one day I realized how silly I was being and Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt. I had a little chat with myself that went something along these lines. You are a grandmother so suck it up buttercup. The only reason it bothers you is because of the ridiculous notion perpetrated by society/the media/advertising that there is something wrong with being over a certain age. Perhaps your mother is really struggling with the fact that she is no longer young and being called grandma would just be proof of her advancing age. You and I know that the ship has already sailed but maybe she is still in denial. She might still come around but then again, she might not. Not everybody takes to grandparenting well. Read the full article

[shopt-shirt]

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt

I can relate in an Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt. I was never one of those people who was desperate to become a grandparent, it never crossed my mind except as something that might happen in the far distant future. The future arrived way sooner than any of us anticipated and it turned out that I love being a grandmother. It is a completely different relationship to the one I had with my children. I am much more relaxed, I have more patience and I find my granddaughter to be a constant source of amusement and entertainment. She and her mom live with us so I see her every day. However, the idea of actually being called a granny by anyone other than my granddaughter bothered me some. Every time someone else said Granny to me I would cringe. Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt, hoodie, sweater and v-neck t-shirt

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way hoodie

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way ladies tee

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way longsleeve tee

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way sweatshirt

Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way unisex Offical Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt Then one day I realized how silly I was being and Owl every student can learn just not on the same day or in the same way shirt. I had a little chat with myself that went something along these lines. You are a grandmother so suck it up buttercup. The only reason it bothers you is because of the ridiculous notion perpetrated by society/the media/advertising that there is something wrong with being over a certain age. Perhaps your mother is really struggling with the fact that she is no longer young and being called grandma would just be proof of her advancing age. You and I know that the ship has already sailed but maybe she is still in denial. She might still come around but then again, she might not. Not everybody takes to grandparenting well. Read the full article

[startrek-z]

STZ V: Part 1

Earth, home of Starfleet Academy. For which the Hero of Time was headed. A foreign place where he was about to learn some of life’s most valuable lessons, and they would begin to shape his new future…

“Wow,” Link breathed. He stood in the middle of a bustling square on Starfleet campus. What little of planet Earth he had seen from orbit amazed him, but being on it was thrilling. Sulu had told him all about it, and continued his education (which had been cut short over fifteen years before) but nothing Sulu taught Link had prepared him for this. The crush of ‘beings’ around him was frightening. There weren’t just humans; there were Vulcans, Androids, Tellerites, and more Link could not identify. One thing was for sure, he was the only Hylian. Link began to walk towards the largest building, the Administration Compound, still staring around this new environment. “Hey! Watch it!” A voice shouted. Link snapped back to reality. He had just run into a young man about his age, with short red hair and green eyes. “I’m sorry,” Link apologized. “Here, let me help you…” He bent to help the other student pick up his belongings. The boy snorted a curt “Thanks” before turning and walking briskly in the other direction. “You’re welcome,” Link muttered darkly, before he continued on his way. *** After two hours in the Administrative building, Link was following a large group of ‘Plebes’ (the name given to first years by the upperclassmen) to a huge auditorium. It was nearly full, so the upperclassmen who had escorted them left the group to find seats in the back. Link’s group was the last to enter, and when they had sat down, the lights dimmed and the noise faded. The spotlight came on and a dark skinned man stepped up onto the stage. Link joined in the polite applause. When it was finished, the man began to speak. “Cadets, I’m Admiral Cartwright, and I proudly welcome you to Starfleet Academy !” Loud cheers resounded. Only after they faded did the admiral continue. “As you know, you are not here to have fun. Rather, you are here to learn. Look around you, Cadets. One out of four of you wont make it to graduation,” Cartwright said slowly. “Perhaps the young man in front of you wont be in this room in four years, or maybe the young lady to your right wont be in your class after six months.” Link looked around him; to his right was a boy, but on his left sat a pale skinned, violet eyed girl who smiled wanly at him. “Here at the Academy, everyone has a fair chance to succeed, but not everyone uses it wisely,” the admiral looked out at his audience, and Link could’ve sword that the man made eye contact with him. “But those of you who do make it will become the fleet’s next generation of officers. It will be you who keeps our universe a safer place to live in and keep the Federation growing strong.” He paused. “You are our future. Don’t disappoint us.” Cartwright saluted them and a roar of applause followed him off the stage. To Link’s surprise, the girl beside him leaned over and whispered, “No pressure, huh?” Link didn’t have time to respond. The cadets then were shown an hour long presentation about how classes would be run and what the rules and regulations were. When it was over, they separated the students by gender, then by age, and finally split them into groups of twenty. One hundred people to a dorm, twenty to a quad, two cadets per room. As they headed toward the dorm, Link worried about who (or what) his roommate would be. ‘Please let them be human, and please no Vulcans,’ he prayed silently. When he got to his room, the Ensign told him his luggage and roommate were already inside. The door whistled open before the nervous Hylian, and quite a surprise awaited him. “Not you!” a familiar voice exclaimed. Link rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “Of all the humans,” he muttered, momentarily forgetting his manners. His roommate was none other than the redheaded boy from the square, and Link heard him mutter something about Vulcans as he continued to unpack his things. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not Vulcan.” “Then what are ya? A rom?!” the boy spat back. Link cringed, before shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I’m a Hylian.” The redhead frowned. “Never heard of 'Hylians.’” “That’s no surprise,” Link said quietly as he busied himself with unpacking. “How come?” “…they don’t really do space travel,” he answered vaguely, not wanting to bring up what happened, and how he and Zelda were the only two Hylians alive. An awkward silence pressed onto the room. The boy seemed to realize that there was more Link wasn’t telling him, but he wisely chose not to push the subject. “…So, what’s your name?” “Link. You?” “Jeremy. Pleased to meet you.” *** Link wandered down the endless hallways of the academy. As a first year, he had been given a couple of days to get used to the place. More than once he’d gotten lost, and found himself wandering in circles. As he wandered down a large corridor, lit brightly by sunlight, a familiar sound made him stop short. He listened intently for a moment, before smiling slightly. Fencing foils! Thank the goddesses, he was saved! He quickened his pace, soon finding himself in a large gymnasium. He stood on some kind of deck, overlooking the arena where a couple of fencers were fighting. He watched with deep interest until the match ended. “You’re too defensive, try attacking more,” Link called down to the loser, who turned to him and angrily pulled off their mask. “And I suppose you could do better?!” Link blushed a little, feeling foolish for having offered advice without being asked for it. He recognized the girl as the one he’d sat beside in the auditorium on the first day. After the moment of surprise had passed, he jumped down to their level and silently took the foil she thrust at him. He slid a mask on his face, and stood before the victorious fencer, waiting in tense silence. They began in sync, locking blades. Link pulled his foil back, throwing his opponent’s balance off, and giving him an easy hit. He jumped back nimbly as the man’s foil sailed for him, and thrust, scoring once more. For the next few minutes, the contestants parried each other’s movements. Link studied his opponent closely, before finally making a move. Guiding his blade, he managed to knock the weapon from his opponent’s hand. The man held his palms up in surrender and both competitors took the masks from their faces. “Never have I seen a left handed fencer so skilled with the blade! Tell me laddie, who was your teacher? How long have you been in training?” the man asked. Link hesitated a moment, trying to think of his answer. “For as long as I can remember…” he said finally, mentally cringing at the faint sadness in his tone. He handed the foil and mask back to the speechless girl, before making his way back to the hall. He was nearly halfway down the corridor when her voice called after him. “Wait! Hold on!” Link paused and glanced back as she jogged up to him. “Do you realize you just defeated the fencing instructor?” “So?” Link asked, puzzled. A moment of silence passed before she shook her head and asked, “Who are you?” “Link,” he answered tensely, suddenly feeling very awkward. This girl made him feel vulnerable, somehow. A need to escape seemed to flood his limbs. Was he panicking over a simple conversation? “I’m Melissa.” “Nice to meet you, Melissa, but…I really have to go,” he murmured, before turning and swiftly walking away. “Hmph, stiff as a board,” She muttered, before leaving in the opposite direction. Link was still a bit miffed by Melissa’s presumptuous accusations. He had heard the comment about being 'stiff as a board’ and wondered why humans were so judgmental. With a frustrated sigh he flopped onto his bed. But before he could let sleep carry him away, a flashing light on his computer caught his eye. He got up and sat at his desk, staring into the screen. It was telling him he’d received a letter. Link was at a loss; he had no idea how to access it, so after a moment he took a drastic step. “Jeremy,” he said timidly. “Hmmm?” the cadet replied. “…Could you help me with something?” Jeremy got up and came over to lean on the desk. “What’s the prob’?” he asked. “I…I don’t know how to get to my mail,” Link admitted, trying not to sound as embarrassed as he felt. Jeremy stared openly at him a moment, then pressed a button on the key pad labeled “Mail Box.” “…Oh…” Link murmured sheepishly. “What planet are you from? You’re telling me you can’t operate the one of the easiest computers in the universe?” Link glared at the boy. “I happen to be from Sira-8, where we didn’t need such trinkets to make a living,” he retorted hotly. “Whatever,” Jeremy said as he returned to his own desk. Beyond frustrated and upset, Link grumpily returned to his mail. He was slightly disappointed to find out it was from Zelda. Dear Link, Hope you are having fun at the Starfleet whatever. Here at the UFP records place, life is excellent. Link smiled. Zelda had been carted off to the Federation Records Department to catalog the history and customs of Sira-8. She was probably sopping up the attention like a sponge. My private apartment puts my room in the palace to shame, though I can’t get all the gadgets to work. Why, just yesterday I scalded myself in the shower! Link couldn’t help but chuckle at this. Jeremy gave him an odd look over the top of a box he was unpacking. Good luck with your classes. Try and be friendly, for your own sake. Remember, we can not live in the past, only learn from it. Please write back soon, I am so lonely here! Your Sister, Zelda Link sat quietly for a moment, rereading and contemplating Zelda’s parting thoughts. He sighed. Being friendly wasn’t easy for him, but he guessed he owed Zelda a try. So, he turned around to start a conversation with Jeremy. What he saw however, made him gasp in surprise (or was it horror?). A larger than life poster of Captain James T. Kirk now hung on the wall facing the beds, gracing the room with his 'Kirkly’ presence. “What’s that?!” he exclaimed in surprise. “It’s James T. Kirk, of course! The only man to break all the rules, and get away with it. He’s my hero,” Jeremy stated, a strange glint in his eyes. “Please tell me you’ve heard of him.” “Naturally,” Link replied. “I’ve known him since I was a kid. Heck, he’s my sponsor.” Jeremy’s jaw dropped, and Link couldn’t help but smile a little. “Oh, tell me what he’s like! You must tell me everything about him!” 'Well, I wanted to start a conversation,’ Link thought to himself, before sighing. “Well, I first met him when I was ten…”

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