#espresso discourse is totally self serving i love coffee just as much as jack atlas

[spellcastersjudgement]

Scoopshipping #33 (I love the way you write those two. Their interactions are so satisfying? Like what Carly notices about Jack and the dumb shit Jack says. I love it so I have to ask for more)

ahhhhh stop youre making me blush!!! 

i am always here to provide scoop needs ask away :D

#33: a forceful kiss

The general rule was that one heard Carly Carmine long before she was seen, be it the clicking of her camera or her laughter. Jack had once thought it was obnoxious that she was always talking, preferred to tune out her ramblings or attempt to shut her down with remarks that made most people never want to speak to him again, but he underestimated how persistent she could be. At first it was annoying, just another journalist looking for their fifteen minutes, but after she’d decided to change the subject of her blog from dueling to politics and was no longer by his side constantly, he began to miss her, much to his own distaste. A few months later he got a girlfriend (or rather, she got him since she was the one that formally defined the relationship) and now the thought of not hearing her voice made him ungodly levels of disappointed. 

Carly left early, long before the sun was up, to head down to the station and get ready for the morning news. Jack almost never saw her before she left, too heavy a sleeper to be woken by her wriggling out from his embrace. The earliest he ever saw her was the early afternoon if she could slip out of preparing for the next day’s program to collapse on the couch, and that was only if he had taken a break from training long enough to stop home for lunch. 

Today, though, there was no distraction. It was almost six o’clock in the morning, the sun not even awake yet, apparently not interested in warming up the December air. Jack didn’t mind the cold, but it was inconvenient that when he arrived at the track to train it was in half-darkness, making him wish his duel runner had headlights. Carly always left before the sun was up, her show beginning at five, right when masochists–morning people, really, but Jack liked his sleep and could never imagine his alarm going off before nine–were waking up for their long commutes. He felt off-balance as he sat up in bed, grunting as his back popped, rubbing his eyes, cursing himself for not being able to fall back asleep. 

He wasn’t quite sure why he was up anyway, and that made him smolder as he stood up, the cold air biting his exposed arms. Carly radiated too much heat for him to wear more weather-appropriate pajamas, which was great when she was here but made for a very uncomfortable walk to where his robe was thrown over the back of a chair. Being warm made his mood improve only by a fraction. 

Jack had walked down the stairs multiple times a day, but right now the way his feet fell against the wood, echoing in the vaulted ceilings annoyed him. If he hadn’t had multiple noise complaints from neighbors regarding his screams at inanimate objects he would’ve yelled at the stairs. It was too quiet, it was cold, it was dark. If he was going to be awake early he should’ve at least been able to see his girlfriend before he left. Now he was alone in the house and Mina wouldn’t be here until nine to make him coffee–not that he was incapable of using the espresso machine, just Mina and Carly had both agreed it was best he stay away from it when he broke the last one for not foaming his milk correctly. 

It had been his fault, he realized now. He wasn’t holding the frothing pitcher correctly, and even though Mina had told him as such, he’d punched it anyway. 

His assistant would have to forgive him for breaking the rule this time. Mina had firsthand knowledge of how he was without coffee, and if the headache set in it would be an even worse morning for him, which would inevitably ruin everyone else’s day. Jack would explain that his recent discovery of a thing called ‘consideration’ had driven him to caffeinate himself, saving his staff from lots of yelling and whining later. 

Standing in the kitchen, Jack wondered when making coffee had become so complicated. When he and Yusei were growing up they’d stirred instant packets into water they’d nuked in the microwave. Now Yusei had graduated to a coffee pot, which was not nearly as high quality as the stuff Jack’s machine produced, but he would be lying if he didn’t miss the simplicity. Now he had to grind the beans, pack them in to the portafilter, get the milk–ugh, too much. He would never have to deal with this nonsense if he were still asleep. 

It was nonsense to have to uncross his arms, which he felt made him appear truly angry with his predicament, but he was once again dangerously close to bitching at whatever he looked at next to fill the silence. The fridge blasted him with cold and he muttered obscenities at the light making him screw his eyes shut. Carly always bought that free-range grass-fed organic milk that came in a carton and made him feel like he was back in middle school flinging chicken nuggets at Yusei and Crow. 

It was skim milk. Water, essentially. Unreal. Someone was getting screamed at for this later. 

Lining up his supplies, he felt like a surgeon. He had half a mind to say “nurse” and hold his hand out expectantly. Of course, there was no one else in the house to play along with him. 

Carly would do it. They always did silly things like that, things Jack would never admit to because he had a reputation. Now he would just have to imagine it. Or not, as the grinder made him jump, the sound breaking the oppressive silence but ruining his thoughts of Carly. At least it smelled nice, perking him up the slightest bit as he packed in the finely-ground beans, attaching it to the machine, putting the shot glass (it had a formal name but Jack could never think of it any other way) under the spout, hoping that whatever setting he switched the machine to wouldn’t make the thing blow up. Milk was next, and by god if he didn’t get this right and lost his mind and broke it again–he could already hear Mina chewing him out. 

That wouldn’t happen, not this time. Though he was annoyed his girlfriend drank the watery mess masquerading as milk, he would not allow that to get him bitched at by his assistant, at least not for this. 

Did the steam wand have to be so squeaky and loud and–ugh, awful. He was glaring at the bubbles forming on the milk, thinking about being up, being cold, feeling lonely in this huge house without another person, without Carly. 

He was veering into dangerously sentimental territory, and when Jack Atlas got sentimental he ended up embarrassing himself. 

“Holy–god fuck–shit!” he cried, the metal of the pitcher burning his palm. Dropping it on the counter with minimal spilling, the steam was whistling through the wand no longer muffled by milk, and he stared at it, holding his hand under the faucet, nice and livid, wanting to wrench the thin silver rod off the machine. 

He did not do that, he wouldn’t do that. Turning various knobs until the noises stopped and the lights on the machine turned off, he dumped the espresso in the first cup he saw, which was actually a cup that Akiza had given Carly, the two of their smiling faces looking up at him, mocking his anger. His girlfriend would most likely key his motorcycle if he ruined the cup and take pictures of the tears dripping down his face so he vowed to be careful with it as he poured the milk in, not even bothering to make the foam look pretty like Mina did. 

Cleaning up the machine sounded like too much work. The clock read a quarter past six and he wasn’t due at the track until ten. This was the only situation where he would ever complain about having a later start to the day. Sipping the coffee and grimacing at his impatience for it was burning his tongue and aggravating him more. He sunk down on the couch, the black surface of the television reflecting his scowl back at him. Quiet again. 

He sat there for about two minutes, nothing but the slurping of his coffee to keep him company, before he realized he was a fucking idiot. 

The remote sat by his right hand, the television right in front of him, where with a click of the button he could have Carly in front of him, hear her voice, see her smile. He couldn’t believe himself. He blamed it on the fact he’d barely got a quarter of the way down the cup. 

Flicking on the television, Jack jumped at the obscenely loud volume. They’d been playing video games last night, had forgotten to turn down the volume evidently, and he was paying for it now. It wasn’t the right channel, meaning he once again had to lift his arm and move his fingers to click the ‘3,’ a travesty. When would they create televisions that could read his mind and switch the channel itself? 

It was the weather, not Carly, yet another thing to add to why this morning was shit. Jack could do this man’s job, and probably be more entertaining. Cold, that was the forecast. They could say it in one word and switch back to the Carly. 

Jack was about three seconds away from throwing the remote at the screen when he finally got what he’d been suffering through the weather report for. 

“Thank you for that, James,” Carly’s voice made Jack’s mood instantly improve, like the sun was shining directly into the living room. He never cared for the way they did her makeup or hair, felt like it made her look too stiff and pale. Originally the producers had thrown a fit that she dyed her hair green, but she had raised a ruckus worthy of Jack Atlas himself to keep it. They got their revenge by not letting her wear it down, instead pulling it up into a tight bun that aged her about ten years. 

Despite the hair and makeup department’s best attempts to make his girlfriend seem to be a cookie cutter version of every news anchor out there, her energy made Jack wish he could listen to updates about the recent congressional elections all day. His eyes slid shut. Her voice, the way she gesticulated, hands waving in the air to emphasize her point, sometimes accidentally bumping the co-host in the shoulder, the way she’d fidget with her glasses while waiting for an interviewee to answer her question–all of it comforted him. 

And it made him intensely angry. 

Shooting up off the couch, coffee in hand, Jack Atlas thundered up the stairs. He’d never gotten dressed so quickly in his life, jeans and a sweater, the simplest of outfits that he normally detested, and he only took small comfort in the fact they were both designer and perfectly tailored to his body. He set the coffee down momentarily to put in his earrings and pull on his boots. This would be the closest the Master of Faster would ever get to ‘bumming it,’ and if he weren’t thrumming with rage he would have the decency to be angry at himself. 

Back down the stairs, holding the coffee far away from him so it wouldn’t slosh onto the cream-colored sweater because that would be an absolutely horrendous thing. He was already disgracing himself for the purposes of going down to the news station, no need to add insult to injury. 

Living in the heart of a city usually meant uncomfortable levels of noise and constant streams of tourists, but Jack could understand the positives when he only had to drive five minutes to the station (it was really a ten minute drive but he had no regard for speed limits or road signs). 

The short drive over, Jack’s fingers gripped the steering wheel, the other bringing coffee to his lips, eyes glaring over the rim of the cup. This had been a spectacularly unfair morning. Awake too early, cold, having to make his own coffee–all bullshit. The worst part, the part that made him want to start throwing things just to hear them shatter, was that he’d had to suffer through all of this without Carly. He was not going to be shafted like this. 

There weren’t any open parking spaces in front of the station, so Jack pulled into the fire lane and hoped a police officer would ticket him just so he had someone to yell at. Opening the door, he sped up the stairs, shouldering an intern out of the way, voices growing louder. 

Carly. He could hear Carly, long before he saw her as usual. 

Jack had only been here a handful of times, mostly to bring his girlfriend something she’d forgotten, like the one time she’d forgotten her glasses on the nightstand and called him, frantic, on a commercial break. He remembered enough to open the door that would lead him to where she was, though it seemed like her voice was coming from all around him, blaring through speakers, and though not unpleasant it did make locating her difficult. 

“Hey, you can’t–” 

Jack glared at the camera man as he passed, ignoring the illuminated “On Air” sign. Carly was talking about some upcoming charity ball for Christmas that Mina would certainly make them attend, and Jack saw confusion on the co-host’s face as he came to tower over Carly. 

This would get him a dressing-down from Mina, but he had to–he had to roughly grab Carly’s shoulders, hear her squeak in surprise, turn her to face him as he bent in half, hands tilting her face up as he pressed his lips to hers. 

It was a rough, impatient kiss, his fingers sliding in to her hair, searching for those godawful pins that held up her hair, pulling them out one by one, throwing them to the floor as they kissed. Carly was responding in full, her hand on his cheek, noses brushing together, her teeth playfully nipping at his lip. 

“Excuse me, uh, Carly? Can that wait for commercial?” 

Jack growled, pushing his tongue into his girlfriend’s mouth. Her hands slid around his neck, a moan rumbling through her throat, hair falling about her shoulders as he finally freed her hair. The anger in his chest had finally started to subside. 

“Carly, come on, kids are watching this,” 

The co-host (Jack had never bothered to learn his name) pulled her away, his fingers tugging at her blazer. A smacking sound erupted as they separated, and Jack was ready to reach over her and kill this man. 

“Oh, um,” Carly was looking up at him, cheeks flushed and lips glistening with saliva. “Sorry ‘bout that, got excited. Say hi to everyone while you’re here, Jack,” 

Waving vaguely in the camera’s direction, he never took his eyes off Carly. 

“Next commercial break. I’ll be waiting.”