#Ruby works as a barista when he's home so it comes with the job.

[enthusiasticharry]

The Secrets You Keep

summary: you're a stripper, and you meet Harry off shift. what happens when he finds out?

request: hiiii would you be able to do something like stripper y/n? not where they meet at the club or anything but something natural like at a cafe or something but she keeps it from him bc she thinks he’ll leave her? then he has a guys night at the strip club and sees her perform? but he loves it and she’s a bit embarrassed? idk but that kinda vibe if ur up for it! X

word count: 8.3k words of fluff, smut and angst if you squint (and i really mean squint) also not proofread, sorry! 

masterlist    |    asks

It never occurred to you that once you left full time education you’d end up becoming a stripper. It wasn’t the occupation you had envisioned for yourself, but it was the one that paid the best money and even though it shouldn’t be — money was the thing that you needed the most. You lived in a small, one bedroom flat that you shared with your Grandma who had no income and little pension meaning that you was the only source of income for the two of you. Obviously it was hard upon you, but your Grandma had done so much for you when you were younger that you wanted to help her as much as you possibly could. Granted, finding a job as an eighteen year old that was enough to help pay the bills and for the treatment your Grandmother needed wasn’t the easiest, and that was how you stumbled across the club and the jobs there. Your Grandma didn’t know how you received your income, and you planned to keep it that way for as long as you physically could. 

“Have you got any private dances today?” Jocelyn, also known as Sapphire amongst the people in the club, asked as she started fixing her makeup in the mirror next to yours. 

“I don’t know.” You sighed, spraying a small amount of hairspray upon your curls, “I haven’t spoken to Elliot yet.” 

“Apparently some big shot businessmen are coming in tomorrow.” Ruby adds from the other side of you, applying a lipstick that matched her name to her lips. 

“Ugh.” Sapphire groaned, “That means old men with small dicks wanking to us instead of being with their probably very lovely, loving wives at home.” 

“They lust after the taboo.” You add, applying a small amount of lipgloss to your lips, “They want what they can’t have, and brag when they get it.” 

“They have money though.” Ruby shrugged, “Haven’t had many tips this week. I’d probably do anything for a couple hundred quid tomorrow.” 

“Not anything Ruby.” You turn to look at her, shaking your head at the younger girl, “Stand your ground. Don’t let them take advantage of you.” 

“I won’t.” She smiled, “I learnt from the best.” 

“And don’t you forget it.” 

As a fresh eighteen year old, just as Ruby was now, you could’ve only hoped for someone to help you and guide you through the trails and tribulations you endured at the club. That’s why you sort of took the younger girl under your wing and helped her as much as possible. 

It wasn’t a lot. Granted, with what they did the majority of it was on their own upon the stage or in a private dance but you wanted to make sure she had small tips to help her handle herself in any situation that could occur and that she someone to talk to if she ever needed it. 

“Are you working tomorrow, Emerald?” Emerald was your stage name. 

“No.” You sigh happily, “It’s my day off.” 

“Enjoy yourself, you deserve it.” Ruby smiled. 

You certainly did. 

The next morning, after helping your Grandma get ready and to the hospital, you make your way towards the small café you usually went to during your Grandmother’s chemo sessions. They usually lasted around three hours, and whilst you offered to stay with her, she usually forced you to leave and spend some time on your own, claiming she didn’t want you to see her at her worst.

The spring days had just started to warm up, so you dressed yourself in a summer dress you had picked up for cheap at a charity shop. You carried your tote bag with your book in over your shoulder as you pushed past the people on the street.

It wasn’t usually this busy, and looking around you saw no free tables but a few free chairs dotted around. Your favourite table, tucked away in the far right corner by the window had been taken by a man sat reading, just as you would’ve been. You toy back and forth with the idea of going to sit over there as you walk over to the counter. 

You order your usual, a peach iced tea, and wait for the kind barista to make it. Your free days, usually, landed sporadically. They normally occurred when your grandmother either had chemo or a hospital appointment and that’s only because she can sometimes be really ill after them and needed you to look after her. Even though Elliot was not a good person by any means, he understood your situation and did help as little as he could. 

“Excuse me.” The man looked up from this book at you, “Is this seat taken?” 

“Uh. . .” 

“It’s fine if it’s not!” Your quick to add, “There’s just no other seats.” 

“No.” Your smile falters, “No! I mean that the seats not taken. It’s yours.” 

“Thank you.” You drop your tote bag down on the floor, holding your hand out to the man, “I’m YN.” 

“Harry.” He shakes your outstretched hand. 

There was something oddly familiar about him, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on why. He dressed quite casually, a punny t-shirt that said something about health on it and you didn’t want to seem too weird and bend down to look at what he had on his bottom half but you suspected it was something just as interesting. 

You take your book out of your bag and place it on the table in front of you, flicking through the pages until you found the page you had left off at. 

As a child you loved to read. Your grandmother always read you a bedtime story before bed and it lead to English being your best subject at school. Whether it be the creative writing aspect, or the analytic — you were just good at it. It was your highest grade at GCSE, an A, and your highest grade at A Level, a B.

You didn’t exchange any more words with Harry the entire time you were there. Periodically you looked up at him, and somewhere deep down you hoped that he did the same for you but you couldn’t be too sure. The book that he was reading seemed interesting enough, something about watermelon, you had noticed. You had a slight suspicion that it wasn’t about watermelon but you could never be too sure you supposed. 

A whine almost escaped your lips when you realised that you had to go pick up your Grandmother and your book had just gotten interesting. That was the problem when you read, you could sit and do it for hours and not even look up. It was something so interesting to you that you could immerse yourself in a world different to the one you lived in and slip out of reality for however long and return back to normal as though nothing had happened. 

“Thank you for letting me sit here.” You smile as you pack your bag up, “Goodbye.” 

“Bye.” 

You left feeling sort of fuzzy inside. You hadn’t spoken to the man at all really, but he was kind and certainly handsome with his tousled brown hair and gentle smile. That was probably going to be the last time that you saw him, and you probably should’ve asked for his number at least but you didn’t and that was why you walked away with him laying heavy upon your mind.

The next day, you wanted nothing more than to leave in the middle of your shift and curl up on the sofa. Instead, you were stood in a private room in the back of the club swirling your hips for a man sat upon a chair in the middle. 

“You’re fucking fit.” He moans, and you almost throw up in your mouth. 

“Thank you.” 

You move yourself so you’re hovered over his lap, twisting your hips to beat of the sultry song spilling out of the speakers. If you didn’t need the money, or have a bills to pay you certainly wouldn’t be doing this. 

“Fucking sort.” That’s when his hand drops down upon your behind, squeezing the flesh harshly. 

You stand up, flipping around so that you’re looking at him, “Hands off.” 

“Babe.” He throws his head back, “C’mon I’ve paid bags for this dance.” 

“And you pay for a dance, and the rules state no touching.” 

He holds his hands up in surrender, “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again, babe.” 

“Better not.” 

It does, and that’s when you get up and leave. He still has to pay, which is a plus but it just isn’t the best feeling. The job you do isn’t one that people necessarily respect you for, but there are rules in place to help with that. You and the other dancers within the club were human beings and deserved the rights that any other person has. 

“You okay?” Ruby presses her hand to your shoulder as you powder your under-eyes, “I heard he was touching.” 

“Yeah.” You smile at her through the mirror, “Started behind and they he just full on groped me.” 

“Men are pigs.” 

“I second that statement.” You laugh, “But you know what they’ll say.” 

“That we teased and antagonised them to do it.”

Throwing her a deadpan look, you nod. It was something that you had dealt with for the past six years of your life and even though you did hate it and wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you up every time it happened — you had gotten used to it. 

“Did you have a nice day off yesterday?” 

“I did thank you.” You smile, “Read a bit. Spent some time with my Grandma.” 

“Sounds lovely.” Her face then twists into one that you can’t quite pinpoint, “You didn’t miss much here.” 

“The businessmen not up too much?” 

“No they paid well.” She nodded, “We just had to watch them wank their micropenises at us.” 

You curl your nose up at the thought, “That sounds pleasant.” 

“Totally.” She snorts. 

“Emerald. Ruby.” Elliot sticks his head into the room, “Get your asses back out there.” 

Ruby rolls her eyes and you laugh. Your job certainly wasn’t your favourite but some of the people around you made it more pleasant.

Two weeks later you find yourself sat in the corner of the café down the road from the hospital, your book open in front of you and a peppermint tea sat upon the table in a pot. Your Grandmother’s second round of chemo was slowly coming to the end of its stint and even though you wanted nothing more than for her to be back to the epitome of health, you would miss spending time at this small café. 

“Hi.” You lift your head up to see Harry stood there, slightly breathless, “Is this seat taken?” 

“It’s yours.” You smile, watching him drop his book on the table.

This time you could see his entire outfit. A white t-shirt with some writing on that you missed, a floral shirt over the top paired with red corduroy flares. You were right the last time that you met him —he did have an amazing sense of style. You, however, bought whatever was the cheapest or on sale that seemed acceptable to wear in public. 

“How have you been?” 

“I’ve been okay.” You smile, “You?” 

“Good, thanks.” He scratches the base of his neck, “I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Oh.” You have to stop yourself from smiling too much, “I only come when my Grandma has an appointment and they’re usually two weeks apart.” 

“Ah.” He nods before his face curls, “I’m sorry if that seemed creepy.” 

“It didn’t.” You can’t help the butterflies that erupt within your stomach, “I just thought I wouldn’t see you again.” 

“Couldn’t let that happen.” Heat rises up your neck as he beams.

“No complaints about that from me.” 

“That’s good.” He rests his hand upon his chest, letting out a deep breath, “Thought I was punching a little over my weight.” 

“You’re not.” You cheeks hurt from smiling, “It’s cute.” 

He looks down at his book. He seemed so shy, as though he had a confidence to talk to people but once they complimented him or something to do with him it completely changed. It was intriguing. He was already nicer to you than most people you’ve met of the opposite sex in your life and you’re let to learn anything about him apart from the fact that he reads Bukowski and likes black coffee — it certainly wasn’t much to go on. 

“How long do we have until you have to go back to your Grandma?” 

“Not long.” You sigh sadly, “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I understand, it’s okay.” He flashes you a small smile, “Can I walk you back to the hospital?” 

You ponder his offer for a second, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

You walk back to the hospital brushing arms with one of the nicest people you’d ever met, and you couldn’t be happier. 

“Has your Grandma been having treatment for long?” 

“It’s her second round.” You explained, “They originally removed the tumour and it went away but it came back. They caught it quickly and she’s back in bay 11 for three hours every two weeks.” 

“I’m sorry.” He sighs, “That must’ve been tough.” 

You shrug, “She’s a fighter, I know she is.” 

“I don’t doubt she is.” He smiles, “She’s got an amazing granddaughter to stay alive for.” 

The walk to the hospital isn’t long enough in your opinion. You speak about a few things, and you learn he does music and that’s when you put two and two together and realise that he’s actually Harry Styles from One Direction. Harry wished he could’ve recorded your reaction when you realised. 

Harry had never met someone like you, and he had met a lot of people in his life. You were sweet, and kind and so gentle but also confident and held yourself in such a strong way that he couldn’t help but want to know you, the real you. 

“This is it.” You stop in front of the entrance closest to the chemo ward, “Thank you for walking me.” 

“It’s no problem.” He smiles, “I hope this doesn’t sound too weird, but can I get your number?” 

“Uh. . . yeah.” 

“Great.” He beams, “At least now I won’t have to hope you show up at the café.” 

You swear you felt your heart burst. 

During your shift a couple of weeks later, you don’t notice your phone light up a message. You actually don’t notice at all until you arrived home that night. You had already checked on your Grandma, who was sound asleep in bed, and that’s when you allowed yourself to drop down upon the sofa with a sigh. 

Seeing an unknown number pop up on your screen at first had confused you, but once you had looked further into it, your palms started sweating. 

Hi YN. It’s Harry. I know it’s been a while but I���ve been trying to figure out what to say. I hope you and your Grandma are well. 

Your heart starts to beat faster. The message you had awaited for weeks was here and you had no idea how to act, never mind what too reply back with. The only thing that spiralled around within your mind was that he had been thinking about you. 

In your head, you imagined him pacing around in his large house trying to figure out what to send you, just like they do in the movies. You at least hoped that was what he had been doing over the past couple of weeks. 

Hi Harry! It’s lovely to hear from you, sorry it’s late. I’m okay, Grandma’s getting there. How are you? 

You throw your phone down on the sofa next to you, trying not to giggle like you did as a schoolgirl whenever you were messaging boys. You nearly cried whenever you phone ran out of credit and you’d end up having to run to the store to get a top up in the morning with your spending money and explaining to them what had happened. You were thankful that your upgrade didn’t need that. 

I’m okay. Glad to hear about your Grandma. I know this is probably really weird and totally out of the blue, but are you free this weekend? I’m leaving next week for a little while and I really want to see you before I do. 

In your head, you ignore the end of the message about him leaving and focus on the fact that he wants to see you. Harry Styles wants to see you. You hoped it was a date, everything pointed it to be a date but you didn’t want get too ahead of yourself. 

You haven’t had a boyfriend since your first year of Sixth Form, and the first date you were going on since then was going to be with Harry Styles of all people. 

If you pull some strings, work an extra long shift on Saturday and please some of Elliot’s special clients — you may be able to get Friday night off. It was a maybe, but over the next two days you could make it a yes. You hoped that you could make it a yes. 

You’ve never, in your six years of working at the club, missed any of your shifts for anything other than your Grandma suddenly falling ill, and those were on rare occasions. You certainly deserved this day off.

I’ll have to check with my boss but I think I could do Friday night? If that’s not a problem for you. 

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from internally freaking out. 

Sounds perfect. How about I pick you up at 8? 

You wince. It wasn’t as though your were embarrassed of where you lived because you weren’t. You’ve worked hard to be able to pay for the flat and everything in it but there was something about showing it to someone who you’ve only just met and had no intention of explaining your situation to wasn’t on the top of your priority list. 

Is there any chance I could meet you somewhere? 

Of course. Where do you fancy eating? Italian? Thai? 

Italian sounds good. 

Great. I’ll send you details over. 

Thank you :) 

See you then, YN. Sweet dreams. 

Night, Harry. 

You slept well that night. 

“I just don’t think I can spare you Friday.” Elliot sighs, “I’m sorry YN.” 

You have to stop yourself from wanting to cry. You don’t use up all your holiday days, and you work way more than you should or that you’re paid for but you don’t complain and you just get on with it. The one time you ask for a shift off, his stubborn ass says that he cant do it. 

“Please, Elliot.” You sign, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I just need this day off.” 

“And I need my best girl on the floor. Need the best of the best.” 

“There are plenty of other better girls than me working here.” 

He shakes his head, “You’re the favourite, YN. Need you to be there.” 

“Elliot.” You sigh, leaning forward in the uncomfortable seat you were sat in, “I’ve worked for you for six years and I’ve never asked for a day off like this before.” 

“Yeah but—”

“—and! I’ve never asked for a day off apart from going to the hospital and you know that.” 

“I couldn’t exactly say no to you—”

“I’ve worked every shift you’ve ever asked me to, covered for people when you need it.” 

“Stop it!” He holds his hand up to silence you, “Just shut up for a second.” 

You clamp your lips shut. If you didn’t need to stay on his good side to get Friday off you probably would’ve said something about how rude he was being. He’d always been rude, but he paid you and the rest of the girls so you all chose to ignore it. 

He ponders, and you know the cogs are turning within his brain as he scrolls through his laptop, typing a few things. He takes his glasses off his face and drops them dramatically down on the table in front of him. 

“Ruby will cover your shift.” 

You let out a sigh of relief, “Thank you!” 

“Don’t be thanking me too quickly.” He points his finger, “I need a favour from you.” 

“Anything. Well not anything.” 

“In a few weeks times there’s a big birthday party coming in.” He explains, “I need you to be the star of the show, do private dances and all the good things like that.” 

“Just that?” You ask, knowing that it could be a trap knowing Elliot’s track record. 

He nods, “Just that.” 

You look at him sceptically, “What’s the catch?” 

“No catch.” He holds his hands up, “A few big names are coming, that’s all. A list celebs that have asked to use the back exit.”

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” 

“Let me know the date and I’ll do it.” 

You stand up, happy that you’ve managed to get your shift tomorrow off and that you can go on the date you have been excited for since you met Harry and was introduced to the world with him in it. 

“Have fun at your thing Friday.” 

“Thank you. . .?” 

You don’t think you like Elliot being nice to you. 

Friday night rolled around quickly and you were thankful for that. After helping your Grandma with her own dinner and into bed, you start getting ready. You curl your hair, brushing it out until its in what looks like effortless waves but are actually quite hard waves to achieve. You do natural makeup, something completely different to makeup you usually wear in one of your shifts. You try to keep all of your features soft, different to how you usually look on a day to day basis. You dress in a long white polka-dotted maxi skirt, paired with a thin long-sleeved jumper that would keep you warm due to the ever changing British weather. 

You had done a little bit of research on the restaurant Harry had sent you the address for and learnt that it wasn’t the most expensive restaurant ever, but one that was way out of your price range. It meant that you had to dip into the fund that you keep for occasions where you need a little extra money or you will use in the future when you eventually move out and busy your own place. 

The tube was crammed, seeing as though it was a Friday night and the majority of people were either coming home from work and stating to go out for end of the week drinks. You knew that the club would start to become heaving as the night grew and a part of you was thankful that you didn’t have to work today, and you were given a small break from the hell that is working at a strip club. 

The restaurant, when you arrived, definitely looked fancier than it had online. The bar stood against the corner wall, the right hand side of the restaurant had booths covering the walls whilst stand alone tables scattered around the rest of the room.

You were surprised when you saw Harry, already sat at the booth in the far right corner. He lifted his hand up in an awkward sort of wave and you couldn’t help but beam at him. He had a shirt, an expensive looking white shirt with a yellow and blue jumper over the top. You hand felt so excited to see someone since when your Grandma went into hospital for her tumour being removed and you couldn’t see her for a few days. 

“YN.” He sighs, “Hi.” 

“Hi.” You smile, slipping into the booth across from him. 

“Was starting to think you wasn’t going to show up.” 

“I’m sorry.” You tuck your hair behind your ear, “I underestimated how bust the tube was going to be.” 

You can tell he wants to pry but instead he says, “It’s okay.” 

His nails were painted yellow, a few of them painted lilac as well. There was something so simple about his nails that you just loved, and if it wasn’t weird you probably would’ve stared at them for way too long for it to be acceptable. You knew he had tattoos, and you could see the cross on his hand and the the anchor peaking out from underneath his shirt and you wanted to see more. 

“I like your nails.” You smile, running your own fingers over your own nails underneath the table. 

“Thanks.” A blush creeps up his neck, “I did them last night. Sort of calmed me down, I was quite nervous.” 

“Nervous for what?” 

“This.” He nods, “I haven’t been as nervous for a date in a long time.” 

“You don’t have to be nervous.” 

In your twenty four years of living, you’ve never had someone say that they were nervous to see you. You’ve been nervous to see and do many things in your life and you hoped that somewhere along the line it would’ve been the same for somebody else and yourself but you had the slight suspicion that wasn’t the case. Hearing those words out loud, coming from someone who you’d never expect it too was special, and you were going to keep that for as long as you physically could. 

“I did.” He looks down at the table briefly, “I’ve never liked a girl as much as I like you before.” 

“You don’t really know me.” 

“I’d like to get to know you.” 

That’s what you do. For the rest of the date you don’t stop talking. Even though you’re starving and could eat your fist, it takes you the longest you’ve ever taken to eat your food because of how much you spend it talking. 

You’re just about to dig in to your desert when your body physically halts, “Why didn’t you want me to pick you up?” 

“I, uh, I—”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t what to! I know I can be pretty invasive sometimes.” 

“No, it’s fine!” You take a sip of your drink to swallow down the dryness within your throat, “I don’t live in the nicest building, or in the nicest area and I guess I was embarrassed.” 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” 

“But I was.” You drop your eyes to the plate in front of you, “I know I shouldn’t have been and that it was stupid but I just didn’t want you judge me before you truly knew me because of where I live.” 

“I hope you know now that I wouldn’t have done that.” 

“I do.” 

You let Harry drive you home. Even though you would never admit it to his face just yet, you really liked him. He was kind, sweet and funny and everything you could ever want in your person. You haven’t said this in a long time but you love the person you are around him and you wouldn’t change it for the world if you didn’t have to. 

He stops in the car park outside the building of flats you live in and you can tell he’s thinking deeply about something but you try to not concentrate on that too much. 

“I would invite you up.” You laugh, “But I don’t think the sofa in the middle of my Grandma’s flat whilst she snores in the next room is the most romantic.” 

He scrunches up his nose, “I can’t say that it is.” 

“I’m sorry.” You drop your head to look at your hands that are tested on your knees, “I really wish I could offer you something. Anything.”

“It’s okay, YN.” He uses his finger to move your head up so that you’re looking at him, “I don’t expect anything from you. I hope you know that.” 

“I know.” 

He hesitates for a moment, and you can feel the finger that was rested upon your chin move upwards so that its upon your cheek. You flicker your eyes closed and just mask in the feeling of his touch against your cheek. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. 

You eyes open as you nod your head, letting out a shaky breath at the sheer surprise you feel at his words.

“Want your words, darling.” 

“Please kiss me.”  

You close your eyes again and you feel his lips touch yours. It's light at first, but you can’t contain yourself and you end up pushing closer to him, relishing in the feeling of his lips upon yours. Your fingertips grip the collar of his shirt, trying to pull him closer without hurting himself too much on the centre console. Even though you both don’t want to, you pull away as you start to loose breath. 

“You okay?” Your chest heaves up and down as he speaks. 

“Never been better.” You sigh, resting your forehead against his. 

“Good.” 

You kiss again, this time its more passionate and you can’t help but let out a small whine as he pulls away. The smug look on his face after hearing that sound was enough to send your stomach doing flips. 

You really didn’t want to do this, but you had too: “I have to go.” 

“It’s okay.” He smiles, “I understand.” 

“Okay.” You reach for the door handle. 

“I have to go away for a bit.” He sighs, “I’m writing some music over in America but when I get back, do you want to maybe go on another date?” 

“I’d love to.” 

He presses one last kiss to your lips and you leave the car, muttering a small, “Bye.” 

You feel giddy. As though you’re sixteen again and just come back from your first date with your first boyfriend. It was something you hadn’t felt in a long time and in all honesty, you had no idea how to handle those feelings. You certainly wouldn’t admit that you screamed quietly into your pillow in excitement that night. 

You couldn’t wait for him to return home. 

Two weeks. Harry was away for two weeks and even though you had only kissed him once, twice if you actually count how many kisses there were, you missed him more than words could explain. You weren’t one to usually message first, so you did end up waiting until Harry had a spare moment to message you which wasn’t as often as you would’ve liked but you couldn’t complain. 

You almost felt as though you had been drip fed this new life with Harry in, only to have it taken away quicker than you could blink. It wasn’t forever, and that was probably the thing keeping you sane. This had all happened in such a short amount of time but you wouldn’t change it for the world. 

The only thing that limited how far you could take this was your job. 

Harry had obviously been curious and during a text conversation in the first week of his week being away — he asked what you did. After having a small freak out you decided to say that you worked in a bar. It was a small, white lie and you hated yourself for it but telling him that you were a stripper just didn’t feel like the best thing to do at that time. 

You just weren’t ready to tell him, and that was totally okay. 

Speaking of your work, tonight was the night of the big party that Elliot made sure you could come to. The club had held celebrity parties before, so you weren’t entirely nervous but every time someone mentioned it you could feel your heart speeding up slightly. 

“Emerald.” You turn to look at Elliot who’s trudging towards you, a bag in hand, “Here’s your new outfit for tonight.” 

“New? I thought I’d just wear the one for special occasions.” 

“This is a special, special occasion Emerald.” He dropped the bag down in front of you, “Wear this.” 

Taking the material out of the bag, your mouth dropped open at the sight of the emerald green lingerie in your hands. It was delicate lace that you feared you’d rip if you weren’t too careful. Putting it on, your breasts slightly spilled over the lace, and whilst your front was covered, the thong back of the lingerie left your ass on full display. It was beautiful, you couldn’t dismiss that but you just hadn’t ever worn something so skimpy before. You pulled your black silk robe over your shoulders, fastened your black heels onto your feet and made your way towards the side of the stage. 

The skimpiness of the new lingerie did send more butterflies to the pit of your stomach than you were originally hoping for but it was only another hurdle for you to get over which you knew you’d be able to do. 

You heard the music start to play, you slipped your hand through the gap in the curtain and opened it, revealing yourself to the room. 

Here goes nothing, you mumble to yourself. 

Harry’s jaw dropped at the sight of you on the stage. It certainly wasn’t his usual scene, a strip club, but it was a friend of a friends birthday and he had kindly been invited and he wasn’t about to turn it down. He wasn’t in the band anymore, and certainly didn’t have to hide that he went to places like this anymore, even though they weren’t his favourite. 

He couldn’t bare his eyes off of you. The way your body moved to the rhythm of the song, your darkly manicured nails pushed the robe of your shoulders, exposing the delicate lingerie you were wearing. Harry would be lying if he said that his cock didn’t start to stir at the sight. 

You. The girl who he thought spent her days reading, and looking after Grandma had a secret persona that he only wanted to explore more. 

“My word.” One of the men in the group spoke, loudly so that everyone could hear him, “She’s fit as fuck.” 

“To get my hands on her.” 

Harry clenches his jaw, and his fist that rested on the arm of his chair. If he wasn’t in a very public place where people could record him, he’d give that man a piece of his mind. He probably would but he’d do it when nobody was around so the man could truly understand what he was saying to him. 

“Do you think I could get a dance with her?” The birthday boy asked. 

“It’s your birthday.” The dickhead with no morals spoke, “She might give you something special as a present.” 

“The rules say no touching.” The words slip out of Harry’s mouth before he can stop them, “So I highly doubt that.” 

“I’m sure you’d be saying something different if you were in his position, Styles.” 

Harry rolled his eyes and focused his attention back on the stage, watching as you seductively bent down to pick up some of the tips that had been thrown on the bottom of the stage. The song was slowly finishing and Harry couldn’t help but feel a little bit of disappointment bubbling within him.

Harry watched your lean legs as you strutted towards the side of the stage, flicking the long wig on your head over your shoulder, seductively running your tongue over your bottom lip as you pulled the material of the lingerie down from your breasts. 

Harry bit his lip, his leg bounced, he ran his hand up and down his thigh. He tried to do everything in his power to distract himself from the rousing within his trousers but he just couldn’t do it. The flimsy material dropped to the floor, your red painted lips curled up into a smirk and you made your way behind the curtain, not showing any of your truly bare skin. 

If you hadn’t been imprinted on his brain before, you certainly were now.

You could hear the grunts and groans of happiness, and a few cheers whilst on stage but the lights were so bright that you couldn’t see anything past the first row or so. The tips you had received were good, and you were pleased about that. 

You received your robe and bra back from the stage and pulled them back onto your body. Your solo dance was always a hit for Elliot, and you supposed that was why he’s kept you on for so long and if you were honest, they were the easiest to do. Private dances always made you too uncomfortable, and in the six years you’ve worked there there had only been a handful of people that made you feel comfortable when it came to private dances. 

“Emerald.” Elliot walks in smiling and you assume everything is swell on the floor, “They fucking love you.” 

You nod your head, muttering a small and awkward, “Thank you.” 

He hums, “You’ve been requested for a private dance, and he’s promised to pay you accordingly.” 

“Really?” 

Another hum, “Room Two. I think he’s already there.” 

“Thanks.” 

He leaves the room, a bounce in his step. You suppose that this is a good thing and he’ll finally get off your back for the time you took off for the date with Harry. You at least hoped. 

You checked yourself. You made sure your makeup still looked flawless, your breasts sat perfectly within the material and your arse looked good. You brush through the wig once and make your way towards room two, the smaller of the three private dance rooms which helped it be more intimate. 

You smiled at the bouncer at the door, Gerry, a man who looked as though he could kill someone with a single punch but was actually a massive teddy bear. He was good at his job of keeping everyone safe and making sure that the bad eggs that came in left just as quickly. 

Watching the door slowly open, Harry felt his heart stop. He had been pacing up and down the room ever since he had walked in, and only just stopped when he heard the creek of the door. He couldn’t believe that you were in front of him, and you certainly couldn’t believe that he was in front of you either. 

“YN. . .” He sounded breathless. 

“Harry?” He could see your chest rising and falling at a quick pace, “What? How? I thought you were in America.” 

He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “I got back last night.” 

“Why are you here?” He can hear the lump in your throat as you speak, your eyes glossing over. 

“A Birthday party.” 

“Yours?” 

“No!” He’s quick to interrupt, “A friend of a friend. It’s not mine. Mine’s in February, and I certainly don’t think I’ll be having my party here. Not that there’s anything wrong with here! It’s lovely! You’re lovely! I’m rambling.” 

He was so gosh darn cute and if you weren’t in the middle of a break down, you probably would’ve laughed or at least reacted to his little word vomit. It was probably the quickest you’d ever heard him talk, not that it was hard. 

After a few minutes of contemplating what to say, you sigh, “I’m sorry.” 

His voice is soft, his features falling, “What are you sorry for?” 

“Lying to you.” You drop your gaze to the floor, trying to suppress the tears, “I didn’t want to.” 

“Hey, hey.” He walks over to you, placing his finger underneath your chin just like he had done in the car weeks ago, “No need to get upset, I’m not.” 

“You should be.” You bottom lip quivers, “I lied to you and I had no intention to retract that just yet.” 

“YN.” He rests his palms on your cheeks, “I’m not angry. I’m not upset. I just want to know why.”

“I was scared.” You admit, trying to do anything but look up at him, “I didn’t know what you’d think or if you’d change your mind.” 

“Change my mind about what?” 

“Wanting too, you know. . .?” 

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t. There’s no reason for me to.” 

“I’m a stripper Harry, it gives you full reason to not want to be associated with me.” You lift your hand to wipe your under-eye. 

“I’m not judging you, YN, I said I wouldn’t.” 

“I wouldn’t be upset if you did.” 

“YN.” His voice is stern, more so than it had been, “I don’t care that you’re a stripper.” 

“You don’t.” 

“No.” He smiles, “I don’t.” 

“Fuck.” You let out a breath of relief, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

“I don’t mind.” He shrugs, “If you didn’t want to, you didn’t have to.” 

You had never met someone like him, and no matter how many times he surprised you that was just fact. Granted, you hadn’t had time to date anyone with looking after your Grandma but another reason you didn’t was because of what they would think of you. 

You knew that not everyone would be was understanding and lovely as Harry had been, and that was just because of the lovely person he was inside and out. That was the reason you didn’t tell him, because even though you had an inclination that he was accepting but you didn’t know whether that was just a façade or he was like that in real life. You loved that he was like that in real life. 

“Can I be honest?” You nod, “I enjoyed it.” 

You bite your lip to suppress the smile that threatened to cross your lips, “You did?” 

He hums, beaming a smile at you. 

“If you wouldn’t mind.” The corner of his lips tugs upwards, “I’d still love to get that private dance.”

You roll your eyes and thwack his shoulder playfully, “If you must.” 

“I’ll wait for you.” He nods, “Until your shift is over, if you want.” 

“Please.” 

“I’ll see you then.” 

You hadn’t even made it completely into Harry’s house before his lips were on yours. He pushed you up against his front door before he’d even shut it properly, his lips falling upon yours with a hunger you hadn’t felt since you last kissed him. 

Maybe it was his hands rested upon the small of your back, your fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Can I offer you a drink?” He smirks against your lips. 

“Not the priority.” You reply, not bringing your lips away from his. 

“Noted.” He places a kiss to your jaw, “Upstairs?” 

“Upstairs.” 

You follow him up the stairs, your hand rested firmly in his. You’re too distracted by the man in front of you to take any notice of the house or where you were going. 

Harry had kept true to his word and waited for you. You secretly wished that you could have recorded the group’s reaction as you walked towards him, a small smile on your face. After bidding them goodbye, the two of you jumped in a taxi that Harry had ordered and made your way to his house, or what you expected to be his house and you weren’t disappointed. 

The second you step into the plushly decorated room, you’re kissing again. His hands slide down to rest upon curve of your ass, his ring-clad fingers immediately squeezing the flesh. You groan lightly into his mouth, allowing his tongue to slip through her parted lips. You grip his bicep as he leads your backwards into the room, your calves hitting the bed as he does so. 

Your lips part, you fall back onto the bed. You look up at him through your eyelashes, your fingertips reaching to pull the shirt he was wearing over his head. You almost swoon there and then at the sight of the tattoos littering his skin. You lean forward and place a kiss on his lower stomach, just before his happy trail that slips into the band of his trousers. 

You bite your lip, grinning up at him. 

“What are you planning?” 

“I don’t know.” You shrug, “What do you want me to be planning?” 

He groans, “Anything at this point.”

You reach forward, taking the button of his trousers in your fingers. You look up, “Is this okay?” 

“More than okay, baby.” 

You unbutton his trousers, wrapping your finger in the waistband and pulling them down. You can already see the tent in his boxers. You wondered how long he had been like this, you wondered if it had been since your dances. 

You blush slightly as you hook your fingers now into the waistband of his boxers, looking up at him. You can’t handle the look on his face, the slight blush but the boyish grin mixed with his curls that had fallen forward upon his forehead. You pull the fabric down, exposing his hard cock. You watch as it hits his stomach briefly, the tip swollen. You lift your hand up, wrapping it around him before giving him a few pumps. His stomach quivers as you do so, a groan escaping him as you wrap your lips around his tip. His eyes flutter closed as you start to bob your head, his fingers reaching forward to grab your hair into a ponytail. 

“Fuck baby.” His hips involuntarily buck forward. You sink further down, going as far as you could. 

Harry couldn’t believe how good he felt. It had been a while since he had been with someone, and it was worth the wait. You pulled away too soon in his opinion, but the sight of you, all teary eyed and sloppy sent his mind spiralling. 

“God.” He bent down and wrapped his arms around your thighs, lifting you up so he could move you further up the bed, “You’re fucking killing me here.” 

“Good.” You giggle. 

He’s quick to remove your shirt, allowing you to pull your jeans down at the same time. He didn’t expect you to still be in the lingerie from earlier, and if it was physically possible, he swore his cock hardened even more. 

“Fuck me.” 

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours again as his fingers fumble with the latch of your bra. You bite your bottom lip as he wraps his around your nipple, flicking it with his tongue. He uses his hand to knead the other one. You can’t help but grind your hips forwards, a feeling bubbling deep in the pit of your stomach that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Harry.” You moan, withering under his touch. 

He kisses down from your lips, to your jaw, down your neck until he’s littering them all the way to the band of your underwear. 

“Is this okay?” 

“More than okay.” You whine as he lets out a breath upon the thin material. 

He pulls your underwear down, teasing you by placing kisses across your thighs and pubic bone. He’s so close, yet so far from the place that you need him the most. He licks a stripe across your centre, until he wraps his lips around your clit. You can’t help the moans that escape your parted lips as he nibbles and flicks your sensitive nub, her thighs starting to shake as he coaxes her closer and closer to her orgasm. 

“Don’t stop.” You thread your fingers through his hair, “God! Harry.” 

He pulls away, and you let out a shaky breath as he does so. 

“No fair.” You whine. 

“Life isn’t.” 

“Just shut up and get a condom.” He does as you request, placing a small peck to your lips as he reached over to grab a condom from the drawer beside the bed. 

You watch as he rips the packet open with his teeth, pulling the rubber down his length. He presses another kiss to your lips, catching her eyesight once more.

“Are you sure?” 

“More than okay.” 

He hovers over you, rubbing his tip up and down your wet folds to coax a moan out of your lips. He groans into your shoulder as he pushes in, biting down briefly to suppress the sound. 

“Don’t.” You moan, scratching your nails down his back as he starts to thrust in and out of you, “Let me hear you.” 

“Fuck.” You squeeze him slightly, “Do that again.” 

He speeds up, catching your lips as your hips meeting quicker, the only sound in the room being your skin slapping each others. You slip one of your hands between the two of you, your nimble fingers rubbing your clit. 

“Where have you been all my life?” You can’t help the pleasurable giggle that escapes your lips. 

“Feel so good, H.” 

After a few more thrusts, a couple more circles of her clit and she’s comes around his cock, squeezing him tightly as she did so. 

“Fuck, shit, oh god.” 

He continues to thrust in and out of you, coaxing you through your orgasm and towards his. He seems to go deeper and deeper until he’s spilling inside the condom, his moans louder than any you had heard before. 

“God.” He collapses on top of you, taking a few seconds to collect himself and let you collect yourself, “Haven’t felt like that in a long time.” 

“Glad I could be of some assistance.” You push the hair that had matted to your face off. 

“You should keep secrets from me more often.’ 

“I’m never doing that again.” 

“Good.” He pecks your lips. 

[yellowsugarwords]

hi tay! what kind of careers would all of twdg kids have? what would they enjoy doing for a job?

ahhhh this is so fun!!!! I hope you enjoy buddy :’)

Clementine: Clementine would smile. “I think I could be a good teacher or guidance counsellor.” Louis smiled and Ruby clapped excitedly. “You’d be so great at that! Just look at AJ.” Looking over her shoulder, Clem spotted AJ and Willy off to the side, with AJ whittling a sharp wooden stick. Cringing, she looked away. “Yeah, maybe.”

AJ: A peacekeeper or firefighter. “I want to be able to help people. I know I can.” Clementine always smiled hearing him talk about his dreams. She would support him regardless of the path he chose, but she knew she would be great in either of those fields.

Marlon: He smirked. “I can see myself leading a company.” “Oh, of course that’s what you say.” Violet quipped back. Teasingly, Marlon shot her a glare. “I think I would be great at it, thank you very much.” Violet merely smiled, continuing to sip at the drink she was nursing.

Louis: Louis smirked and crossed his arms, leaning back in her seat. “I think I could be a great principal.” Violet laughed. “Really? Your school would be in ruins.” “I mean, what’s wrong with having a fun school, huh?”  The group giggled. Deep down, they all knew Louis would rock it, but they couldn’t help but giggle at the thought.

Violet: Violet smirked. “I don’t know. Maybe a mechanic, but maybe a politician.” “Politician?” Louis asked with a raised brow. Violet smirked and shrugged. “I’m loud and angry. I think I could do it well.” That alone made all the older kids giggle. The younger kids just looked away, confused and missing the joke.

Mitch: “Video game tester, duh.” Clem smirked, rolling her eyes at the statement. “Either that or a construction worker. I would kick ass with that.” “Interesting combo.” Louis said, chuckling to himself. It was perfectly on brand for Mitch.

Willy: “I wanna work in a zoo!” Mitch raised a brow. “Why work in a zoo when you could live in the jungle?” The proposition blew Willy’s mind. “I’m just gonna work in the jungle.” “What are you gonna do?” Ruby would ask. “Jungle stuff.” Was all he would say. Everyone found it precious. 

Aasim: Aasim would glance up, staring at the sky in thought. “Maybe a barista.” “That’s it? That’s lame.” Aasim shot a glare Mitch’s way. “I get unlimited coffee and brewing and cooking skills. I think it’s a pretty solid choice.” Considering the thought, Mitch even glanced up in contemplation. “That’s a good point.”

Ruby: Ruby smiled warmly. “I would either want to be a guidance counsellor or work in social services.” Mitch whistled. “Dang, go big or go home, Rubes.” She merely smirked. “I think I would be perfect for both with my ‘mama bear’ energy.” The group laughed, knowing she was absolutely right.

Tenn: “I want to be a teacher.” Giving his adoration for critical thought and creativity, everyone could see Tenn being the best teacher in the universe. “Your students would love you.” Ruby would say. It made Willy smile. In fact, it made him want to become a teacher even more.

Omar: Omar would smile. “I would say a chef, but I want to stretch my wings. I want to be a world traveller. Maybe a photographer.” Mitch smirked. “Dang, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type.” Marlon said. “Could I come with you?” Tenn asked with wide eyes, excited at the mere proposal. “Of course,” Omar said with a grin, the group itself breaking out into smiles.

Brody: Brody would smile, hugging her arms to her chest. “I think I’d want to be a counsellor or psychologist. I think it would be,” she fiddled nervously with her fingers, “interesting.” Despite her worry about being judged, the group beamed with excitement. “You would be so great at that!” Ruby said warmly, all smiles and grins. Brody felt her chest grow warm.

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 💌☕️♡

[sword-brainrot]

Hello~! Let's say that the saniwa has a part time job at a cafe to get some more money for the Citadel, and the swords already know this.

One day, some of the swords decided to go visit them while they were working. How would Sanchoumou, Tsurumaru and Shokudaikiri (separate please) react if the first thing they see is an angry customer pouring their steaming hot coffee on top of the saniwa because they got their order wrong (and possibly burning the saniwa too)?

Hello! I wasn't sure whether I wanted to do the headcanon format for this or actually write out each scenario for it (like a little fanfic). I decided on going with the headcanon format but if you wish to see the other way as well, just let me know! I loved this idea and wouldn't mind doing it again ^^

TW: Implied violence, burns/scars

♡  Sanchoumou would actually frequent the café that you work at (even if he scares the other customers a little bit just from his rather intimidating appearance). He would always order the same thing, a black cup of coffee as he watches you work or reads a magazine.

♡  He would always sit in the the table closest to the corner as well. The customers that go there often begin to think it's just his table due to him being there fairly often.

♡  Everyday after your shift ends and you are suppose to clean up and go home, he would be outside waiting for you to walk you back to the citadel together. Making extra sure you are safe. Even on the days where he can't make it, he will make Nikkou or Nansen come and walk you home in his stead. (very rarely he ever asks Norimune to go)

♡  He actually tries really hard to not scare away your customers! He knows he looks rather intimidating for being there so often and his appearance, so if he seems some customers looking at him with concern, he will flash them his most gentlemanly smile.

♡  So the day that a new customer comes in and starts to get all angry? Oh boy...

♡  When he first hears someone raising their voice, he puts down anything he was doing and quickly looks up. He knows that you are independent and can take care of yourself so he will clench his fists until the whites of his knuckles appear and bite his lip, trying to hold himself back from going over there.

♡  It is only when the fuming customer stands up and pour their steaming hot coffee on you that he loses control. No longer is he sitting in the corner, far away from the action. You don't even see it happen before you know it, he is right next to you, towering over you and the customer. His ruby eyes feel like you can see the flames coming off of them.

♡  He would grab the rude customer by the front of this clothing, making sure they can't escape before ordering the other staff to come and help you quickly.

♡  The last thing you see before they pull you into the back is Sanchoumou practically dragging the guy out of the café. Almost dragging him on the floor like he weighs nothing.

♡  That afternoon, when you are suppose to go home, Sanchoumou isn't there. It will be Nansen. Right away the poor boy will ask if you are okay and ensure you that will never happen again before taking you home.

♡  When you do get home, Nikkou and Sanchoumou are both not there.

♡  It isn't until very late at night until you will see Sanchoumou. He would ask to go into your bedroom and ask if you are alright.

♡  If you have burns/scarring, he would gently hold the area and give soft kisses to it saying how sorry he is and how he should of stepped in sooner. He would blame himself a lot for letting you get hurt. This will probably the only time he will show the more vulnerable side of himself. He will worry about you a lot and constantly say how it is his fault you got hurt.

♡  Needless the say, that customer never shows his face at the cafe again.

♡  "I promise I will never let you get hurt like that again, my little dove."

♡  Tsurumaru would also show up at the café a lot! Though... Not when you expect it.

♡  He comes in when you aren't there and waits to surprise you when you are coming out (and normally holding drinks... and almost dropping them). He would laugh and apologize while continuing to laugh.

♡  He gets bored at the citadel a lot so he will often sneak out and visit you!

♡  But that also means he sneaked out and could cause trouble else where...

♡  Did he buy those silly glasses with a mustache and a big hat just to sit in the café with a newspaper and freak you out when you go get his order? Oh ya. He tries to find anything to spice up the every life at the citadel and the café.

♡  The customers warmed up to him very quickly and often talk about him when he isn't causing trouble there. They all believe that he is your boyfriend or at least has a crush on you (and are they wrong?).

♡  So the day Tsurumaru comes in (loud and proud) but is met with an angry customer yelling at his saniwa? Oh god. He quickly runs over and puts on his smile to try to calm down the customer. Trying his best to take the attention off of you and onto him. If the customer was going to lash out at anyone and harm them, he wanted it to be him and not you.

♡  But clearly it isn't enough to take the attention off of you and as soon as the coffee hits your skin, his smile drops and his face shifts from nervous happiness, to concern, to anger.

♡  Unlike Sanchoumou, Tsurumaru doesn't even take the customer outside. He quickly grabs their arm, twists it behind their back, and forces them down on the ground to cause them to stop any further damaging actions.

♡  A smile would appear once more as he calls for help for you and to make sure this customer ends up being taken to the authorities. A smile that was poorly hiding a bunch of anger behind it.

♡  After he makes sure that the person is taken away, he would go in the back and gently touch your hands, and ask you if you are okay.

♡  He would give you a slightly worried look with a smile. "Guess I didn't help too much, huh? I'm sorry."

♡  He would feel terrible if you had any burns/scars. He would offer to take your place in the café until you felt safe and healed so you didn't have to worry about making money.

♡  Expect a lot of hugs with his big white coat constantly engulfing you and making sure you are warm and safe in his arms.

♡  Anything he can do for you, he will. With no complaints what so ever. He wants to make sure you know that even if he is a pretty silly guy, you can always rely on him and he would never let you down.

♡  Unlike Sanchoumou and Tsurumaru, Mitsutada doesn't actually come to the café too often! He is often busy at the citadel with making sure everything is clean and making sure to prepare every meal.

♡  But when he does have time (when Kasen or any other sword is planning on cooking that day), he is there!

♡  He likes to order a lot of different stuff from the café. Every time he comes, he orders something new. He wants to taste everything. Also expect him to go over and compliment the chiefs and the baristas after every visit. They quickly warm up to him and actually bring him into the back to teach him how to make things. (More food and drinks at the citadel!)

♡  He will often make you taste whatever he orders on your shift because he wants to find out what you like and dislike! As well make sure you have enough energy throughout the day.

♡  You will also see him in an apron way too small of him when he is in the kitchen. He sometimes won't even noticed that you came in because he is so consumed in whatever he is making/learning. It is very cute how much he gets engrossed in these activities and how much his eyes sparkle being there.

♡  He also makes sure that you two walk together when he is able to make it. If he has a day off, he is gonna use it to the fullest and make sure to spend the whole day at the café and with you!

♡  Mitsutada isn't a man who lets his anger get to him. But when he walked out of the kitchen one day and saw hot coffee be poured onto you? He had some struggles to hold himself back.

♡  He quickly ran over to you, taking off his jacket and putting it over you as he turned to the customer and told them, "Get out and never come back if you know what is good for you."

♡  He doesn't even wait to see their reaction before quickly bringing you into the back and take care of you and try to make sure that your wounds don't scar. He knows very well how scars can really shake up another person. Mitsutada’s hands are scarred badly which is why he constantly wears gloves to hide it from everyone. 

♡  All the while, his hands are shaking slightly as he is trying to tend to your wounds and bandaging them up after putting cold water on them and getting you new clothes to change into.

♡  He makes sure you have his jacket still on you in case that helps you feel a little safer.

♡  You don't even hear it at first because he is so quiet as he is treating you but he is constantly saying how sorry he is. It is the only thing he can really get out before sometimes looking up with a very worried expression and asking if you are truly okay.

♡  He wouldn't know what he would do if you got really badly hurt and he couldn't do anything about it.

♡  He would insist that you stay at the citadel for a while and let him make extra money for the citadel in your stead. He doesn't ever want to see you get hurt like that again.

♡  His gloved hands would gently caress your cheek as he looks at you with a worried eye. "You are okay... right? It's okay to lean on us swords too, you know? We will all help out if you need money, aruji(master). We care about you dearly."

[lovelyirony]

can I request stevesharon for the otp ask, please?

of course! 

Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?

Steve signed up to be a barista because he needs to make an Instagram account for one of his art classes detailing how he uses art in everyday life, and he’s convinced that maybe if he learns how to make good coffee, then he’ll actually learn to like it. 

He’s right about both of these things, and gains a certain reputation around campus for having the best art pieces. (There are also the people who simply come to watch him work. Steve is quite the handsome man.) 

And then there’s Sharon, who is done with everyone and pays no attention to the heart he draws in foam in each and every one of her lavender-mint lattes. At this point, he’s dying. So he needs to up his game, he thinks. 

Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the backrow slacker?

Steve doesn’t think he’s doing that badly in math until Fury takes him aside and tells him that if he doesn’t raise his grade, he’s out of the football championship, and he needs recruiters to see him so that he can get a scholarship. 

Enter in Sharon, who is a tutor and also in the class before his. She’s nice, to the point, and teases Steve at every possible moment about football. But she does help in math, and she promises to come to the game on Friday. 

Rivals to loves AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons?

Steve takes their rivalry very seriously. It all started in eighth grade when Sharon showed him up on the diving board, and they’ve been competing in everything ever since. 

He’s always annoyed at how easy Sharon can just...take it? She doesn’t get mad at him like he gets mad at her, and she says that she finds it cute that he’s still holding a grudge over a “silly diving board round.” 

He’s not giving up. 

Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides?

Steve and Sharon have been enemies ever since Steve got in the way of Sharon’s mission and basically assumed that she couldn’t do her job because she’s not him. Well, Sharon states that she didn’t need to go into a special machine and come out absolutely jacked to hell to do her job, and there’s the rivalry. 

There’s also the fact that they’re both after the exclusive Potts Ruby, one of Tony Stark’s most prized possessions. 

And they both signed up to be on the same security team for said Miss Potts. This is going to be hell. 

At least, up until Steve starts to realize that maybe Sharon isn’t as bad as he thought...

Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate?

Steve is very eager to meet his soulmate. He was always told my his mom that soulmates were special, and to be cherished. 

Sharon grew up with a mother who couldn’t give a damn about soulmates, not even when she had ended up with hers. Sharon learns that soulmates don’t necessarily guarantee that you get a great life full of love and happiness. She’s not looking forward to it. 

But Steve won’t give up. Not yet. 

Single parent AU: Which one is the single parent? (Alt. if they’re both single parents: Which one is open to starting a new relationship from the start? Which one is never planning on finding love again… Until they meet the other and are instantly smitten?)

Sharon is very surprised when she gets a tiny little girl in her self-defense class, no more than seven years old, determined to “kick as much ass as possible, starting now.” Those were the words, verbatim. 

She’s more surprised that this little girl’s dad is a “aw geez, shucks mister” kind of character, wrapped up in too-tight t-shirts and seemingly oblivious to the gazes of all the PTA moms at the dance studio/gym. 

Doctor AU: Which one is the longsuffering doctor? Which one is the patient?

Steve wishes that Sharon would stop coming into his place of work with cuts and bruises all the time, and possible concussions. She tends to be as stubborn as him, which is endearing until she refuses painkillers and insists that she can get home just fine, thank you very much. 

He also wishes that he didn’t know what caused the cuts and bruises, although he’s also a secret agent, so he understand the realities of the job. (Even though he went to medical school to make sure he could take care of himself.) 

Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other?

Sharon is the bodyguard to world-famous actor Steve Rogers, who tends to have some intriguingly obsessed fans. Steve insists he doesn’t need a bodyguard, but can’t seem to shake Sharon off of him quite yet. 

Sharon is determined to stick to her job and learn about why Steve Rogers is so squirmy around her after six months of working together. He wasn’t like that at first, and she’s not sure what’s causing it. 

Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?

Steve is all about justice. And if he has to ransack royal ballrooms and terrify queens and kings, then he’s fine with that. Serves them right when he sees the subjects of the kingdom starving and malnourished. 

But the Carter Kingdom isn’t on his list. In fact, they do a bang-up job of running a country, although he thinks their desserts could use a little work. 

They’ve hired him to find Sharon, the next in line for the throne. She disappeared into the night, clearly kidnapped if the broken windows and bloodshed was anything to go by. 

He searches for a year, finding out more and more about this woman. It’s not until he runs into one of her former suitors that he finds a miniature, and falls a little bit in love with her teasing smile and elegant demeanor. It paints a picture of a lady who knows exactly her worth, but knows how to go along with everyone’s expectations until the last moment. 

So he isn’t expecting Romanoff’s ship to have a brand new member of the crew, who looks remarkably similar and has expertise in handling a sword, and pressing it against his throat. 

Well. That is...nice. 

Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?

Sharon’s been in love with Steve since they were in seventh grade and she moved to their school. Steve’s been focused on being just like his father, preparing for an army and still having the boniest body she’s ever seen. 

But every Halloween, they go trick-or-treating and every Christmas, they exchange gifts and have snowball fights with Bucky and Sam. 

And every year, she falls more and more. 

She nearly gives up when it’s high school and it’s the end of everything, and they’re going to college. She should just get over it. 

...right? 

[mrslackles]

The Right to Remain Silent

Summary: Beth's FBI. Rio's... not.

[A/N: This is an unfinished work that I scrapped but I’m posting because of this tag game. I rounded out writing three of the main parts of the first chapter that I already had mostly done so it would be readable, but like I said, it is most certainly unfinished; there are whole middle chunks missing that I never got around to writing.]

**

“Ruby, do you think there's any way back once you're a bad person?”

She can almost hear her best friend frown on the other end of the line.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you've crossed over, do you think it’s possible to find your way back?”

There’s silence for a moment. Then Ruby lets out a breath. 

“I… I guess it depends how far you went. How bad what you did is.”

“The worst.” She swallows. “The worst possible everything.”

**

One week earlier

**

Beth’s feeling really good about herself.

So good that she’s even considering buying everyone in the office coffee. She thinks she’ll drink hers here, though. At least her first cup. She’s still high off yesterday’s bust and she doesn’t need the humdrum of today spoiling it just yet.

The barista smiles at her, catching her eye, then winks and goes ahead making her usual order.

“Lemme get that for you.”

Beth turns. There’s a guy beside her facing forward, his collar up, but he’s looking at her from the corner of his eye.

She smiles. “That’s not necessary.”

“Oh, but I wanna.”

“No, thank you,” she says more firmly, letting the smile go.

“Oh, c'mon darlin,” he says, voice smooth as honey. “How else’s a guy s’pposed to get a beautiful woman’s attention?”

This gets under her collar then seeps into her bones, sending a shiver down her back. Weird. Weird.

“Well, I'm married.”

She’s still trying to process this – a man hitting on her – when he suddenly turns to face her and, oh.

“Since when has that ever stopped anybody, Elizabeth?”

Her mouth falls open – at his appearance, at the tattoo, at him knowing her name – but he doesn’t give her the chance to speak.

“Sit down.”

There’s no room for arguing in his tone, face stony in an instant, and she follows him to a table with her heart fluttering in her throat. There’s a cat-like fluidity to the way he walks and she takes this in analytically before sitting, back straight.

She folds her hands into her lap, trying to shake off the surprise.

“What gang are you affiliated with?”

“Shit, first you don't want me to buy you a drink now you wanna take down my pants?”

There’s something about him – the lewdness? His smirk? The way he takes her in with gleaming eyes? – that unnerves her, but she tells herself it’s still just the shock letting it all get to her.

“How did you find me?”

He sits back in his seat, folding his hands; almost mocking her own posture.

“You raided a warehouse of mine yesterday.”

God. She clears her throat.

“You want your money back?”

She’d caught the line of his gun beneath his jacket; is slowly trying to survey the café to figure out if he’s alone.

“Naw. See, you asked how I found you,” he points at her.

“So then what do you want?”

Now he leans onto the table, steepling his fingers.

“Your hubby, he ain’t a real stand-up guy, huh?” He makes as if to give her a chance to speak then barrels right ahead. “Fucked around on you then getting himself into debt with some real rough guys.”

Breathe, Beth. Breathe.

“What are you talking about?”

He seems amused – he knows more than her and he’s relishing it.

“He been real flush lately?”

And she wants to say no instantly, but – he’d suddenly paid for the house after they’d been struggling to make the payment. He’d said he’d sold a car, but…

“You’re trying to bribe me,” she says, voice tinny.

“Nah,” he scoffs, laughing like she’s told a joke. “I’m tryna keep the limbs on all your loved ones. Y’know, they’re called loan sharks for a reason.”

Her hands are no longer folded, wringing each other.

“H-how are you going to do that?”

He shrugs cavalierly. “You need money, I got lots of it. We could be friends, and I like helping out my friends.”

He watches her, waiting, but she doesn’t react; doesn’t respond. She’s frozen, too stunned by this influx of information; this situation.

Not only had Dean torn their family apart, he’d also put them in danger? And she’d left her children with him to take this assignment; to get away. And now her babies could end up being collateral in more ways than just that one.

“Your hubby’s in the hole for ten grand,” he informs her, leaning over the table a little. “So I’m thinkin… a cool thirty gees?”

She stares.

“You’re going to pay me thirty thousand dollars for doing nothing?”

“Naw, darlin; nothin’s for nothin.”

“So what do you want?”

“Colleague of yours, an agent… Donnegan?” She nods and he continues: “Had a drug bust a week ago. My intel says the pills are still in your evidence room – I got a third party who’s real interested.”

“You’re insane.”

He grins, delighted, as if this is a compliment.

She shakes her head. “I can’t just take evidence, that’s not how things work!”

He shrugs. “Bat your lashes, sign it out for another ‘investigation’ – whatever it takes. I’m sure you’ll think of somethin.”

Before she can say anything – say whether she’s going to do it – he jumps up, kicking his chair back as he juts a thumb outward.

“That’s my boy, Mick.”

She follows his finger to see a tattooed man standing outside.

“He’s gonna take care of you. Make sure you got the details for the drop; that you all set up for payment.”

And then, with a quick squeeze of her shoulder, he’s gone.

**

She nearly growls when Dean’s voice finally crackles across the line, greeting cheery. 

“Hi, you.”

“Tell me right now and don’t lie to me: did you get money from loan sharks to pay for the house?”

There’s silence for far too long, loaded.

“Bethie, I was going to tell you—”

“Oh my god,” she sucks in a breath. 

“But, see, I knew you’d react that way!”

“Because you put our lives in danger! Do you know what those people do to the families of people who don’t pay them?”

“I know this all seems really scary, but it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

He’s always done that. She’s been a cop for years and he still makes it sound like she’s a little girl who isn’t capable of anything.

Even Bethie – she’s started hating how he’s always babied her name.

“What’s not as bad as it sounds, Dean?” she humours him.

“These aren’t the guys you’re used to, these are good guys.”

“They’re loan sharks.”

“No! Well… yeah. But they were really worried about our situation and so understanding when I couldn’t pay last month—”

“Oh my god, we’re already behind?”

“Beth. Bethie. I’m going to take care of it, ok?”

“No.���

She looks up from the floor to the evidence locker.

“I am.”

**

[Beth does the drop, gets paid then is forced into having dinner with Rio, after which he drives her to where she’s staying and invites himself inside]

Rio walks around, inspecting the place as she stands frozen by the entrance-way table.

“You have guys around?”

“I told you I was married.”

He turns back to meet her eyes.

“And I told you I know he's a dirtbag.”

“And that gives me permission to sleep around?”

His lip quirks up a little.

“Kinda does, yeah.”

“Well, I’m not that kind of person.”

“And what kinda person is that?”

“Vows mean something to me.”

“Like the one to serve and protect your country?”

And this jerks down her back, just like he wanted it to. He’s smirking and she’s driven forward, seething.

“So this is what you do? You recruit people, pay them, come and scope out their homes for when you need to intimidate them later?”

She wants to take him down a notch, wants to figure out how to get under his skin too, but he doesn’t seem bothered by her tone.

“Naw, house calls ain’t usually my thing.”

“So then what are you still doing here?”

He’s looking at her strangely, shoulders jerking as he comes closer.

“If you wanna know what I’m doing here, Elizabeth, you gotta stop thinking like a cop and start thinking like—”

“A criminal?” she snickers. “Quantico already taught me that lesson, but thanks.”

He smiles, eyes gleaming.

“…A woman.”

And now the shiver down her back is different – but it’s half anger. Is this why he’s here; is that why her? Because he’d wanted to sleep with her?

“Why did you choose me?”

It’s maybe the first thing she’s said all night that seems to throw him.

“’Scuse me?”

“Mick told me that there were other options – better options – but you chose me.”

“He’s got some loose lips this week.”

She folds her arms.

“Why?”

He stares back at her, seemingly conflicted, then backs up to lean against the table.

She waits and it’s a long few seconds before he finally speaks.

“I was there the day of your bust. Was rollin by to check on shit, y’know. But then I saw what was goin on and pulled ’round to the west side of the building.” He hesitates, eyes on the floor. “Saw you.”

He says this like it’s supposed to explain exactly what he means, but she shakes her head in confusion.

“Ok…”

Now he looks up, though not quite at her.

“While you was havin your… personal moment.”

Oh, god.

Everything had suddenly hit her – what Dean had done, how much she’s missing her children and the girls – and she’d had to excuse herself for a few moments.  

But she tries not to cower; not to show how endlessly humiliated she is.

“So you chose me because you saw me cry on the job?” 

Rio blinks slowly, thoughtfully. He swallows.

And when he speaks, it’s soft; nearly inaudible.

“I chose you ’cuz it looked like you needed choosing.”

And she should breathe, should force air into her lungs, but instead -- instead she finds herself stepping closer. 

She doesn’t breathe, doesn’t think, as her legs brush against his.

His eyes are on her, warm and wanting ­– god, when last has anyone looked at her like this?

She’s frozen now, has gone as far as she can, and he straightens up. Then his hand is slipping past her hair to cup her face, angle it up to his. And he’s so warm and she shouldn’t be doing this, but she can’t think to stop; can’t remember why she should be running in the other direction.

When he kisses her, it’s soft. Softer than it should be; softer than he should be. It makes her gasp a little and then she’s pressing closer, kissing him back harder because it feels so right even though it’s all so wrong, wrong, wrong.

She whimpers as his tongue slips past her lips and then his hands are on her hips and before she knows it, he’s spinning them around, lifting her up onto the table, and by the time her legs are spread around his hips, she’s forgotten every vow she’s ever taken.

 **

Rio sips at the bottle of water.

From her pillow she watches the inked bird bob with his Adam’s apple. 

Then her eyes go to the tattoos at the back of his arms. Angry red scratches run down them, a reminder of her that he’ll take home tonight.  

“I like this place.”

Her eyebrow rises in surprise.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “looks like a criminal hideout. Doesn't suit you.”

She doesn’t know if this is an insult or a compliment but follows his gaze to survey the huge industrial space.

“Well, it's nothing like my house, that's for sure.”

Sitting up in bed, she wraps her arms around her knees with a sad little breath.

“Every time I think about it, I like this place a little more.”

“That why you volunteer for it?” He looks amused by her visible surprise. “Might not know much about coppers, but I know nobody of your rank's stayin in a dump like this against their will.”

She stares at him for a moment, weighing up the cost of the truth, then looks away.

“I took it because I wanted to punish myself,” she admits quietly. “You know, no creature comforts.” 

Not while her children are without her; are robbed of their mother, who’d willingly taken herself away.

“But then I realised I feel more comfortable here than the home I left.”

He watches her for a moment too long before snickering in a way that comes out more forced than he probably intends.

“That's real damn sad.”

“Yeah.”

What more is there to say? Especially to him, of all people?

“I'm really tired.”

She moves the sheet higher up onto her chest in what she hopes he’ll take as a hint. There isn’t going to be a second round tonight, not like normal. Things had gotten too personal and that’s not what this is. Although she still has no idea what it is. 

He sniffs in some kind of amusement.

“That a lifelong habit?”

“What habit?” she asks sharply, looking back at him.

He’s up, beginning to dress.

“Only openin up to people you know ain't stayin; who you can push away.”

She stares back, surprised. Offended.

“That's not what I'm doing.”

“Ain't it?” He stands from putting on his shoes to regard her. “Ain't that why you kissed me back to begin with?”

“No.”

He smiles a little.

“You should be a better liar, Special Agent Boland.” He pulls on his t-shirt then shrugs, grabbing his jacket. “But it's cool.”

He’s ready to leave, expression filled with his signature brand of guarded amusement. 

“...Takes one to know one.”

[sgtbuckyybarnes]

3, 6, and 16 for the wip game!!!

3. Perfect Disaster

“He’s really not that bad you know.”

Asha’s right eyebrow raised as she glanced up from her vodka and coke, straw still resting between her lips. 

“Honestly!!” Marlene laughed, nudging her friend with her elbow “You can’t hate every person I’ve dated.”

“I can and I will,” Asha said with a scoff, turning and placing her drink onto the bar behind her “Remember Brie in our first year? I still hate her.”

“Well she did cheat on me,” Marlene mused “So I’ll let you have that one.” 

Asha smiled across to her friend triumphantly “If you didn’t have terrible taste in human beings maybe I wouldn’t have to carry all this hate around with me,” she said with a faux sigh as she reached for her drink once more and raised it to her lips.

“I can’t help it,” Marlene whined, jutting her bottom lip out “Do they have a stable job? Emotions? Home life? Boring! Give me the guy with mummy issues or the girl just let go from her job any day!” 

“You’re a nightmare, you know that right?”

Marlene fluttered her eyelashes and linked her arm through Asha’s, leaning her head on her shoulder for a second “And you looooove me!” she exclaimed, nudging her friend in the ribs and nodding to an approaching figure “But he’s coming over so please be nice.”

“Nice? I’m always nice!”

Marlene rolled her eyes, putting on a smile for the guy now only a couple of paces away from them. 

Asha had to admit he was good looking, dressed in a crisp black suit with his hair pushed back and just the right amount of scruff decorating his chin, but that didn’t mean she was going to be nice to him. Not after all the things Marlene had told them about the friends with benefits situation the two of them had found themselves in. 

“Asha Masters, this is Sirius Black.” 

6. Ordinary People

Closing her eyes, as the rocking of the train caused her stomach to churn, she pressed her face against the cold metal she was gripping onto. She hated starting her day disorganised. If she had stayed at home she would have been opening the store by now - 

Her eyes snapped back open as a noise echoed through the subway “You are kidding me,” she grumbled beneath her breath as the train juddered to a halt and the coffee she had been so carefully protecting splattered down the front of the crisp white shirt. 

Opening up her bag she dug through the contents until her fingertips grasped onto the packet of tissues Ruby had teased her over the previous night. As the lights flickered on and off she rolled her eyes and opened it up, tugging out a few sheets and attempting to wipe away what was already beginning to stain. 

Pulling her phone from the back pocket of her black skinny jeans she winced as she caught sight of the time, swearing beneath her breath when she realised she had no signal. 

“It can’t be something on this train can it?”

“Maybe we’ll catch a glimpse of him!”

“Tyler, get your camera out!”

16. End Up Here 

“Hot chocolate with extra cream for Meghan!” 

She smiled gratefully as she took her drink from the Starbucks barista before she turned away to find herself a table “Oh! Sorry!” she exclaimed as she dodged around a much smaller boy with a head of dark blonde curls.

“Gray c’mere, stay out of the way!”

“Oh no it’s-” she paused as she glanced up to see the owner of the voice. There was a half smirk on his lips as he reached out for, who she assumed was, his little brother “-fine. Honestly,” she said hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt before she sat in one of the free chairs at a nearby table and pulled a book out of her bag.

“Staring at her won’t help you one little bit Zach.”

Meghan wanted the ground to just go ahead and swallow her up when she heard the boy. Allowing her gaze to quickly wander over to where they were standing she slid down in her chair slightly and hid her face behind her book.

“What kind of dork reads a history text book on holiday?”

When she glanced back up she was met by the two brothers staring down to her. The irritation from before bubbling back up “The kind of homeschooled dork who gets to spend six weeks doing work experience with dinosaurs,” she clapped back watching as the younger of the two grinned in excitement and pulled the seat opposite out.

“You work with the dinosaurs??” he asked with wide eyes as he sat himself down “Which ones? How many teeth do they have? Are they herbivores or carnivores?” 

“He’s a little excited,” the older one, back at it with the half smirk, said adding a roll of his eyes.

Meghan smiled as she closed her book and placed it on top of the table beside her drink “Well I’ll answer any and every question he has I don’t mind,” she said glancing to the older brother out of the corner of her eye. He may be nice to look at but she wasn’t so keen on the personality that came with the shiny outer shell “I’m Meghan by the way. Meghan Cruthers.”

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (1/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.  

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Hello, friends! Yes, I’m back with another story! No, I wasn’t expecting it, haha. This is based off of my one-shot Striking Out in that they have the same jobs, it’s the same city, and the premise is slightly the same. But there are quite a few differences though!

This is obviously a fictional story, so some things are going to be different. For one, players for the Yankees are allowed beards here and there are definitely names on the back of jerseys. It’s fun making your own rules sometimes 😉 And since I know I have some readers who are not Yankees fans, I promise you I only picked that team because I had to base the story somewhere where ESPN has an office! 

I hope you guys like this one! ❤️

Found on AO3: | Here |

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @emmas-storybook @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @galaxyzxstark @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

The early March wind whistles through the buildings in Chelsea as Emma opens the door to her favorite coffee shop. It’s aptly named the Grumpy Café for that’s apparently how everyone is before they have their morning coffee, which she totally and completely gets, especially on days where she’s working. As soon as she steps inside, she can feel the heat running through the building, the bustle of people trying to get their caffeine fix even on a Sunday morning, and she has to dodge a group of teenagers who likely aren’t even old enough to drive but are apparently old enough to spend over eight dollars on whatever drink it is they’re all taking pictures of with their phones.

She’s done it before. She’s not judging. Okay, maybe she’s judging a little bit.

Whatever. She just wants her coffee with a splash of hazelnut creamer and possibly a muffin that will totally cancel out all of the work that she just did at the gym. What’s the point of working out if she can’t occasionally reward herself with sweets?

(The point is being healthy and living longer and being able to fit into her favorite pair of skinny jeans, but she doesn’t always remember that when she feels like she’s dying and would like to murder everyone within a five-foot radius of her treadmill. And running is a much smaller monster than Pilates.)

Finally, she works past the teenagers and someone who definitely hasn’t washed their beanie since they bought it, and gets to the counter to put her order in, standing off to the side until Ava, her favorite barista, gives her the to-go cup and small brown paper bag filled with two blueberry muffins, one for both she and Ruby since she’s not interested in having to fight over her muffin when she gets home. After she wishes Ava a good day, she leaves the building, the wind already whipping at her skin, and tries to walk as quickly as possible to get back to her apartment so that she doesn’t die of frostbite or something. It’s not cold enough for that, but it kind of feels like it when all she has on are a pair of black leggings and a white tank top that might as well not exist for how little it protects her from the cold.

At least it doesn’t make her sweat.

She should have brought a jacket with her.

“Hey,” a man yells out at her, and she has to bite her tongue to keep from cursing at him when she has no idea what he wants. Instinctively, she reaches for her keys, placing the sharp edge in between her fingertips as she keeps walking, “you’re that girl.”

And immediately she knows that she is, indeed, that girl, and that this man, while slightly obnoxious in his Red Sox cap and t-shirt that he obviously bought from a tourist shop while in Manhattan yesterday, isn’t going to cause her any danger. Just annoyance.

“That I am,” she smiles, knowing less is more when she’s been recognized lately, only the slightest bit of resentment simmering below the surface of her skin.

“Can I get a picture?”

“Yeah, sure.” Emma sighs before keeping that plastered smile on her face as he comes up to her and wraps an arm around her shoulder before holding his phone in front of their faces. It’s quick, easy, and it’s not the first time that it’s happened to her. It used to be solely because of her job, and while this technically stems from that, it’s entirely different.

She should have bought a box of donuts or something instead of this muffin so that she could angrily munch away after she gets back home.

When she walks up to her apartment building, she presses in the code to get through the gate, before pulling the old creaky thing open, and walking up the four flights of stairs to get to her front door, twisting the key in the knob before quietly opening the door as she figures that Ruby isn’t awake yet. It’s before noon on a Sunday where they’re not working, so Ruby being awake would pretty much be a miracle or a sign of the world ending depending on how you look at it.

(A sign of the world ending most definitely.)

Toeing off her sneakers, the right one getting stuck, she flicks on the light switch to illuminate the main room of their apartment. It’s a small place, really more suitable for two people than the three that live here, but she likes the location and rent price too much to change anything about her living situation. The kitchen is more of an alcove than anything else, just five white cabinets shoved into the corner with white and gray quartz countertops, and next to the fridge is an exposed brick wall that she’s not sure is real or simply there for aesthetics. But she kind of likes it and the way that it brightens up the room as their television sits on a small black desk with plants framing both sides of it, a multi-colored rug sitting on the floor underneath their white couch that’s full of more throw pillows than anyone has any right owning.

The throw pillow thing is definitely her fault, but when she’s shopping and happens to see a good deal on a cute patterned one, she can’t help but buy it, figuring there’s some place for it. Her bedroom is full of them, sitting on top of her white comforter and on the black and white striped chair that’s crammed in the corner with piles of clothes stacked on top of it. She’s sure that designers would hate their place, but it’s their place. They like it. That’s all that matters.

She also has this problem with blankets, but that goes hand and hand with pillows, right?

The plants too. She and Ruby obviously wish they had a backyard or something.

“Morning,” Graham mumbles as he steps out into the hallway into the living room. He’s rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, still dressed in a pair of plaid pajamas pants and an NYPD sweatshirt, his hair curling into wild patterns instead of its usual tamed style. “Have a nice run?”

“My legs feel like they’re not actually limbs anymore, but it was good.”

“You happen to bring me any coffee?”

Emma huffs at that before sitting down at the kitchen table with her cup and her muffin, figuring that she’ll clean up the crumbs later instead of dealing with a plate. “No. I got a muffin, but it’s for Ruby.”

“She’s going to be asleep until at least two. I can eat it, and she’ll never know.”

“You have been dating her for two years. You know she can sniff these things out.”

“Eh.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’ve gotten good at hiding things.”

“That, my friend,” she starts, opening up her laptop from where she left it here last night, and curling her foot underneath her thigh, “is an awful thing to say to your girlfriend’s best friend.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Eat the muffin at your own risk.”

Graham chuckles before stepping further into the kitchen and flipping the switch for the coffee maker, the machine sparking to life as that all familiar gargle starts up, the smell already beginning to permeate through the apartment and overpower the coffee she already has. He hums, something that she’s noticed he always does in the mornings since moving in with them in January, and she blocks it out as much as she can. For so long, it was just she and Ruby here, but then Ruby and Graham got serious and he moved in. It’s only weird in the fact that she has to wear a shirt at all times when in a public space and she can hear some pretty enthusiastic sex noises happening through the bedroom walls. But rent is now split three ways, which is amazing, and Graham has a penchant for home cooked meals, which is something she thinks she’s really going to like when she’s traveling for work.

Graham’s probably going to like it more since both she and Ruby will be gone. Though she thinks he’ll miss Ruby a hell of a lot more than he misses her. She’d at least hope so. It’d be concerning if he didn’t.

Her laptop dings several times, and she already knows that she’s going to have at least ten emails from David detailing her schedule for when she flies down to Florida on Wednesday to cover Spring Training and film her segment on Killian Jones.

Killian Jones.

New York Yankees starting pitcher who has made her life a living hell since October of last year when the Yankees won the World Series. That should have been one of the greatest moments of her reporting career, especially since the team she’s assigned to cover for ESPN won the fucking World Series, but then it all turned her into a viral video online.

There are memes about her, okay?

(She’s only twenty-seven, but some of the things she’s thinking today are making her feel much older.)

And maybe living hell isn’t the right word. At least, not anymore. It was crazy at first, basically a madhouse around her, and she had to log out of all of her social media for two weeks even as she gained hundreds of thousands of followers across every platform where she’s active. She’s now got one of those blue checkmarks next to her name, which she honestly should have had before even if she doesn’t think she’s a celebrity or whatever, and random people stop her on the street for selfies. Selfishly, she kind of wishes that people had recognized her before the incident, but she didn’t get into her job for the fame. Really, that was the thing that held her back when she was offered the promotion, not that her job is really a job that brings much recognition outside of certain circles.

But here she is now.

“Killian,” she starts, holding the microphone to her mouth as she speaks and Killian wipes the sweat from his brow, pushing back his long hair before placing the World Series Champion cap back on top of his head, a bright white smile between his lips. Her heart is hammering in her chest, excitement over the Yankees winning finally starting to sink in. She can’t believe she got to work the Series. Holy shit. “You pitched an incredible game, and helped to lead the Yankees to their win. You’ve had an incredible season, an even more incredible post-season. How is it all feeling right now?”

His grin somehow gets impossibly bigger, the lines around his eyes crinkling, and she recognizes the look in his eyes like she always does. She’s been interviewing him for three years now, even if he wasn’t around much last season after his accident, and following his career around long before she’d actually met him through work, so she recognizes a lot of his mannerisms. It’s odd for her to know every career statistic that he has, to know about all of the publicity around his private life, and yet to have only talked to him while he stands on a field sweating under the glow of stadium lights or in the dimness of the locker room.

But that’s her job. She’s a reporter for ESPN, which is pretty damn awesome, and unlike a lot of people she works with, she actually likes to know what she’s talking about. She’s not a former athlete, not some kind of all-star with household recognition, and she’s a woman. Those three facts make her life impossibly harder, and if there’s anything she’s learned in her eight years working for the network, it’s that for every step that one of her male colleagues takes, she has to take ten. It’s idiotic, sexist, and all around wrong, but if she’s on TV spouting out facts that are incorrect, there’s twenty thousand men at home tweeting her and the network telling them to get the “dumb bitch” off their TVs.

Charming, right?

But it’s her reality. Most people only care about how she looks, about how her ass looks in a skirt, but that’s not what she cares about.

(Even if she has a good ass and works damn hard for it.)

She cares about the game.

And anyone who cares about baseball, cares about Killian Jones.

He reaches up to scratch behind his ear, which is a tick of sorts that she’s noticed, before he leans into the microphone. “Right now, it’s pretty unbelievable. It hasn’t sunk in yet, not really, but I’m happy to be here wearing this hat, having the trophy, the accomplishment. It’s been a long road for me personally, for the team, and I’m in a bit of euphoria over it all.”

“How in the world are you not burning alive?” Ruby says in her earpiece, and she has to keep herself from rolling her eyes with the forced smile on her face. Ruby is a great producer, but she definitely loves giving her live commentary to mess Emma up. “He’s so hot, and I can’t even see his ass.”

Her producer being her best friend is both the best and worst thing to ever happen to her.

“I bet,” she says to Killian, looking up in the blue of his eyes as chants start to ring out across the stadium. Ruby won’t stop talking in her ear, and that’s definitely something the two of them are going to talk about later. “You had a bit of a rocky beginning to the season with your injury from last year still lingering, so how’s that arm feeling?”

“Good as new.”

“Perfect, it looked like.”

Even under his hat she can see the rise of his brow. “You been looking at my arms then, love?”

He is such a flirt. It’s ridiculous. At least he’s not one of the creepy ones. She gets it a lot as a part of her job and the general state of men, but she’s thankful for the fact that Jones never crosses the line. And she’s watched his interviews. He seems to simply be a flirt naturally, no trying necessary.

“Me and a couple million other people.”

He barks out a laugh, his head thrown back a bit, and she can see the sharp underside of his stubbled jaw. Thank goodness the Yankees finally allow their players to have facial hair. Really, it’s for the good of all people. “Well, my sister-in-law tells me most people are looking at my ass, so that’s kind of a relief.”

“Oh my God,” Ruby groans, “there are so many things you could say. But don’t. Ask him one more question.”

“So, Killian Jones, World Series Champion, now that you’ve done something every baseball player dreams of, is there anything else that you want to do?”

His mouth snaps closed, his teeth disappearing in exchange of a closed lip smile, and he tilts his head to the side while his eyes flicker up and down her face, very obviously scrutinizing her before his lips part once more.

“Yeah,” he says, adjusting his hat, “I think I’d like to go on a date with you. What do you say, Swan? You want to go out on a date with me?”

“Emma Swan,” Ruby grits, her voice yelling in Emma’s ear, “if you do not say yes, I will lock you out of the apartment. Think of the ratings.”

Later, she’s definitely going to talk to Ruby about sexual harassment. Not that this is what that is. She could say no. Yeah, he asked her on live television. That’s kind of dick-ish. But he’s not forcing her into it. Ruby might be, but that’s an issue for another time. Right now her issue is that she kind of feels like both vomiting on Killian’s shoes and punching him in the stomach for putting her on the spot like this.

Three years of interviewing him, and this is what he’s going to do.

No part of it surprises her. The next words out of her mouth do since she already knows the repercussions from them are going to be brutal.

“No.”

She’d been asked out on live television by a player who she covers several times a month since he only plays every few games, and she said no. Of course she said no.

They don’t even know each other personally, and realistically, she understands that the whole point of dating is to get to know someone, but she’s not about to say yes on-air simply because she’ll look like a bitch if she says no. And really, she doesn’t think she looked like a bitch. She doesn’t. But apparently, she’s not allowed to have her own thoughts or opinions, have agency over her own life, because even though she was gaining all of that fame online, she was also garnering a lot of hate.

Like, an insane amount of hate.

People online are insane.

She always knew that when she took the step up from being a writer and fact checker who merely listed statistics in articles to being an on-air talent, that it would be a difficult transition. For one, she had to get used to working with a camera, with thinking on the spot, and she also had to get used to how much hate she was going to get for being a woman working in baseball. The world is definitely getting better overall, but that doesn’t mean that tiny, petulant men won’t take issue with her covering games over a former pro who’s only in it for the money.

The money is great, much better than she ever could have imagined, but that’s not why she’s in it. Not at all.

Growing up, she didn’t have a lot. Really, she had nothing. Her parents gave her up for adoption after she was born, but no one adopted her. Ever. She grew up in foster homes and group homes, never really having anyone or anything she cared about until she was fifteen and moved into Ruth Nolan’s home in Portland, Maine. Ruth was a kind older woman who packed Emma’s lunch for school and bought her new clothes and made her feel like she mattered for the first time in a long time. Emma knew that Ruth had a son, David, who lived in New York City and who Ruth was unnaturally proud of, but she didn’t meet him until six months after she’d been living in the house and he came home for Christmas with his fiancée, Mary Margaret.

She’d hated him.

Really and truly hated him. She had a good thing going, and him coming home made her realize just how much she didn’t have anything that belonged to her.

She had nothing.

And it didn’t matter that he was twenty-seven to her fifteen, that he was an adult while she was still a child. The jealousy didn’t stop. It kept festering and festering until she was worried that it would never stop. As an adult, someone who is now twenty-seven herself, she realizes how ridiculous this was, but at the time all she could think about was how terrified she was that having her actual son home would make Ruth realize how much Emma didn’t belong.

All of her worry was for nothing because David Nolan is the nicest man on the planet, and he took her under his wings from the moment that he met her. She resisted, not used to knowing what kindness and affection were, but David made her feel comfortable to the point where her shoulders didn’t tense up, where her head didn’t pound, and even though he was a little too much for her until she got used to more genuine care and kindness, David became the older brother she never could have dreamed of.

He was the one who took her on her first vacation, a weekend trip to visit he and Mary Margaret in New York. The two of them definitely coddled her a little bit, jam packing the days with trips to anything and everything she wanted to go to, but it was fun. And then David took her to a Yankees game with seats behind third base and access to the facilities and food to die for with his special access, and her entire life changed.

Obviously, she’d watched a baseball game before. She knew most of the ins and outs, did for most sports. In all of the homes that she’d been in, sports were pretty much a constant. It was the thing the dads liked, most of the kids too, and even though she hadn’t always enjoyed them (she has some pretty strong feelings about basketball), sports were a constant in her life. Her foster parents would never sign her up to play, never wanting to spend the money on equipment, but watching on TV and understanding what her classmates were talking about made her feel like she belonged.

Then she went to an actual game, felt the atmosphere of thousands of people cheering, heard the ding of the ball against the bat, listened to music played during breaks, ate a hot dog like all of the clichés, and a light switched on in her. If David could work at ESPN, could spend his days studying statistics and helping to put together clips and videos of highlights, why couldn’t she?

Why couldn’t she dream of more than staying in Portland and working in an office as a receptionist or something else that would inevitably make her lose the light inside of her that has already been diminished?

Ruth and David offered to help her take SAT prep courses to boost her score, and they helped her apply to colleges across the country. When she got accepted to NYU, David and Mary Margaret immediately told her that she could live with them, and when David got her an interview at the ESPN offices as an intern the fall of her freshman year, she finally, finally felt like her life was headed somewhere good.

Then she met Neal and…that’s not something she wants to think about.

He’s not someone who needs to take up any space in her mind when she’s got Jones to deal with.

More specifically, an interview with him.

Emma,

Here’s your flight information as well as your rental car number. Everything is under your name, so it should be easy to get once you’re in Tampa. We’re sending Madden with you, but we’re sending Ruby to other ST games to produce with some of our more inexperienced reporters.

Jones can do his segment on 3/09/19 before the game against the Orioles. That’s also who they’re playing on Opening Day, so try to work something in with that. He shouldn’t be pitching that day, so he’ll mostly be free.

Come over for dinner before you leave?

DN

She fires of a quick response before opening up her document filled with the list of questions that she’s been working on for the interview. Jones is a pretty private guy despite how much information on him is out there, so she knows that this exclusive is a pretty big deal. She also knows that despite being the exclusive on field reporter for the Yankees, she got this gig because of what happened after the World Series. It stings, if she’s honest with herself, but she’s learned that sometimes she has to accept things she doesn’t necessarily love for the good of her career. That’s precisely why she, Ruby, and Graham have spent the last six nights sitting in their apartment listing off questions that she thinks resemble more of a speed dating questionnaire than a profile on a professional athlete.

At least there’s some questions about baseball. She doesn’t think Jones would be too fond of her if she dug a little too much into the boating accident that broke his arm and ended his season two years ago or the rather prolific dating history that he has. Then again, maybe him hating her would keep him from asking her out again.

Pros and cons and all.

“Ooh, is that muffin for me?”

Ruby stumbles out of the hallway, her shorts riding up her ass and her socks at different heights around her ankles. Her hair is half tied up in a bun, but it’s mostly falling down her back in dark curls, red streaks spread throughout. She’s basically a zombie waking up this early, and when Emma looks over to Graham standing with his back against the countertops peeling open the wrapper on the muffin, Emma can do nothing but smirk.

At least she’s not saying I told you so.

She’s really tempted though.

“Sure, babe,” Graham smiles, opening up his arm for Ruby to fall into his side, her head resting on his shoulder as she picks at the top of the muffin, spilling the crumbs on the floor all the while Graham kisses her temple. “What are you doing up?”

“I could smell coffee,” she mumbles, her mouth full. “And my phone kept going off because David wouldn’t stop emailing me about all of my work stuff this week. Does he ever sleep, Ems? I mean, he’s got a wife and a ten-year-old. He’s got a life.”

“David can make Mary Margaret swoon and help Leo with his homework all the while emailing us to get our shit together. It’s a talent.”

“It’s annoying.”

Graham chuckles before rubbing his hand up and down Ruby’s shoulder, the affection so easy between the two of them, and Emma feels her stomach twist. She’s in that weird phase where she couldn’t be happier for her friend, couldn’t be happier that Ruby has this person, her person, but where she also feels a lingering loss over having lost someone who she thought was hers.

But again, she is not thinking about that this morning. It’s easier not to.

“Sweetheart, I can nearly guarantee that your boss does not get onto you like my boss does.”

Ruby’s brow raises before she takes a giant bite out of the muffin. “Are you really going to stand here and try to tell me that I can’t be irritated with my boss because you have it harder?”

“That is not what I said at all.”

“It kind of is,” Emma adds in as she brings her knees up to her chest and types in a question about Killian’s nieces on her document.

“But you understood what I meant? I just meant that – ”

“It’s too early for you to keep putting your foot in your mouth,” Ruby laughs, stepping out of Graham’s embrace to get a mug out of the cabinet and pour herself a cup of coffee. “And it’s definitely too early for little miss over there to have been on a run and be back here working. It’s our day off. Let’s do something fun.”

“Like what?”

“Get drunk?”

“Oh my God, no. It’s not even nine thirty.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

“Okay, Jimmy Buffet.”

“Well now I want a cheeseburger and a margarita.”

“We could always go to the restaurant in New Jersey.”

“There’s a place ten minutes away from here,” Graham interjects, “that sells fantastic cheeseburgers all day long. We go there for lunch a lot.”

“But do they have tacky decorations and overpriced alcohol?”

“They have good food and a TV that works seventy percent of the time.”

“That sounds perfect,” she sighs, closing her laptop even though she knows they probably won’t leave for a few more hours, “but once the season starts, I’m going to have to swear off burgers and any other concession food.”

Ruby guffaws, actually guffaws, her head thrown back and her coffee sloshing around in the mug. “The day you stop eating junk food on game day is probably the day that you go out on that date with Jones.”

Her eyes immediately cut toward Ruby, but the woman can’t be fazed and doesn’t care that she’s being stared at by someone with daggers in her eyes. Graham lets out a low whistle, one that doesn’t match up with the song he was humming earlier, and Ruby simply shrugs her shoulders and takes another sip of her coffee.

“I hate you for still thinking that’s funny,” Emma finally says as her legs stretch out for her to stand up and toss her empty mug into the trash bin, the cup circling the bag before landing in. “And for telling me to say yes for the ratings.”

“To be fair, I always knew that you’d say no, which is honestly probably better for the ratings than you saying yes. I’m so pissed that I didn’t get assigned to you to go to Tampa. I’d pay big money to get to see the two of you get all close and personal, but no, Jeff gets to go with you.”

She rolls her eyes and steps forward to condescendingly pat Ruby on the arm, forcing a smile on her face. “I’m not going to tell you anything that happens, which means you’ll never know because Jeff will never tell. We could have sex right there at Steinbrenner, and you’d never know.”

“I hate you.”

“You wouldn’t have sex with him anyways,” Graham says, and she and Ruby both slap his arm before his lips part in shock. “What? I’m just saying the truth. Emma is a consummate professional, and she’s pissed at Jones for asking her out like that. She’s not going to do anything to mess up her reputation. She’s worked too hard to be taken seriously.”

Graham Humbert: loveable idiot but also one very smart man.

Because he’s exactly right in what he’s said.

“Let’s go get some cheeseburgers,” Emma sighs, wanting to change the subject.

“But you just said it was too early.”

“Whatever,” she laughs, adjusting her sports bra underneath her tank top. She probably needs a shower before she goes or her sweat is going to mold this bra into her skin. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

[ghostyboiii]

Winging It

Merry Christmas @ilovemesomekillianjones ! I was your CS Secret Santa this year! It’s been cool to get to know you over this month and I wrote this one-shot just for you. It’s not super amazing, but I hope you still like it. I hope you have a great Christmas!

Thanks to @cssecretsanta2k18 for organizing this event, you did a great job. Merry Christmas!

(Also on Ao3)

“So tell me, Emma Swan, why’s Mary Margaret setting us up on a date two days before Christmas?”

“I think she just doesn’t want either of us to spend the holiday alone.”

“Yeah, I get that but doesn’t she know how mad David would be if we started dating?”

Emma Swan just raised her eyebrows. “Honestly I think she was thinking of our happiness over David’s. And, you’re easily his best friend, so he really wouldn’t be that mad.”

Killian Jones smiled and shook his head. “You’re his little sister, Swan, he’s way more protective of you and cares about you way more than he cares about me,” he pointed out, cautiously reaching out and grabbing her hand across the table.

Emma gave him a look. “I’m not even his actual sister. If you feel so strongly about this, why’d you even agree to this date?” she asked, pulling her hand back slightly. Killian brushed his hand against the back of hers.

“I like you, that’s why. I didn’t act on it or ask you out because I didn’t want Dave to kill us. Or, at least, kill me. But this? This was Mary Margaret’s idea, so if he disowns us, he has to disown her, too,” Killian answered, glancing up at her. “Why’d you agree to this date? I thought you were very anti-setups.”

Emma blushed slightly. “Usually I am because I hate going on dates with people Mary Margaret think I’ll like instead of going out with people I actually like. And I agreed to this for the same reason I invited you over for Christmas: I like you, too. I like hanging out with you and watching movies and falling asleep on the couch with you. We might as well give dating a try. And, you know, when we break up there are a couple job listings in Boston I’m willing to give a try,” she explained.

One of Killian’s eyebrows raised. “Did you just say ‘when we break up’? Swan, we’re not even dating yet. Also, why are you so sure we’d break up? I think we’d be a nice couple. Might even rival David and Mary Margaret.”

Emma laughed. “I’m pretty sure no one’s a better couple than David and Mary Margaret. And, so far, one hundred percent of my relationships have ended badly. I’m just going off of statistics here, Jones,” she said, shrugging lightly.

“Well, going off of my statistics, we’ve got a fifty-fifty shot,” Killian replied.

Emma gave him a look. “That’s the regular statistic, Killian.”

Killian just shrugged. “So?”

“There’s a fifty percent chance we would break up and then we wouldn’t be able to go to the same parties that Mar and David have and Thanksgiving at their place would be an absolute nightmare, so much that I’d probably leave and actually go to Boston,” Emma said, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself instead of actually arguing with him. She also hadn’t moved her hand completely away from his yet.

Killian made a noise. “That might be true, but there’s also a fifty percent chance that we don’t break up, and then we become almost as disgustingly adorable as Mary Margaret and David, and we could be happy together,” he said. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yeah, it would be nice,” Emma agreed.

“Look, Emma, I really like you. I have for a while, I just didn’t know how you felt and I really don’t want David to kill me, but I really would like to give us a shot. If you don’t, then that’s completely okay, and we can just laugh about this later and stay friends and that’s that. Just say the word,” Killian said.

Emma was caught off guard the moment he called her Emma instead of Swan. “I don’t...we…”

Killian nodded and moved his hand off of hers. “Got it. Friends it is. Do you still want me to come over on Christmas?” He asked.

“Hey,” Emma said, reaching for his hand. “I never even finished what I was saying. It took me a second to get my thoughts in order, and I absolutely suck at sweeping or romantic speeches so, no, I don’t want you to come over on Christmas. I want you to come over on Christmas Eve and stay over and just...be happy on Christmas day, and...feel free to stop me at literally anytime because I have no idea where my thoughts are going,” she finished.

Killian grinned and laughed. “Why would I stop you when I really like where this is going?” He asked.

Emma looked around the mostly empty restaurant. “Want to leave this place and go for a walk or something?” She asked.

Killian nodded. “Aye, that sounds fun.” He waved for the check. The waitress looked slightly confused, as they hadn’t even ordered food yet. Killian just paid for their drinks and they left. Emma pulled on her gloves and her hat and Killian held onto her hand. She laced their fingers together. Killian couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “How about we go someplace where the food isn’t totally expensive?”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Where do you want to go?”

Killian shrugged. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.”

Emma grinned and rolled her eyes. “I feel like that’s cheating somehow. I mean, we just started ‘dating’ literally five minutes ago,” she said, bumping him with her shoulder.

“What? I’m just being honest and charming,” he replied through laughs. “Where do you want to eat?”

“You can’t ask me that, I already asked you. You pick, I’m not putting all that responsibility on me.” Emma shook her head.

Killian laughed and thought for a minute. “Alright, love, how does pizza sound?”

“I’m down for pizza all the time,” Emma replied. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and Emma took a trip down memory lane and thought about that first day they met.

Emma walked into the very large bookstore, looking around for Ruby. Her eyes landed on a slightly disgruntled looking employee by the cash register and headed over to him. “Hey...Killian,” Emma said, reading the name off of his nametag. “Do you know where Ruby Lucas is? I’m the IT guy she called,” she asked him.

He nodded and pointed to the small Starbucks in the other corner of the store. “She’s over there flirting with the barista, just like she always is,” he answered. Emma turned around, slightly confused until she saw who the barista was.

She turned back around and faced Killian. “Yeah, that’s her girlfriend, I think I’d be a little more surprised if they weren’t flirting. I didn’t realize Dorothy worked here, too,” she said.

Killian looked surprised. “Wait, Lucas’ girlfriend? I thought she was single! I’ve heard Dorothy turn her down, like, five times,” he said.

Emma smiled. “Yeah, they joke like that a lot and then come home super late after going on a date.”

He seemed to think about what she said for a minute. “Wait, how do you know when they come home?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m their roommate. For now, at least. That’s also one of the reasons why I’m here, actually. Ruby came home last night some stupid computer not doing what it’s supposed to,” Emma said. “So, do you mind showing me where that is? I told Rubes she had to pay me for this and I’m sure she’d prefer to only pay me for an hour instead of two.”

Killian nodded. “Yeah. So, I feel like I’m at a disadvantage. You know my name, and I have no idea what yours is,” he said, leading the way up the stairs to the broken computer.

“Emma,” she answered.

“Do you have a last name or is it just Emma?”

“Do you have a last name or is just Killian?” She replied, not willing to give up information just yet.

“Jones. Killian Jones,” Killian said after a minute. “I believe that means you owe me now.”

He turned and walked backward for a few steps. Emma’s eyes flitted across his face. “Emma Swan, at your service.”

“Swan? You alright, love?” Killian asked, bringing Emma back to the present. They were standing in front of a pizza place, and he sounded concerned.

Emma nodded. “I’m good I was just...thinking,” she answered and walked into the pizza place.

They ordered pizza and sat down. “So what were you thinking about?” Killian asked, tapping her hand.

“Do you remember the day we met?” Emma asked.

Killian nodded. “I was having a shit day and then you came in and told me Ruby and Dorothy were dating and that you were their roommate and then you fixed the stupid computer that still crashes–you should totally come in and fix that again, by the way–and that was the day I knew I liked you, too,” he added.

Emma’s eyebrows flew up. “That soon? We talked for, like, two minutes.”

Killian shrugged. “Not exactly love at first sight, but I liked you. Wanted to talk to you more. Why do you think I kept dropping by Ruby’s place?”

“Because she kept throwing insane parties that I always complained about? I literally complained to you every single time. It’s one of the reasons I finally decided to find my own place. Well, that and Ruby and Dorothy getting engaged,” Emma explained.

Killian shook his head slightly. “I asked Lucas about you once and she immediately caught on and began throwing outrageous parties where I came over and sat in the hallway with you and you complained.”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, I know that part. And I know the part about Ruby suggesting I get your number, and then she just flat out gave it to me.”

“So, back to the original point of this, where you thinking about the day we met?” Killian asked, and Emma nodded again.

The server came out and gave them their food, then walked away.

They talked and ate and just had fun. Dates were supposed to fun.

None of the dates Emma’s gone on before were very fun, so this one was definitely the best one, though that may just have been because she was out with Killian.

It was starting to get late and Emma’s nose was starting to turn red from the cold, but neither of them really wanted the date to end. “Let’s get a hotel room.”

Killian moves his eyebrows in confusion, making Emma laugh. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Not right now, obviously, but how about we get a hotel room for a few days and do a bunch of stuff neither of us has ever done before here. Like we’re tourists. And none of it’s gonna be planned. We just...wing it,” Emma explained.

Killian nodded slowly. “Alright, love, I’m in. When are we getting said hotel room?”

Emma had to think for a minute. She got them walking again because she was starting to freeze. “How about tomorrow through the 26th? That’s enough time to do some stuff here and enough time to relax in a comfy hotel bed and order room service,” she suggested.

“I like that idea. Tomorrow it is. Now, how about we get a taxi because it’s actually freezing out here,” Killian said. “And, you know, we can make out in the back seat,” he added.

Emma laughed again. “I like that idea,” she said, repeating him and leaning up against him, trying to steal his heat.

Killian threw his arm out and hailed a taxi.

Both of them were pretty sure the driver was just gonna kick them out of the cab before getting to Emma’s apartment. They could see the driver glaring at them through the mirror when they did eventually stop making out. “Can I walk you up?” Killian asked, and Emma nodded, paying the driver and getting out.

“I’ve got two questions; when do you want me to pick you up tomorrow, and what hotel are we staying at?”

Emma shrugged. “Whenever works. I’ll find a hotel online tonight,” she answered, unlocking the door to the apartment building. “So you should really pack tonight so we can get going before too late tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to pack until tomorrow, are you?” Killian asked. He knew her too well.

She smiled. “I’ll get...partially packed tonight. I’ll be fine. If I’m remembering Ruby’s wedding correctly–and I am–you were the one who forgot to pack an extra jacket and would’ve been suffering the entire time if David hadn’t known you so well.” She poked his arm.

At those parties Ruby threw to get Emma to befriend Killian, he had also become quite close with David Nolan and his girlfriend Mary Margaret Blanchard, who was Emma’s best friend. It lead to the four of them hanging out when Emma finally moved out of Ruby and Dorothy’s apartment, mostly on date nights so that Ruby wouldn’t feel left out.

“And if I’m remembering correctly–and I am–you also forgot a jacket and stole mine, which was why I would’ve been suffering,” Killian pointed out. Emma unlocked her apartment and the two of them walked in.

“I didn’t forget a jacket, Ruby specifically told me not to bring one. I was just following one of the bride’s orders,” Emma said.

Killian dropped down onto her couch. That was normal. Emma kicked off her shoes and sat down next to him. “She was trying to set us up then, wasn’t she?”

Emma shrugged. “Probably? Maybe just because the dresses weren’t the same red as my jacket and Mary Margaret would have actually fainted if I wore it as ruined the color scheme of the wedding that wasn’t hers.” She pulled her laptop from her coffee table to her lap. “Which hotel do you want to stay at?”

“I thought we were winging it.”

“This is the one part we’re not winging,” Emma replied. Killian just hummed, flipping on Emma’s TV and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Half of that was normal. “I don’t mind having you here, but don’t you have to pack? It’s, like, nine o’clock. At night,” she pointed out.

He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of asking me to leave?”

Emma shook her head. “Just me saying that if you’re not packed I’m gonna make you buy whatever you forgot as if we really are tourists.”

Killian chuckled. “Same goes for you, then, Swan.”

“I’d expect no less,” Emma said, resting her head against him, clicking on a website.

Killian knocked on Emma’s door around ten in the morning. He had eventually left her apartment the night before, not before kissing her at least twelve times, though.

Emma opened it, the handle of her suitcase in her hand. She was smiling. “Have you had coffee already, Swan?”

Emma nodded. “Ah, that explains the excitement.”

“And I’m excited to go and relax for a few days. This is the first time in, like, a decade that I haven’t come home to Storybrooke for Christmas,” she said. Killian reached around her and grabbed her suitcase for her. “I can carry it myself, Jones.”

“I’m aware, but we’re dating now and it wouldn’t be very polite of me to let you carry your own bag, now would it?” Emma let out a small laugh and shook her head once. “Exactly. You’ve known me for a couple years now, you should know by now that I’m always a gentleman.”

Emma locked the door behind her. “Our vacation has now started, which means we’re officially tourists in New York City,” she said, following Killian down the stairs. “You know we could’ve just taken the elevator down and you wouldn’t have to carry that, right?” she asked as Killian grunted slightly when Emma’s suitcase hit his leg.

“I’m aware, but that doesn’t let me show off my strength.” He’d said it only for Emma’s reaction, and she did not disappoint, letting out a loud laugh. “Should I be offended that your first reaction to that is to laugh?”

Emma shook her head. “Nah, I just wasn’t expecting you to say that. I probably should’ve been ready for that.” She refused to let Killian drive even though it was his car. “I’m definitely going to make you drive everywhere else, so I’m driving us to the hotel.”

“Or you could let me drive us to the hotel and we could just take a cab everywhere else,” Killian suggested, but he let Emma get behind the wheel anyway.

“That’s true,” she said, and drove them to the hotel, Killian messed with the radio util he found one of the stations that were playing Christmas music. “So festive.”

They got to the hotel in one piece and checked in, then got their room key and went over to the elevators. “Only the fourth floor, I honestly expected this place to be more packed,” Killian mused as Emma hit the button.

“It’s kind of nice. It also means that if we order room service it’ll be really fast,” she pointed out, leaning back against him until the elevator doors dinged and opened. She didn’t let Killian drag both of their suitcases to the room, taking hers and giving Killian a look when he made some sort of noise in protest. “You’re an amazing gentleman, but I’m too stubborn for that and we both know it,” Emma said. Killian really couldn’t argue.

She opened the door and stopped her suitcase by the bed, then flopped down onto the bed with a content sigh. Killian dropped down next to her. “So, I was thinking about what the first thing we should do that we’ve never done before,” he said.

Emma rolled onto her side, both of her eyebrows raised. “What’s that?”

“Neither of us have ever made out with the other in this hotel on this bed,” Killian said, matter-of-factly.

Emma laughed. “Can’t argue with that.” She leaned forward and kissed him. It took about .05 seconds for him to kiss her back, if Emma had to guess. He rolled on top of her, and it took all of two seconds for Emma to drag her fingers through his hair.

They sat there on the bed for a good ten minutes before they broke apart, needing much more oxygen than previously thought. “Now we’ve done that. Although, I wouldn’t mind going back and doing that again, or is that against the rules of this vacation?” he asked, a slight smirk on his face and one eyebrow up.

“I think that can be the exception to the rule, don’t you?” Emma asked, and Killian nodded.

“What would you like to do to officially start our vacation, love?”

Emma looked confused. “Why do I have to choose first?”

“This was your amazing idea. I think you should have first pick. If you want to get technical, I chose first with the making out, but this is just what we leave the hotel for first,” Killian answered.

Emma had already been thinking of things. “Well...I’ve never gone ice skating before,” she suggested.

Killian’s jaw dropped. “You’ve never been ice skating?” Emma shook her head. “That is changing right now.” He stood up and offered his hand, which Emma gladly took. “We’re gonna go ice skating at Rockefeller Center. That sound okay?” She nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

So they went ice skating and paid a ridiculous amount of money that Killian insisted on paying, saying how Emma could pay when he chose something.

They laced up their skates and Emma at least made it onto the ice without falling, and immediately grabbed onto Killian as soon as she started sliding. It made him laugh. “You’re fine, love, I promise,” he said, holding onto her hand. “Just glide.” Emma mumbled something that sounded like easy for you to say, Jones which just made Killian laugh again.

“I don’t think I was made to ice skate,” Emma said as she slipped and almost fell.

“Nonsense, you’ve just never been before. Hang on tight, and I’ll pull you,” Killian said. Before Emma could protest, he was skating faster and pulling her along. It was kinda fun, until Killian couldn’t stop and both of them slammed into the edge.

That made Emma laugh. “I thought you were supposed to be great and amazing at skating,” she said, grinning.

“I never said great and amazing. Did I forget to mention I never learned how to stop?” He asked.

“Must’ve slipped your mind, or been knocked out of you when you hit the boards,” Emma replied. “But hey, this is fun. Look at me, having fun at Christmas in New York. Never thought I’d say those words,” she said, attempting to skate again.

Killian followed. “What, you never thought you’d be having fun in New York at Christmas?”

Emma shrugged and grabbed back onto him. “I guess I also never thought I’d stay in New York for Christmas at all. I always go back to Storybrooke with Mary Margaret and David and Ruby. It’s just...weird, but good, because I have you, you know?”

Killian nodded. “Aye, I do. I feel the same way. It’s why I agreed to all this and hanging out on Christmas. I just...wanted to be with you. At least, until David finds out about us and absolutely kills me.”

“He won’t kill you. Injure you, sure, but he won’t kill you,” Emma assured him. “Especially when he learns that Mary Margaret set us up and it wasn’t your idea,” she added. She was starting to get the hang of skating.

They skate for about two hours, Emma only falling about five times. It was good and fun and a whole bunch of other adjectives Emma never thought she would ever use. “Want to go back to the hotel and eat an absurd amount of room service?” Killian asked as they got out of their skates.

“That sounds amazing,” she agreed, and then they caught a cab back to the hotel and stumbled up to their room. Emma kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the bed. Killian turned on the tv and grabbed the room service menu and laid down next to her. “What are you in the mood for?”

Killian attempted to shrug. “Not sure. Pasta sounds pretty good.” He flipped through the menu. “Spaghetti?”

“Spaghetti sounds good all day everyday,” Emma replied, flipping through the channels, settling on one of the many Hallmark Christmas movies. “It’s like the pizza of pasta or something.”

Killian glanced up from the menu. “The pizza of pasta?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah. Pizza sounds good any day, anytime. When you’re in the mood for pasta but you don’t care what, most people go for spaghetti. I think. I don’t know any real statistics about that,” she explained.

“Right, so spaghetti it is,” Killian said. He rolled over and grabbed the phone and ordered them lunch. Emma ate her own plate of pasta and then some of Killian’s, and then they fell asleep on top of the covers, Emma practically on top of Killian.

The next day, Christmas Eve, they went to the Empire State Building and to the 9/11 Museum, neither of which Killian had done before.

They just wandered around the city on Christmas and used their ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign a few times at the hotel. It was good and they were happy. Mary Margaret called Emma at six on Christmas night. “Merry Christmas, Emma! Please tell me you haven’t spent the day alone,” Mary Margaret said.

“Merry Christmas, and I have not spent the day alone. I’m not even home right now,” Emma replied. Killian gave her a confused look. “Mary Margaret” Emma mouthed in response. He just nodded and wrapped an arm around her waist. They were laying down, after all.

“What do you mean you’re not home? What’re you doing?” Mary Margaret asked. Emma heard David ask a question in the background. “That’s what I’m finding out, David.”

Emma smiled. “I’m at a hotel right now. We’ve been here for three days including today,” she answered, and then mumbled a curse under her breath when she said we.

“We? Who’s ‘we’?” Mary Margaret asked excitedly. “Is it you and Killian?” she asked.

“I’m assuming David’s not in the room if you just asked that?”

“I may or may not be outside on the porch now,” Mary Margaret admitted. “He’d go a little crazy if he found out.”

Emma glanced at Killian, who now had his eyes closed. “He’s gonna find out eventually if things keep going well.”

Mary Margaret actually gasped at that. “Things are going well? Are you two actually dating now?”

“Yeah. It’s...nice. A little weird to have a boyfriend who’s not an asshole, but it’s definitely a good weird and a nice change,” she answered, Killian grinning when she called him her boyfriend.

“And you’re happy?”

“Definitely. How mad do you think David’s gonna be when we tell him tomorrow?” Emma asked. “Like, on a scale of Ross finding out Chandler and Monica were dating being a one, and Killian getting murdered right then and there being ten.”

“Why am I the only one being murdered?” Killian asked.

“Because he’s in love with Mar and I’m his sister. You said it yourself on our date,” Emma answered.

“What would a five be?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Um, probably disowning Killian for, like two weeks,” Emma answered.

Mary Margaret laughed. “How can he disown your boyfriend, exactly?” she asked.

Emma shrugged. “Just not being his friend, I guess.Ignoring him. Was that your way of saying a five?” She could hear David’s voice in the background, asking about what Mary Margaret was doing outside on the phone.

“Hey, Em, Merry Christmas,” David said cheerfully.

Emma and Killian exchanged a look. “Hey, David. What’s up?”

“Nothing, we just finished making gingerbread houses. Why aren’t you at home? Mary Margaret never answered me,” David replied.

Emma came up with a split second answer. “I’m over at Killian’s. We were gonna hang out at my place, but he’s closer to the Chinese place,” she answered.

“Makes sense. So Killian’s there right now?” David asked.

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Can I talk to him for a minute?”

Emma handed Killian the phone. “Merry Christmas, mate! How’s Storybrooke?” he asked.

“Storybrooke’s the same, though it is nice to see my mom. What’re you and Emma doing?”

Emma mouthed chinese at Killian. “Just watching TV and eating Chinese food. Pretty much just a regular Friday for us,” he answered. “Just, you know, on a Tuesday instead. What’s up?”

David let out a noise. “I was thinking of proposing to Mary Margaret today, do you think that’d be a good idea?”

“Of course it’s a good idea! I mean, you two are practically married already, you just need the ring to make it official,” Killian replied. Emma was nodding. “Your sister agrees with me. Hang up the phone and go do it,” he said.

Both of them could imagine David nodding. “Yeah, yeah okay. Thanks, Killian.” He hung up and Killian handed Emma her phone, which she then placed on the nightstand. She rolled back over and buried her face against him. He’d never ended up putting a shirt on.

“That was only a little stressful. It’s a good thing we already hang out a lot, otherwise that would’ve been a lot harder to explain,” Emma mumbled against him.

He kissed the top of her head. “Eh, you would’ve figured something out. And, hey, he’ll be in a great mood tomorrow when we tell him about us, so it might just be a one instead of a five or something,” he pointed out. Emma smiled.

“Something like that. Hopefully.” Not even ten minutes later Mary Margaret called again. “Hey, Mar–” Emma was cut off by her friend’s screaming.

“I’m engaged! David finally asked! I’m going to get married!”

“That’s awesome. I honestly didn’t know if he was gonna go through with it or not,” Emma replied.

“Okay I gotta go, I just had to tell you that. See you tomorrow!” Mary Margaret hung up and Emma put her phone back down.

Emma closed her eyes. “Yeah, I think we’re in the clear now. David won’t be that upset.”

They were not in the clear. They left the hotel at noon and left their suitcases in Killian’s car when they drove straight to Mary Margaret and David’s apartment. “You know, maybe we don’t have to tell David today. I mean, we haven’t even been dating for a week yet,” Emma said as they climbed the stairs.

“If we wait to tell him he’ll just be more upset that we didn’t tell him before,” Killian reasoned. They stood in the hallway for a minute and he pulled her into a hug. “David’ll be fine, we’ll be fine, everything’s going to be fine, alright, love?” he asked.

Emma just nodded against him before they broke apart. “Ready?” Killian nodded and knocked on the door.

David opened it a second later. He was grinning. “Hey guys, come on in,” he said, moving out of the way. The couple walked in. Emma hugged Mary Margaret and the latter muttered tell him quickly. “How was your Christmas?” David asked.

Emma and Killian exchanged a look. “Uh, it was good.”

“What was that look about?” David asked.

Neither of them really wanted to answer. But, they agreed, they had to tell him, and it was gonna be Emma because there wasn’t a chance he was gonna kill Emma. “Nothing, just that we have something to tell you. Besides congrats on finally asking Mar to marry you, that is,” Emma paused. Mary Margaret gave her an encouraging look. “And that something is that, uh, Killian and I…”

David was quiet for a minute. “Em, I got engaged yesterday, you’re literally going to have to spell this out for me,” he said.

Emma let out a huff of air. “Killian and I are dating now,” she said.

David went quiet again. “You and you...dating? I...what?” he asked. No one spoke. “Dating?” he repeated, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. He pointed at Killian. “You went on a date with my sister?” Killian nodded cautiously, not sure where this was going. “What about that woman you told me about last week that you just couldn’t get out of your head?”

The tips of Killian’s ears turned red and he glanced at Emma. “Well, you see, I was talking about Emma.”

David looked like he was shock. “I–you–why didn’t you ask me?”

Emma blinked, now she was beginning to get upset and confused. “I’m sorry, why would he have to ask you?”

“You haven’t exactly made the best decisions regarding guys in the past–”

Emma practically jumped up. “I was sixteen, David. And then, with Walsh, I thought he was gonna be a nice guy. So did you. That doesn’t explain why you think Killian should’ve asked you first.”

David visibly deflated a little. “It’s the code or something. You don’t date your best friend’s sister without your best friend’s approval.”

“That’s easily the dumbest fucking thing I’ve heard in a long time. You and I both know I can date who I want to and so can Killian. We don’t have to go through you at all.” David stayed silent. “You know, we were actually worried about how you were gonna react, but I definitely wasn’t expecting this.”

David turned to Killian. “You told me you wanted to date that woman, Emma, for a long time. What stopped you from asking her out until now?” he asked.

“I didn’t want you to hate me, but mostly I didn’t know how Emma felt, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I didn’t ask her out, though.” Killian glanced at Mary Margaret, who sighed.

“I set them up on a date a few days ago,” Mary Margaret admitted.

David gaped. “You knew about this?” Mary Margaret nodded. David paced for a minute and Emma sat back down. “You know what, you’re right, Emma. Both of you can date who you want, and I know you’re a good guy, Killian. But, you know, if you hurt Emma in any way, shape, or form, I’ll hurt you. Got that?” he asked.

Killian nodded. “Loud and clear.”

Everything considered, it had been a pretty good Christmas for all of them, and Emma figured if all of her Christmases were like this from now on, maybe they wouldn’t be so bad.

[helloiliketits]

There is only one Spiderman (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: Reader is just a normal kid. Like you and me. Friends with the one and only Pooter Porker Peter Parker and just really feisty and find it difficult to bolt away from danger. Which almost gives our little lovestruck Spider a heart attack more often than not.

(This has been in my drafts since last year so its outdated, also english is not my native language)

Reader: Of any color

Warnings: Just me kissing ass because I love you, some fluff, some angst but not too much because I dont play like that, also there are some vine references, and the words “b*tch”

(I listened to Tchaikovsky while writing this and honestly each piece syncs so well with this gif, bless the creator)

Sure, he may be a web slinging superhero on the side, but Peter Parker was still a little nerd and had crushes on cute people like everybody else.

Specially someone as cute as you. No one could resist you. Not even our cliche school bitch bully, Flash Thompson. You were a bit of an introvert and would rather spend your time reading fanfics on Tumblr and having some fun times with a few friends but you did have some sudden bursts of confidence here and there. 

It all started when you were new to the Midtown High School. Being a new student already gets you ton of attention. Pair that with your incredible personality and you might have just swallowed a magnet because of how much people are attracted to you. Whether you like it or not. You were practically the Ruby Rose of Midtown High. Everyone liked you instantly. Boys, girls, plants, even a god damn piece of paper would NOT politely detach itself from your shoe during Science class and you’re pretty sure you heard a girl in the room say “Me asf” while you tried to yank it off as the class just basked in your pure presence. You had people feeling ~some type of way~ okay?

So it comes as no surprise that Flash Thompson was equally attracted to you and wanted to date you even if it’s just for the rights to brag because *rolls eye* Flash. You on the other hand, had heard enough about his shenanigans through some of your friends and thought it was best to avoid him.

But isn’t fate a comical thing? You’re on your way to your next class and there he is, shoving our precious cinnamon roll, Peter into a locker while Ned watches anxiously. Sad to see his friend stuffed into a locker while also not wanting to go through the same thing. Peter just sighs and does nothing while Flash and his minions are tucking his legs into the tiny space of the locker which probably doesn’t even belong to Peter, judging from another kid standing next to the group of jocks, obviously not there to witness a "cool" fight but also not friends with Peter enough to care about his state right now. "Guys can't you stuff him in somebody else's locker?" the guy huffs, but generally does nothing to stop them. You guess it's because he doesn't want to get hip checked into the small space with Peter as if they're playing "seven minutes in heaven" (but it lasts as long as it takes for someone to finally rescue their asses). So, you decide to step in. "Flash!" you holler. That definitely gets his attention and he turns around quickly, running his palms through his hair to "style" it and leans against the now closed locker door, grinning. As if there isn’t a very antsy Peter Parker just inside, praying to whoever was listening, that he make it to AP Physics in time.

“Y/N!” he grins, opening his arms for a hug. “Cut the shit, Thompson of a bitch. Let that kid out,” you test. There’s a mix of “ooh”s and “aah”s from the students in the hallway as Flash’s smile falters for a brief second, obviously not used to being talked to like that, but he just crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow.

“Why don’t you run back to snow white, dwarf-o,” one of his friend teases but before you can get the “I am the perfect height to punch you in the nuts, and I will,” Flash collects his ‘bros’ with a “woah-woah, guys” and bangs on the locker twice and leaves with his group. But not before giving you a wink (which you scoff at).

The hustle and bustle of the hallway continues as the onlookers suddenly get hit with the reminder that they need to be in class. You do too. So, you rush to the locker and throw it open, to let a very confused Peter Parker out. You see that the inside of the locker is... well, hygienically challenged but that’s a teenage boy’s with god knows how many dirty socks and raunchy magazines buried inside so you avert your focus to his scrunched eyebrows and his mouth hanging open instead.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s very grateful but also slightly mad at you for being cute and nice! How dare you be so attractive!? God damn it, Y/N! Now his attraction has increased tenfold! He mutters a faint “Thanks”, flustered beyond his wits and you give him a kind smile that has his heart beating all the way up to his head. He’s damn near frozen.

.And now that’s the origin story of you two. Of course, Peter couldn’t keep his eyes and distance away from you and would “observe” you whenever you were in the room. 

Which was almost always. 

Because he followed you there. 

Which Ned states as “stalking” but Peter describes it as “checking her out up on her”.  [Yeah, ok, Pete!1!1!] 

Much to Peter’s delight, you guys practically lived in the same building so Peter had twelve hundred (and more) excuses to walk you home. Ofcourse, Spider duties remained but that was more of an after-school activity. And it’s not like the neighborhood was jam packed with crime 24x7. Sometimes his “job” required simply patrolling and the most action he saw was a woman dump a milkshake on her (no longer) boyfriend’s head.

One slightly unfortunate day, as you and Peter were trudging up the streets, complaining about school, a VERY clear, sharp scream of a woman echoed nearby! Now THAT’S a job for Spiderman! But, like, you were RIGHT there! So it’s not like he could rain drop, drop top, roll and whip out his spider suit in the middle of the street, kiss you on the cheek and zoom zoom away,

You both exchanged a brief, wide eyed gaze of absolute shock as you both ran in separate direction, wasting no time. By the time Spiderman had arrived to the scene, there was no woman but there was a homeless guy holding a knife towards none other than our lovely protagonist! (das you, bruh) 

“Go for it, shit! I’m a bad bitch, you can’t kill me!” You shout, as Spiderman skrrt skrrts his web and webs the bad guy to the wall before he can touch your spaghett, landing on his feet infront of you with HALF a mind to grab you by the shoulders and shake you like a drink being made by a barista, the other half of him wanted to reach out and absolutely fecken high five you! “Er, good job. Go home, it isn’t safe here” is all he can choke out in his fake “I came from the mid-west, howdy, I’m the man!” accent before catapulting himself off the alleyway [its always alleyways, God, they’re the hub for all bad shit! So predictable too! Take your mugging somewhere unexpected, man! Throw the heroes off guard! Do you even business, bro?]

Back in your apartment building, as you turn the corner practically skipping, a pair of surprisingly strong hands suddenly grab you and pull you so hard, that all your hair holds a Met Gala at the front of your face, curtaining your view from the one and only Peter Dorker, “Are you crazy! Why’d you do that!?” he yells at you

Completely not giving a feck about not giving out spoilers (*cough* tom *cough*) Why’d you do WHAT!? He wasn’t even there! What’s he talking about!

But right now all you’re focused on is the fact that this random ass bish is grabbing your shoulders like some fecken tentacle and- “You ran away! Someone had to do something!”

He barks, “WOMAN I WAS TRYIN  That’s Spiderman’s job! When you hear trouble, you turn and you run the other way! There’s people who will handle this kind of-”

But before he can get another lecture in, “I helped a lady today! There’s only ONE spiderman, Peter! And he can’t be there for us all the time! It’s NOT his duty- He is NOT obligated to cleanse the streets of Queens! Our work is NOT to turn the other way and hope somebody else does the dirty work! He’s here to HELP and we need to PARTICIPATE! We need to do OUR part WHEN we CAN!” you shout, face all red and sweaty, huffing out, trying not to crack into a smile, proud at yourSELF because damn, that speech was GOOD. You huff, contemplating if you should let him EAT it or just go to your room and head bang over the fact that you got noticed by Spiderman! 

Taking one last look at a very open mouthed Peter, you walk around him and into your apartment as he just stands there, frozen like a chicken pizza at Walgreens. 

He lets out a long, loud breath! How could you be so STUBBORN! This was for YOUR safety! Unless you’re on top of Nick Fury’s “to recruit into Avengers” list, you don’t just go bursting into alleyways in the name of saving people! That’s DANGEROUS! He can’t lose you to some heroic-shit-gone-wrong!

But Peter also felt RELIEVED! For the first time in YEARS, he felt content! You were right! There is only one Spiderman! And no he can’t be there to fight crime every second of the day! And while that ate Peter alive every waking moment of his life, he was also glad that there were good natured people like you in this world! Ones who stood up for somebody and didn’t wait for somebody else! He felt a lot better, realizing that he didn’t have to do this alone! He didn’t have to do it all! He wasn’t expected to do it all!

Peter walked to his apartment, head lowered, hiding his grin. God, he loved you!

[overlordofthelollipopguild]

Life Just Got Complicated - Chapter 3

Another in honor of Jen’s birthday post!

In this next chapter of my modern AU/roommates to lovers fic, Emma is still avoiding Killian and Ruby and Belle suspect that something is going on.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260986/chapters/32988810

Fanfiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12482512/3/Life-Just-Got-Complicated

Chapter 3: Avoiding the Issue

Killian wasn’t sure if Emma was a morning person or not, so he made the morning coffee and breakfast as quietly as possible, which for Killian wasn’t much of a feat. Liam and David used to joke that he could be a ninja, sneaking up on people like he did, purposefully or not. It seemed that his particular skill was handy now. It kept him from disturbing Emma and allowed him time to think.

It hurt that Emma seemed perfectly fine with not pursuing things between them. As they were strangers, he could give her that. A one night stand does not a relationship make. Still, he couldn’t help how he felt, no more than she could help how she felt. He had a gut feeling that she did feel something more, but the way she ran from him, the way she reacted to him last night, it wouldn’t do either of them any good to push the issue. He could live with that for now. What he didn’t want though was to share a living space, but avoid each other like the plague. Despite their odd situation, he did want to at least become friends or live with each other in a friendly and peaceable manner. Killian certainly didn’t want Emma feeling like she couldn’t live in her own home.

That was that then. He would shove down his feelings, and help make this living arrangement better for both of them.

He heard the creaking of a door, likely Emma’s bedroom, before feet padded across the hall. Another door opened and shut.

Killian sighed as he heard the shower turn on. That kind of avoidance was exactly what they needed to stop before it even started. He plated eggs and bacon for her and placed it in the microwave so that she could heat it whenever she was ready. Placing his own plate and mug on the bar, he moved to the stool, opening his phone to check his emails while he ate.

He had a few assignments due by the end of the week, but nothing new was coming in. He needed to make a few calls and send off some emails then. Freelance writing had its perks, but always looking for new jobs was one of the bigger cons. Belle kept pestering him to publish more of his fiction though. He had a few short stories and poems out there, but nothing that made much money. She thought he ought to write a novel. What the bloody hell could he write about?

A pretty, prickly blonde perhaps?

Killian shook his head, a scoff escaping him.

The shower shut off, but he tried to ignore it, tried to push away the images of Emma wet and naked, which wasn’t hard to imagine considering that he knew exactly what she looked like naked. Killian quickly polished off his breakfast, silently berating himself for thinking along those lines. Washing the dishes wasn’t much of a distraction either as he could hear every move she made. Apparently the walls in this apartment were paper thin.

He needed a better distraction. Work would do it. He always became absorbed in his assignments.

Before he could leave the kitchenette though, Emma cautiously peered over the bar. Her eyes widened a bit, startled at seeing him there.

“I made breakfast.” Killian said gently. “Your plate is in the microwave.”

“I’m not really a breakfast person.” Emma said. “Just coffee.” She gave him a wide berth when she passed him to get to the coffee machine. Quite a feat considering how small the kitchenette was and he was standing in the middle of it.

Killian wasn’t sure what to say. There was an air of awkwardness around them again. He needed to figure out how to break through it. “Look, Emma...”

Emma sighed, turning around to face him. “You want to talk about us, right? Let me make it easy, I don’t do relationships. One night stands are as far as I go. Wooing me with breakfast food isn’t going to change my mind.”

“Actually that’s not what I wanted to say.” Killian said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the counter. “The breakfast food was habit. Belle and I used to trade off cooking duties.”

“Oh.” Emma flushed a little with embarrassment.

Killian continued. “I wanted to say that with us being roommates, we can’t avoid each other forever. Last night we said we were going to start over and we can’t do that if we’re still acting like we have a history. I’d like to try to be friends.”

Emma considered his words as she turned back around to make her coffee.

As he watched Emma, Killian nervously awaited her answer. He hoped that she was receptive to him.

Once her coffee was done, Emma faced him. “How about we start with roommates and go from there?”

Killian smiled. “That works for me.”

Emma didn’t return the smile.

To avoid the awkward silence, Killian went out into the living room and powered on his laptop.

Emma watched him curiously as she looked out over the bar area. “Shouldn’t you go to work?”

“I’m a freelance writer.” Killian told her. “I mostly work from home. What about you?”

Emma walked into the living room, sitting a safe distance away from Killian on her couch.

Killian occupied his armchair that Ruby had assured him could move in and that Emma wouldn’t mind it.

“I work at a bailbonds agency.” Emma said. “Fox Bailbonds.”

He tilted his head with a curious look. “You seem more bounty hunter type than bail bonds.”

“I’m surprised you know there’s a difference.” Emma said.

“I’ve had run ins.” Killian shrugged.

Emma arched a brow. “You’re a criminal?”

There wasn’t any judgement in her tone.

“Just a minor offense.” Killian gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I was going through some shit, just moved to New York, didn’t have anyone, so I did something stupid.”

Emma appreciated his honesty. “I was a petty criminal. Three years ago, Cleo, my boss tracked me down and managed to give me a second chance.”

“That’s wonderful, Swan.” Killian smiled gently.

Emma ignored the way her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t ignore the panic that set in when she realized that they were bonding, unintentionally of course, but that wouldn’t do. It took her months to even get to this point with Ruby, and even though she agreed to be civil with Killian, she wasn’t ready for a new friend. “I should go get ready for work.” She excused herself.

Killian watched her go with a sigh. His new roommate was a skittish one. If she balked this quickly into civil conversation, then it would take time to ease her into friendship. It was a good thing that Killian was a patient man.

Emma knew that calling Ruby would result in her calls being ignored, which was why Emma was waiting outside of the magazine that Ruby worked for. She’d ambush her friend when she came out for her lunch break. The perks of being roommates and friends meant that Emma knew Ruby’s routine and at noon on Thursday Ruby liked to go out to eat at a trendy little cafe.  

Emma laid in wait, watching for her prey. Prey that had no idea just how much trouble she was in with her blonde friend. How could Ruby just bail? Was she that desperate to set Emma and Killian up? Admittedly, had she and Killian not had a one night stand under her belt, and had he not been her roommate, Emma would’ve hooked up with him, but nothing more.

Ruby knew that Emma didn’t do relationships, but insisted upon girls night out to scope for guys, or telling Emma about the new cute guy at work, or the cute barista at the Starbucks a few blocks over, etc. etc.

Killian had been the top contender. Emma lost count of the times Ruby, or even Belle, would bring him up in a conversation that would inevitably lead to trying to set them up.

Well, that definitely wouldn’t happen now.

Emma watched the door of the building.

It was almost time for Ruby to come out. Sure enough, the brunette graphic designer walked out, catching eyes in her expensive suit and neck breaking red heels.

Emma pounced, coming up from behind Ruby. “I can’t believe you bailed.”

Ruby’s green eyes widened. “Jeez, you scared the crap out of me.” She whacked Emma on the arm. “Don’t do that.”

“You deserved it.” Emma growled, walking at Ruby’s side as Ruby headed off. “You can’t deny that.”

“Belle and I wanted some alone time.” Ruby lied.

They were almost to the cafe, and Emma really wasn’t in the mood for lunch.

Emma rolled her eyes. “You two live together, you have nothing but alone time. You were setting us up.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ruby denied, though there was amusement in her eyes.

“I know you, Ruby.” Emma said. “Look, I’m just going to tell you that Killian and I met now and we’re just going to be roommates, got it? No more set ups.”

Ruby sighed, disappointed. “But you two are perfect for each other.”

“There’s no such thing as perfect.” Emma told her. Even as she said it, Emma couldn’t help but think about her and Killian’s night together, and how perfectly they fit together, and how they connected. She shook her head, trying to shake away the memories. “Killian and I are just roommates, got it?”

Ruby stopped and narrowed her eyes. “Why do you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of that?”

“I…I’m not.” Emma sputtered.

“You have something to tell me?” Ruby asked. Her eyes flitted all over Emma’s face before meeting Emma’s eyes. “You think he’s hot, don’t you?”

Dammit. Emma cursed.

Ruby had her.

“Objectively, yes.” Emma admitted with a growl. “Subjectively, it isn’t happening.”

Ruby wasn’t convinced. “I think that’s just fine. You two are just roommates.” There was a teasing underlining in her tone.

“I’m serious, Ruby.” Emma hissed.

“Okay, okay.” Finally Ruby was being serious. “I will cease and desist on Operation Emma’s Love Life. Belle and I won’t leave you and Killian hanging anymore.”

Emma sighed, relieved. “Thank you.”

“So, how is Killian working out as a roommate?” Ruby asked.

Emma gave her a sour look.

“Just as a roommate.” Ruby corrected.

“He’s…okay.” Emma shrugged. Really, so far he was great. He was quiet, kept to himself (though the awkward one night stand thing probably kept him away), he could cook, and from what Emma could tell of his room when she peeked in (the door was open) he was neat. So far, he certainly exceeded her expectations. Though she would hold back any higher opinions that she had of him for now. For all she knew, he could be acting like this to woo her. Okay, so she really didn’t think that he was doing this all for her, he probably, more than likely, was just like that, but Emma Swan liked her excuses.

“Just okay?” Ruby asked.

“Well, we’ve been roommates for one night.” Emma said. “It’ll take a while to get used to him.”

Ruby scoffed. “All right, whatever you say.”

They reached the cafe.

“Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.” Ruby said.

Emma shook her head. She really wasn’t hungry. “I got to get back before Cleo kills me.”

“Please, Cleo adores you.” Ruby scoffed.

“I’ll see you later, Rubes.” Emma said. She headed back up the way they came from to get to her car. As she walked, she thought about Killian, to her annoyance. He seemed to invade her mind every moment. She wished that they hadn’t met and slept together; not that she regretted it, it was a special night, but that was only going to make living with him all that much more harder. It was just too tempting to give into the attraction, but she wouldn’t. Emma refused to have another relationship. She wasn’t going to risk her heart again.

Killian was just her roommate and would only ever be her roommate.

At least that’s what she firmly told herself as she made her way back to her bug.

Belle looked up when lunch was deposited at her table.

Killian sat down with a sigh.

Belle eyed him as she pulled the to-go box over to her, using her other hand to push her books and papers aside. She never asked how Killian always managed to sneak food into places where outside food wasn’t welcome. Namely the libraries that Belle haunted.

She was grateful for the Rueben and curly fries though. It was past lunchtime and she had only had a meager breakfast. Caught up in her graduate work, she hadn’t caught the time, and it was a testament to how well Killian knew her that he knew where she was and that she’d skipped lunch again. “How was last night?” She asked fishing in the bag for ketchup.

Killian grumbled, stealing one of her fries. “It went okay.” He sighed and corrected himself. “It was awkward.”

“I expect so.” Belle said. “So, what happened?”

I learned my roommate was the best sex I ever had. Killian shook his head. “It was awkward.”

Belle grinned cheekily. “You said that already.”

Killian stole another fry. “She was…” Beautiful, breathtaking, hated to see me again, prickly. “Prickly.” It was the best word for now.

“That’s Emma.” Belle agreed. “She’ll warm up to you eventually.”

Or never. Killian sighed. He stole another fry.

Belle narrowed her eyes. “Okay, that’s the third fry you’ve stolen in less than five minutes. You never steal that much that quickly.”

“So?” Killian swallowed nervously.

“So, you’re stress eating.” Belle said. “You only do that when you’re wound up over something.”

“I’m not wound up.” Killian huffed. His hand automatically reached for another fry, but he stopped himself.

Belle looked triumphant. Belle placed her chin on her hands as she looked at him. “Come on now. You can tell me the truth. We are best friends after all.”

“Don’t play the best friend card.” Killian grumbled.

“Don’t make me annoy you into telling me.” Belle said.

“You truly are the little sister I never wanted.” Killian huffed.

Belle stuck her tongue out at him before returning her attention to her sandwich. “I will make you talk eventually, Jones.”

Killian knew that she was right, but if he were to have any kind of civil relationship with Emma, he needed to feed Belle false information. Or at least a half-truth, but he couldn’t say anything just yet. He needed to think. “What are you working on?”

“Changing the subject isn’t the smoothest move.” Belle arched a brow.

She indulged him anyway and showed him her edits in her graduate thesis as she usually did whenever she made edits on it.

As Killian read in silence, Belle ate her lunch and studied him. He was definitely not being totally honest about his and Emma’s meeting last night, but why wouldn’t he be? Had Emma been more than prickly? Had Killian stuck his foot in his mouth? Belle had to know. Unlike her girlfriend though, Belle had patience. She’d let it go for now, and then lie in wait and ambush Killian when the time was right.

Like she said, she’d make him talk eventually.

With all of his things officially unpacked, Killian surveyed his new room. All of the empty boxes were stacked neatly by the door to be taken to recycle later.

His furniture was immaculate, his bed made neatly, and all of his clothes properly folded or hung up and put away. With nothing more to do, he went into the living room to work on his assignments.

He brewed some more coffee and settled in his armchair. Flexing his fingers, he set to work. It was a good distraction from the empty apartment and any lingering thoughts about Emma. He was so in the writing zone, that he didn't realize how late it had gotten. It was nearly dinnertime, so he got up and went in the kitchen to start dinner. He hadn’t gone to the grocery store yet as Emma seemed to be low on foodstuff, but he was sure that he could scrounge up something.

He found sliced cheese and butter in the fridge, bread on the counter, and canned tomato soup in the cabinets. Easy enough to work with. Pouring the soup into a pot, Killian set it on medium heat and set out to work on the grilled cheese. He hoped she didn’t mind such a meal. Personally, he loved grilled cheese. When he and Liam were on their own after their father left, cheese and bread were cheap, so it was the first thing Liam taught him how to cook in case he ever needed to survive on his own.

Memories of watching Liam, who was barely a teenager himself, carefully instructing him at the stove assailed him.

Over the past five years, Killian’s self-imposed exile from Storybrooke had weighed heavily on him. His brother’s last words to him before he left town were especially cutting.

Maybe you just need to grow up and stop being so selfish. Liam had said harshly. When you do, then come and find me.

Killian had been so angry and hurt over their fight, that he had left Storybrooke that night and never looked back. Even more, he’d been so ashamed of himself that he cut off all ties to Liam and the rest of his friends. Reigniting his friendship with Ruby had been more due to Belle than anything else. For the past two years, Ruby had encouraged, but not pushed, him to return to Storybrooke, but he couldn’t face Liam. He was sure that his brother hated him now. And what of his friends? Would David be angry that Killian left? They had been as close as brothers and Killian had just stopped talking to him. Would he welcome Killian back? Would Liam?

He shook his head. He doubted they would. He was that coward that had screwed everything up, all because a pretty face turned his head and ripped out his heart.

Now Milah certainly wasn’t someone Killian thought about in a while, and he’d like to keep it that way. So instead of dwelling on the woman who turned him against his friends and family and then broke his heart, Killian focused back on the present. The grilled cheeses were done, and the soup hot enough.

Hopefully, Emma would be back soon. She never did say what her hours were, but he doubted in her line of work that there was standard set hours. He fixed her a bowl and plate anyway, covering them with foil to trap the heat. If it grew cold, she could warm them up later.

As he sat down at the bar, chewing his sandwich, he wondered about Emma. She was certainly someone who had been through a lot in her life. While he didn’t know anything about her past, it was clear to him that she had walls. Walls that she had let down for a moment when they made love that night before she ran. Now though, the walls were up and reinforced.

While there was a connection between them, Killian was content for now to be friends and just get to know her. The problem was that Emma didn’t seem to want that. He was certain that if her name wasn’t on the lease, she would’ve moved out as soon as she found out who he was. The thought alone made his stomach clench uncomfortably. He had thought about her every day since their one night together, and now that she was his roommate, he didn’t want to let her go again. He shouldn’t have let her go that night, but he hadn’t wanted to force her to stay. Not when she was that vulnerable.

He swallowed his sandwich down with effort as he thought about that night again, and how he only wanted to comfort her. Never in his life had he ever been so drawn to someone before. The moment he saw her alone at the bar, he could feel something there. It was as though there was a magnetic field around her, pulling him right in, helpless to stop himself.

She had felt it too, but it had scared her.

What had happened to her to make her walls so high?

When he finished dinner, he cleaned up and made a shopping list for tomorrow, writing down a note on the list to ask Emma what she needed. He returned to his work, and when he deemed himself finished for the night, it was nearing eleven and Emma still wasn’t home.

Worry began to collect in his gut, but he focused on his nightly routine instead. Once he was ready for bed, however, he decided that maybe he should try to wait up for her, just to ease his mind and also as a show of support. Perhaps if she knew he was here for her, then she might let him in, if only a tiny bit.

So he settled on the couch and flipped through the television station until he found a movie he could tolerate.

Hopefully, Emma would return soon.

It was cowardly to accept a stake out job when she and Killian agreed to not avoid each other, but Emma usually took one step forward then two steps back. 

Killian even told her that he just wanted to be friends, and Emma still wanted to run. There was something there between them. There had been something the moment she turned around and saw him at the bar. He pulled her right in and instead of running then, she took the plunge and went home with him with every intent on sex and no intention of staying after the act.

The fact that she had scared her more than anything. She had never met anyone like Killian before. No man ever turned her head and kept it turned; certainly no one had ever stayed with her like Killian. Well unless you counted that bastard who she really didn’t want to think about.

She didn’t want to think about Killian either, but it was hard not to. He was her roommate. How does anyone ever deal with their one night stand becoming their roommate? Then again, Emma doubted that this ever actually happened to people in real life. Maybe in fiction, but not in reality. It was just her luck that it happened to her.

Groaning, she leaned back in her car. How was she going to deal with this Killian issue? They were going to be living together for the foreseeable future. Killian wanted to be friends; Emma wasn’t sure how to be friends. Her track records for any type of long term platonic or romantic relationships was less than stellar. Only Ruby, and now Belle, being exceptions, but even then that was too much. Emma had felt deeply hurt when they wanted to move in together and take their relationship to the next level. While she had felt like a third wheel before, it had never been as prominent until Ruby broke the news to her. It was just another reminder of how alone she was.

You don’t have to be alone. A treacherous voice in her head spoke. There’s Killian.

Emma shook her head. No, that could never happen.

Why not? The voice persisted. He’s willing.

But Emma knew the answer. She was too broken to be loved; too broken to ever be mended again. Her jaw clenched as her eyes watered. Her whole life she was never enough, why would it be any different with a virtual stranger who happened to live with her?

She needed to focus on her job.

Sniffing and wiping her eyes, Emma steeled herself.

There would be time to deal with Killian later.

Belle groaned as Ruby turned the beside lamp back on.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” Ruby asked.

Belle just wanted to sleep. Ever since she came home, Ruby had been on about her encounter with Emma today and how two things were clear: one, Emma did find Killian attractive and two, Emma was hiding something.

Then Belle had made the mistake of telling Ruby that Killian had stopped by the library today, which only launched her girlfriend into an interrogation. Belle had told her that Killian seemed weird like he was hiding something. That had only fueled Ruby’s conspiracy theory. Something had happened between Emma and Killian.

Belle wasn’t sure how much merit she could give said theory since Ruby had been trying to set Emma and Killian up forever. As it was, her girlfriend was obsessing. “Maybe Emma and Killian just seemed weird because we bailed on them and their first meeting was awkward.”

“You were the one who stared talking about christening our apartment.” Ruby pouted.

“Yeah, after we introduced Emma and Killian.” Belle corrected, glaring up at Ruby. “You were the one who tricked me into the moving van and drove off.”

Ruby smirked. “We had fun though , didn’t we?”

Belle blushed. “That’s not the point. Just leave them be, Ruby.” She turned around and snuggled into her pillow.

Ruby huffed, leaning back against the headboard. There was something else going on. She could feel it in her bones. Emma called it her “wolf sense” often comparing Ruby to a dog with a bone. And this bone was just too enticing to let go of. She knew the moment that she met Killian again when he moved here that something had changed in him from the sweet, naive guy she knew back in high school. Ever since then, that something about him had been telling Ruby that he and Emma would just fit together. If only they both stopped being so stubborn about it.

Belle might’ve been right that it was probably awkward for Emma and Killian to meet without buffers, but with how Emma was earlier, Ruby just knew that something else had happened. She was going to figure it out; she just had to be more subtle than she usually was.

But oh, eventually she was going to sniff out the truth.

“Go to sleep.” A tired Belle demanded.

Ruby turned off he lamp and curled around her girlfriend, her thoughts still whirling around her head as she drifted off to sleep.

It was way too late or too early. Emma wasn’t entirely sure. All she knew was that Cleo had given her tomorrow off to recover from the stakeout and her caffeine high was losing steam. She’d crash soon and she wanted to be in her bed when that happened.

When she reached her apartment door, she paused. She didn’t know why she was preparing herself to face Killian when surely he’d be asleep. But she would have to face him eventually. He was right; she couldn’t avoid him forever. Honestly, that wasn’t fair to either of them. Neither had known who the other was that night. That had been more her fault than his since she had insisted on no names. Taking a breath, Emma unlocked the door as quietly as possible. She didn’t know if he was a light sleeper or not, and she didn’t want to chance waking him up. When she entered the apartment and shut the door, she turned ready to go to bed when she spotted the television on, the light highlighting a form on the couch.

Immediately, she went on alert, getting ready for fight mode…until she stepped closer and got a better look.

Killian was sleeping on the couch in a very uncomfortable sitting position. His neck was certainly going to feel that when he woke up. Why was he even out here? He had a bed to sleep on. Not wanting to question it, figuring that he fell asleep with the television on, Emma went to the kitchen to grab a quick snack.

Inside the fridge, she found the grilled cheese and tomato soup. She look back at Killian’s form. He had made her dinner, and he waited up for her. That was why he was asleep on the couch. He was waiting for her to come home.

Not even Ruby had ever done that.

Something akin to affection unfurled in her heart no matter how hard she tried to squash it down. She set the food back in the fridge and walked over to the couch. Emma winced as she took him in; that position just didn’t look good with his head titled that far back. Emma hated to wake him, but she wanted to thank him before she chickened out.

Her hand went to his shoulder and gently, she shook him awake.

His eyes flew open instantly, startled by her presence. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and he realized who she was.

Emma had to admit that he looked adorable when he first woke up, before quickly shoving that thought away.

Killian rubbed a hand over his face. “Emma?” He looked at her questioningly. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know.” She said softly. “You didn’t look comfortable sleeping here.”

He pushed himself up and winced. Emma was right. He was already feeling the aching muscles in his neck and back. “Thanks for waking me, Swan.” Killian gave her a small smile. “I guess we should both head to our beds then.”

“Wait.” Emma refused to back out this time. He needed to know what he had done was appreciated.

Killian looked at her curiously, waiting for her to continue.

Emma took a breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Killian was genuinely confused.

“For dinner.” Emma mumbled. “For making dinner, for waiting up for me. Also for being okay with the whole starting over thing.” She was sure her cheeks were a little red from embarrassment.

Killian gave her a winning smile. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Swan. That’s just what friends do.”

Despite her adamancy at being nothing more than roommates this morning, she felt warmth from Killian referring to her as his friend. “Still, thank you.”

Killian ducked his head. “It’s no problem.” He checked the time on his cell phone. “It’s too late and too early to be up. We should head to bed.”

Emma nodded.

They walked down the hall together, stopping before their respective bedrooms.

“Goodnight, Emma.” His tone was gentle.

Emma gave him a kind smile in return. “Goodnight, Killian.”

[itstimeforspring]

i can see the clouds are moving faster now (4 of ?)

title from ‘Hold On’ by TobyMac. this is chapter 3 of my CSSS gift for @thegladelf. all of the apologies for how long it took for this to happen, but it is here at last. blame college. all the thanks to @love-with-you-i-have-everything and @literatiruinedme for the editing and also to @kmomof4 for the absolutely wonderful encouragement yesterday with this thing <3

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 // ff.net // ao3

Judging by her silence, Ruby was trying to decide whether to rip the two of them apart or congratulate them. More bashful than she’d ever seen him, Killian was shifting in his seat in the bar. Ruby had grabbed both of their hands and pulled them into the weirdly empty bar next door once she’d gotten over the sputtering outside of her grandmother’s restaurant. Emma finally sighed.

“What do you want to know, Ruby?” Killian darted a glance towards her, an eyebrow raised, and she patted his knee. Of course not that part, you idiot. Regina would murder her in a dark alley if she told a civilian everything. He nodded, looking remotely ashamed at having believed his wife capable of telling everything. She was better at secrets than he was, anyway, although apparently neither of them were that good when they had their guard down. “We’ll tell you anything.” There was a brief shot of guilt for that, because the idea of telling her everything—impossible. Lovely, but impossible until Regina decided they needed to stay on sick/vacation leave forever when Killian was injured more than he was right now.

Emma shuddered and Killian took her hand, squeezing gently. Was that always going to be her reaction when she imagined the love of her life dying in front of her? Probably. Seeing it once, seeing that explosion a few hundred yards away and knowing that Killian was there, was quite enough. She felt a slight flash of annoyance for her own feelings all of a sudden—she’d been far more calloused and CIA-recommended closed-off before she fell in love with Killian Jones. It had been so much easier then, when she didn’t have someone to come home to every night.

Ruby took a deep breath, her eyes glowing with the light of curiosity and slight anger combined. “How long have you been married? And how long did you date before that?”

“We’ve been married for five years,” Emma said. Ruby’s mouth fell open. Wow, that sounded really bad. She was a horrible daughter and probably a horrible wife, too, for never telling anyone about this. Eh, they’d get over it eventually.

Killian, accepting that someone had found out and that finally he’d get to be married again for a while, smirked. “And we dated for a year before we got engaged. Then it was another…” He thought about it for a moment and Emma waited with a smirk of her own. “Two months before we got married.” Ah, he’d gone with the unrecorded Vegas marriage they’d done on a whim before the official courtroom affair. Classic. The official thing had only been another month after Vegas, but still, there was a difference.

Ruby stared. “Five years? How in the world did you keep this from your parents? I could have believed a few months, a year at most, but this is insane.”

Emma winced and Killian leaned forward. “That’s an amusing story, Ruby. Once upon a time, Emma forgot to mention to her lovely parents, who are actually truly charming, that I existed and we were dating. Then, she helpfully forgot to mention that we were engaged. Then, while I was on a work trip to Europe and she came back to Storybrooke for a visit, she forgot to tell her loved ones that we were married. By the by, they found out I existed when I answered the phone at home. Good surprise, aye?”

Emma punched him in the shoulder lightly, falling back against the bench in the bar with a groan. “What was I going to do? ‘Hey, Mom, Dad, how have you been? In New York at work I met this guy and we fell in love and got married and it’s been two years since I legally changed my name to Emma Swan Jones for legal ease, just to add a little more confusion to this family’s naming problem. Oh, and no, I didn’t bring him to meet you or even get your approval to marry him in the first place, and guess what! He’s in Europe on a work trip!”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t have gone over really well,” Ruby reflected.

“Why not?” Killian asked indignantly.

Ruby leaned forward in her seat. Emma noticed that she seemed to be handling the whole bombshell rather well. Was there yet hope for her parents? She knew Ruby’s next words would shatter that hope. Perhaps Ruby was just used to improbable things. “There’s a thing about Storybrooke, Mr. Swan. It’s populated primarily by those who believe in fairy tales and happily ever after. It’s one thing to disappear off somewhere and come back with a supposed true love husband. She would have been adored. It’s another to come back and announce you have one but… he’s in Europe. Almost unreachable. Emma would have been…”

“Hounded,” Emma inserted. “They would all have demanded to know where you were and many would have doubted that you existed. I’m sure my mom would have thought you were a clever story to prevent her from setting me up with anyone. And then she would have tried to set me up with someone. Probably Walsh.” Ruby cringed at the name. Ooh. Apparently he was still around, or else the stories of him and Dorothy were still being told.

Killian threw his arms up in the air and let his left arm fall around Emma’s shoulders, his fingers drumming against her arm as he thought about the complexities of Storybrooke’s belief in happily-ever-after. “That wouldn’t have done at all,” Killian sighed.

“Yeah, probably not,” she said with a grin. “I rather wanted to avoid it all. And also, well, at that point it was just awkward.” Killian made an exaggerated grimace that said exactly what he thought of that.

Ruby leaned back in her chair, a glint in her eye telling Emma that she was up to exactly no good. “How and when are you going to tell your parents?”

“We were hoping we wouldn’t have to,” Emma admitted. “Killian’s going to do the full Swan, will you marry me at some point, I’ll accept with great joy, et cetera, then Mary Margaret can do as she pleases. It should be amusing.”

Ruby laughed. Killian raised an eyebrow. What kind of laughter was this, Emma had to wonder. Genuine this is hilarious or I can’t wait to see you crash and burn? “I can’t wait to watch this go down,” Ruby finally said. Bit of both, then.

“Promise you won’t tell them?” Emma asked. That would be hilarious, of course, having Ruby tell her parents instead of either of them, but probably would go over far worse than anything else.

Ruby scoffed. “Of course I won’t tell them. This is too interesting. Promise I can be there on the day you do tell them, though. I want to see David’s reaction.”

Killian let his head fall to the table, his forehead clunking a bit too hard. Emma and Ruby glanced at each other, then down at him. “He was just starting to like me,” Killian whined.

Emma laughed at his and her father’s bromance and his fear of losing such an asset. It was honestly adorable. And it was so much more than she could have ever hoped for, Killian meeting her dad. She had been expecting guns blazing and words thrown and Henry staring at the whole thing like a particularly interesting ping pong tournament. Instead, she’d gotten a relatively civil conversation and two grown men arguing over Henry’s old Mario Kart game like children. It was a pleasant surprise.

Ruby was less sympathetic as she motioned for a waiter. They would be buying her lunch, apparently. “Get it together, Mr. Swan.”

--

“So, Ruby knows,” Killian said that night as they got ready for bed. They’d spent the rest of the day with Henry, wandering through the Storybrooke forest and then the world of Minecraft. Emma nodded slowly as she straightened her long t-shirt. “What do you think about it?”

“I’m fine with it, better than I expected, anyway,” she said, fluffing her pillow and then face planting on the bed. This bed was rather comfortable, but the pillows just weren’t up to par with their apartment. Emma vaguely wondered how well Ariel was taking care of the place and if they’d remembered to unplug everything before they left. Would be embarrassing if her curling iron had burned down the place. She rolled over to face Killian. “I expected to be a little more scared about it. And I’m quite ashamed of us, that we couldn’t keep the secret longer. Regina would be furious if she knew. Why?”

Killian shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I know the whole plan was my idea, and it’s still remarkably amusing, but—it was just nice, being able to talk normally to someone. Without, you know, lying about everything. We do that for a living. A break from that was good.”

It wasn’t much of a stretch. Those who didn’t know about the marriage didn’t know about the job. Those who knew about the marriage and not the job were few and far between, numbering about fifteen between Ruby in Storybrooke and Ariel across the hall and the best Starbucks barista in New York. Only the ones they were sent to take out knew about the job and not the relationship. Maybe five people knew about both.

And those were the dangerous ones.

--

They got up the next morning with few expectations for the day: perhaps a trip to the Christmas tree lot and a sojourn to the roof to hang the icicle lights from the gutter were all of the activities Mary Margaret had told them the night before. Twenty minutes’ worth of mundane activities passed—wake up, morning kiss, shower, brush teeth, greet parents and brother, eat breakfast, sit on couch with an exhausted sigh—before they noticed that the world had transformed into a glowing white wonderland.

Killian twisted around to stare out at the falling snow in awe, resting his chin on the back of the couch, and Emma, across the room with newly-acquired hot chocolate in hand, watched him gaze at the snowflakes drift to the ground. He always looked so much younger in the morning, before he had time to settle back into the normal stresses of the day. She jumped when an arm fell around her shoulders, interrupting her musings about the attractiveness of her husband.

“Besotted, are we?” Mary Margaret asked, her sweet voice transformed into that gooey tone she’d had when the Nolans had first adopted Emma, who was only about fifteen years younger than them. David had immediately settled into conspiratorial Dad who could be confided in about everything except English class, and neither of them had disputed it. Mary Margaret had floated around between best friend and Mom for the first few months until figuring out her new role, and Emma had only been too grateful when she decided on being Mom. This was the best friend “let’s talk about boys” voice that she’d never completely dropped.

“Mom…” she muttered in accordance with the unfortunate tradition. She leaned her head on Mary Margaret’s, just the same height. She had to remind herself suddenly why she hadn’t been home in so long—oh, right—fear of the past plus unmentioned husband plus secret job. Reasons good enough? Probably not.

Mary Margaret grinned and pulled Emma into her and David’s bedroom, closing the door between themselves and Killian. “Come on, tell me about everything. Your father said some things that Killian told him, but I want to hear it from you!” She sat down on the bed and sat cross-legged, elbows on knees, chin in hands. She looked the very picture of an eager high schooler, ready for the latest gossip.

Ah. Another reason she hadn’t been home in a while. This very picture.

Emma sat down on the bed slowly, not quite as enthusiastic about the discussion as her mother. “What do you want to know?”

“Your point of view on your relationship! You haven’t brought anyone home in so long. I was getting concerned, Emma. It’s not my business, really, but it is my job. And you seem happy now, and I want to hear about how.” Somewhere in her little speech Mary Margaret’s eyes filled prettily with tears. Emma sighed inwardly; it wasn’t like she didn’t like talking about how she and Killian met—she just didn’t have much practice telling the story in a government-approved way.

“We met at work a few years ago—”

“Aww, coworker romance!”

Emma laughed. She heard a noise in the living room—Killian. Laughing at her mother with her. Adorable, and not subtle. “Not at first. He was incredibly annoying, talked too much, and was infuriatingly attractive.”

“At least one of those hasn’t changed,” Mary Margaret said, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, he does still talk a lot,” Emma mused. “Haven’t managed to break him of that. Goodness knows I’ve tried.”

Mary Margaret gaped for a moment.

Emma continued without acknowledging the fact that her husband was in fact a fine wine of a man and had only gotten more attractive over the past six years. “Then he started to get a little less annoying, asked me out, I refused, a few months passed, he got even less annoying and a great deal sweeter, asked me out again, and I said yes.”

Mary Margaret, having gotten over her dramatic surprise, gasped another “aww” in proper character. Hearts poured out of her eyes for a moment as she probably tried to imagine the arrogantly flirtatious and baby-faced Killian Jones Emma had met in Russia. Emma giggled to herself, remembering that he hadn’t even had a beard when they met. Their second meeting was rather jarring, since she had, over the years, calculated his attractiveness to increase exponentially with the facial hair.

Also, he had taken the hint remarkably quickly at their first meeting—arrogant jerks were, in fact, considered jerks by most women. Their second meeting featured a flirtatious, attractive, and weirdly shy man only a few degrees removed from the real Killian Jones.

“So how are you two doing?” Mary Margaret asked, her voice lowering slightly, possibly aware that Killian could hear them. “Based on the phone call, I’m assuming you two are living together? How is that?”

Emma flushed slightly but nodded. The woman was incredible, how she could switch from pure innocence to complete bluntness in a second. “We have an apartment in New York, yeah. We’ve had that for a while.” Around two years, when they moved across the city. That was, of course, nowhere near when they moved in together, but it wasn’t a complete lie.

Mary Margaret smiled. “I’ll have to come visit sometime, pretend that it’s just a trip for Henry, school or something like that. When actually—”

“—you’ll probably end up redecorating my apartment,” Emma said drily. It’s exactly what happened when Belle got her apartment. Killian would welcome it, based on the homey comment when they got to Storybrooke.

Mary Margaret nodded, not at all repentant about the whole thing. Then her eyes went completely serious, and Emma froze when she realized that she knew the exact question coming next. “Where do you think the relationship is going, Emma?”

It was the question that had eventually put an end to every former relationships. It was the question that always made Emma run far, far away from whatever pain was about to happen. It was the question she had asked herself for the three days between Killian asking her out and her acceptance. It was the question she had asked herself when Killian started mentioning marriage a mere six months into their relationship.

It was the question that, two days ago, she would have brought back old Emma to answer. Storybrooke didn’t know new Emma, let alone Emma Swan Jones, and it would have worked. Her mom would have been sad, but not overly surprised. But today—well, someone already knew. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, apparently, if people found out. She wasn’t going to become old Emma again. Today, she’d let her mother in on a little of their secret.

“It’s going well, Mom. It really is.” Soft smile at the mother’s newfound tears. Just to drive the point home and erase any lingering doubts in her mind: “I love him; I’m fairly sure he loves me. We don’t have everything planned right now, but it’s enough.”

One tear trickled down Mary Margaret’s face. Emma reached forward and hugged her, fully aware that she’d just given her mom some hope for her Emma’s Happy Ending Project for the first time. Something good was really coming out of the whole trip.

--

“What happened after that, before your father came in requesting lunch? I could tell your mother was crying but nothing else. Tears of joy, I should hope. And then you came out and dragged me out into this whitened world of cold crystals.”

“So much alliteration. You should be a poet,” Emma muttered, pushing herself further into Killian’s side. It was cold. She tucked her arm through his, his stiffened hand securely inside his jacket pocket. “She clearly wanted to talk to Dad about the whole thing, compare notes with his talk with you, and probably pull out all of the binders she’s had lying around for my future. I hope Dad realizes we’re not having lunch for a while.”

Killian laughed. His smile could have melted the snow around them. “Wedding binders? Or does she have more? Mary Margaret Nolan, planning out her daughter’s life, one binder at a time.”

“All of them. Wedding, honeymoon, first house, children’s names, types of pets, the works,” Emma said with a combination of fondness, disgust, and resignation as Killian laughed again. At least she’d been consulted on some of them. Interestingly, one of those was not her own children’s names. She wondered what Killian would think about the name of their firstborn son being known as Leopold. Ruth wasn’t bad for a daughter, but she really hoped that he’d think Leopold just as ridiculous as she did. Because it was ridiculous, even just as Leo.

Killian stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk. Emma glanced up at him curiously, only to find his shyest smile. “I heard what you said about our courtship and life together.”

Emma turned to face him properly. “I couldn’t think of what to say, really, that was just impulse to keep her happy—”

He leaned down and kissed her, her face suddenly warming in the cold air with the contact. She could feel his smile in the kiss and that knowledge made her grin almost uncontrollably. She pulled her hands out of her pockets to tug him closer even as his hands rested against her ribs. She lost track of time, there in the street, until Killian pulled away. His eyes met hers, and she was, as always, awed by the depths of love and compassion and grace and hope and adoration she saw within. “I do love you, Emma Swan.”

“I love you too, Killian Jones,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips again before pulling away just enough to continue walking down the street.

“I believe I’ll ask your father for your hand soon,” Killian said contemplatively. Emma looked up at him, an eyebrow raised. Earlier than she would have expected. “If that would be all right with you, of course,” he amended. “I’m not accustomed to asking the father before marrying the love of my life, Emma. I’ve only done it once, forgive me. But I’m quite impatient with the whole not-being-married-to-you thing. It’s gotten old in these past few days. Rather faster than I had expected, truth be told.”

“Oh, you know I would have said yes anyway. Maybe wait a little, though, until they’re more used to the fact that Emma Swan is in love,” she said as he glared at her for a second before letting it soften into a sappy grin at the whole thought. He was a sappy creature, she thought as she pulled him down for a short kiss. Such joy at the prospect of another wedding.

Killian thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “Who’s to say I’ll wait that long, really? I may ask tomorrow. This time, I’ll let it be a surprise. After all, I’m not even the slightest bit apprehensive as to your answer to my suit,” he said, emphasizing the t.

Emma almost protested—the first proposal had been a surprise—no, it really hadn’t. Not a lot of things, excepting her ring burning a hole in his jacket pocket, made Killian Jones that nervous, nervous enough to trip over his words for a solid week, to almost cause a massive car accident, and to completely flunk his shooting exam. He had been adorably terrified, a fear that was quickly alleviated when she nearly screeched her yes. Then he had promptly returned to his old self and retaken his shooting evaluation. “No, probably shouldn’t be concerned about my answer,” she said glibly.

It was going to be a resounding YES like the first time, except maybe a little louder. Emma found herself getting a bit giddy at the thought, almost as much as Killian was, judging by the strength he was holding her hand and the little grin that seemed to not want to leave his face.

“I’ll inform Regina that we’ll be staying longer in Storybrooke than expected,” Emma said. “I’ll tell her that your hand’s gone gangrenous.” Killian grimaced, flexing his hand stiffly, and Emma winced at her own words. She squeezed his arm in apology. “Or maybe I’ll just get the flu. Perhaps a rare strain of chicken pox. And I’ll tell my parents that we’ll be using up their hospitality a little longer. They’ll wish us long gone by the time we actually leave. Maybe we should move into Granny’s after Christmas.”

Killian nodded emphatically. It’s only so long that someone can live with their in-laws without a little tension, no matter how well everyone’s getting along. “What shall we tell them as an excuse for staying in Storybrooke?” he asked. “I’m sure that normal jobs wouldn’t tell their employees to stay on vacation for a far longer time than expected. Oh, I know, we could get laid off. Handy economy for that, aye?”

Emma grimaced. Her parents would be too concerned if that were to happen to both of them at once. Unbearably concerned. She couldn’t do that to them, not after everything that had happened recently, and Killian wouldn’t risk his slowly-growing relationship with them.

“We’ll figure it out, love,” Killian said, turning to face her again and lifting her chin up to look her in the eyes. The smile in his eyes—ugh, she loved him.

--

Mary Margaret soon called about the grilled cheese she and Henry were working on. They were a brisk five minutes away from the apartment and lunch, walking down Main Street among the piling snow, when Killian suddenly froze for a single second. Emma knew that face. He’d heard something, and his senses were practically flawless. They were being followed, too close to home.

They continued walking as normal, Emma clasping Killian’s arm just as gently and Killian still talking about how he wanted them to get a cat. Without hearing anything, Emma unzipped her jacket just enough that it’d be easy to get the gun she had sewn into a pocket. She leaned her head against Killian’s shoulder to try to mask the movement.

“If it’s spotted, it would be Andy or April, obviously.” Emma nodded. The connection between Parks and Rec and a spotted cat wasn’t obvious, exactly, but she wasn’t going to argue about that one. Both were good names. “If it’s grey, we should name it Kelly,” Killian said contemplatively. There it was, a rustle in the alleyway. Almost certainly human.

“Why Kelly?” she asked. Strange name, but she wasn’t going to argue about it. Didn’t really have time, either. The rustling was gone. Killian looked down at her, also glancing toward the alley where they’d last heard the noise.

He shrugged, shaking his head slightly. “It’s a good name, Swan. Don’t diss the name.” He didn’t see anyone.

She raised her hands, simultaneously pulling her arm from Killian’s light grip. “Not dissing the name, Killian. Just curious as to where you got it from.” They passed in front of Mr. Gold’s shop and Emma braced herself for the alley beside it.

The person stood in the center of the path, clearly about to hide but just slightly too slow to melt into the shadows. They were about Emma’s size but a few inches shorter, and she—it was a she, Emma decided based on the length of hair and overall build—wore a black hoodie and black sweatpants. Her face was hidden by the shadows and

“What do you want?” Killian asked, his voice rough and commanding.

The girl shook her head. She took her right hand out of her jacket pocket and reached for her back pocket. Killian’s hand flashed into his jeans and his gun flashed in the fading afternoon sun within another second. The girl took a step back, a short knife appearing in her hand with almost as much grace.

“Why have you been following us?” Emma asked, prepared to grab the gun if Killian so much as twitched a confirmation. The girl shook her head, still not speaking. As her head moved, the hood of her hoodie fell. Emma saw her face and gasped at the recognition. Killian straightened, his grip on the gun tightening. The girl—woman, Emma knew—took another step back, her eyes widening.

Then she turned and ran. Killian took one step but stopped before he could continue the chase. Emma couldn’t summon the willpower to run after her. How could she—?

With another flash, Killian replaced his gun in the back of his jeans. “Do you know her, Swan?” he asked gruffly, shaking his head slightly.

“That’s Ashley,” Emma said, still shell-shocked. “I went to school with her. I babysat her daughter junior year while she was in morning classes. Alexandra was the sweetest baby.”

Killian nodded, rubbing his scarred left hand with his right hand. Suddenly, the snowy air wasn’t cold anymore. “I remember her, as well,” he said. Emma turned her head to look into his face. Neither of them moved to touch the other. His eyes were wide and haunted, remembering. “I’ve only seen her once, but I remembered her face, so wide-eyed and innocent. She was on the dock, near the detonation site, the day it exploded.”

[mauiskiesrp-blog]

Maui Skies would love to welcome SOLELI ‘SOL’ SANTOS ( KAYLA BRAXTON ) to the island. ( Congrats on acceptance and please send in your account within 24 hrs! )

** DROPPING RUBI AND ADDING SOLELI  **

IN CHARACTER

Face claim :  Kayla Braxton

Name : Soleli ’ Sol" Santos

Age: Twenty Six.

Condo Complex : Katilina Plaza

Current Employment : Lavender Cafe

Job Title : Part- time Barista 

Character Label :  The Free Spirit 

Character Secret : is a web cam model/ Suicide girl Also partakes in a few illicit activities Is a sugar baby

Connections : open for all connections bring them all to me :)

Backstory :

Soleli (So-Lay ) Nichole Santos Her name is French for Sun which seemed to be an omen for the little girl as she was born on a bright sunny morning of  March 17th 1993 in “ Sin City” Las Vegas Nevada.  If you believe in astrology and all that she’s a Pisces. Her home life left much to be desired for the bright and sunny little girl she had the misfortune of being born to a mother who was not capable nor did she have the desire to give the little girl the love and attention that she deserved, this lack of love and attention would lead our heroine down a path of always searching for this even if many of these ways would not be approprate for her nor should the be condoned but we aren’t at point in our tale just yet. Her mother was a junkie in every sense of the word, she knows nothing of the man who is her father just that he bailed out on them a few days after she came home from the hospital if one could really believe her mother’s memory. 

Soleli’s lifestyle is pretty nomadic to say the least well that would be putting it nicely and so as a result she had learned and adapted to the game of lies and deception she’s made up so many stories that sometimes it’s hard to keep them all straight. By the age of 6 after a court ordered rehab for her mother rather than being placed in the system she was lucky and given to her grandparents in Tennessee with them.she had almost forgot that one day she would be placed back in her mothers custody, her grandparents tried to fight and keep her with them, but the courts determined that her mother after completing rehab was well capable of getting her daughter back and them forming their own family once again.  Within a couple of months of them relocating back to Las Vegas, Soleli’s mother fell back into her old ways, which basically meant that she would often many times forget about her daughter depending on whatever drug binge she was on. At the age of 15 her mother did the most unforgivable thing that any mother could do but it would be the first of many betrayals in her life she was given to her mother’s dealer live in boyfriend Zach  in exchange for another quick fix, For better or worse he is the only ‘father figure’ that she has ever known in her life even if his intentions with her are not quite what they seem. 

Soleil  would  attempted to run away from him over a dozen times in the time that she was with him, the most successful one took place a year after she had turned 16, she had made friends with some of the locals who were always at Zach’s they had helped set her up with a fake Id  and a new name and with this came the job at one of the local clubs even though she is under aged. Soleil  works as a “baby doll” these are the girls whose job is just to be eye candy at the club nothing more. Let’s get one thing straight she doesn’t glorify what she does nor does she enjoy when men think that they own her because none of them do but working at the club has it benefits she’s on her own and doing thing her way.  While at the Club Soleil had changed her name but you know what they say the past has a funny way of coming back to haunt you, She had been away from Zach for many months now of course she knew that she couldn’t let her guard down but she had also thought that by this time he would have moved on from her Oh how very wrong she would be about that . One night at work she had came face to face with her past and everything was let out,  The owner of the club who was beyond sleazy just handed her back over to Zach no questions asked. All things considered Soleil knows that she is very lucky the last girl who tried to escape ended up dead. Zach does not understand what causes her to run considering that he has done the impossible for the girl and even if he won’t admit to he does love her, although Soleil can not hide her feelings of not feeling the same for him His “love” for her will be the catalyst that sets up the next betrayal in her life  Soleil was 17 the night her life was changed forever

She is a true chameleon and knows how to blend into the world very well, she is not scared to hide behind various masks and will only break this code for a select few. Soleil can be everything and nothing in between she can be a notorious flirt who do whatever she needs to get her own way. Sinner Saint whatever your fantasy is. On the flip side she can be very cruel, vicious, and manipulative according to those who have had their hearts broken by her. It is not a secret that when left to her own devices she gets into the most trouble and sometimes her partying and drinking only makes this worse, Soleil will not back down from a fight. She  can be a very sarcastic and snarky little shit at times although generally her heart is often in the right place she is loyal to the few that she considers family. Her personality is best described as intense she is quite the little firecracker. Although to most she can appear cold, distant and many times even fickle. Soleil  is a very real person it’s not in her to pretend with her feelings, she doesn’t believe in playing games as to her they are just a waste of time and energy. Emotional bonding is still something that she is trying to learn, she’s still used to hiding her feelings you learn to hurt others before they can hurt you first .

Around the island you can usually catch her at Vibe or if you are one of her “select” few then you can click on that link on your favorite stream. For actual work you can catch her part time at Lavender Cafe as your friendly neighborhood barista 

** Side blog  link here**  https://freckledsxnshine.tumblr.com/

[let-it-raines]

Emma sends her friend Killian a text, not noticing the horrible autocorrect mistake and Killian gets the wrong idea.

All she needs is for finals to be over in two weeks. She needs them to be over, and then she’ll be free to do whatever the hell she wants for three months. Yeah, she’ll probably end up getting a job down at the Sheriff’s station, something she does with her dad every year since she’s been old enough to legally work there as an intern…which is definitely a bit of a stretch. She’s not exactly sure how her dad gets the approval from town council to pay her for answering phones and fiddling around on her computer for three months out of the year, but he somehow does. Whatever. It works for her. She gets to help out on the occasional interesting case that happens in Storybrooke and spend time with her dad.

It’s kind of like the dream for a twenty-two year old who’s a semester behind in college but can’t finish over the summer because her classes aren’t offered then. That sucks, a lot, but she’s a bit thankful for the extra six months to figure out what the hell it is she’s going to be doing for the rest of her life, which is terrifying in and of itself.

The fifty minutes of her advanced corporate finance class (she’d like to have words with whoever the hell decided this was necessary for a criminal justice major) tick by at a snail’s pace, Dr. Jitka’s monotone voice nearly lulling her into sleep until there’s an elbow hitting into her ribs at such a force that she almost falls back in her chair, having to grab onto the table in front of her to keep her from falling backward.

She knows exactly who just elbowed her, her eyes quickly glancing to her right where Killian is diligently taking down notes in his neat handwriting looking as if he didn’t just knock the breath out of her and nearly knock her over.

Asshole.

But then she sees the smallest of smiles on his face, his pink lips stretching out under the black of his scruff and the shade of his baseball cap. Yeah, that’s what she thought. It’s not like there’s anyone else who could have possibly elbowed her in the ribs.

Dr. Jitka finally finishes talking, their allotted time ending, and she scurries to pack up all of her stuff and make it to the Starbucks in the building, caffeine calling her name. Killian follows behind her, his longer strides allowing him to keep up with her hurried pace, even managing to pass her and sneak in front of her in line, the asshole.

“I need my coffee, Jones.”

“You are not the only person who’s tired, love. Do you even have any money left on your card?”“Ahh,” she groans, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth, “no, no I don’t. I was just going to pay with cash.”

He reaches up to scratch behind his ear, something she’s noticed him do a lot in their four months of knowing each other. She thinks it’s a nervous tick. He does it before he asks a question in class, which she’s decided is his weakness. He’s this really confident guy, seemingly never lacking in it, except when he doesn’t know what’s going on, which isn’t often. He’s freakishly smart, is only in this class as his minor since his major is in mechanical engineering, and she kind of thinks he gets down on himself when he doesn’t know what’s going on.

But who is she to know the inner workings of Killian Jones? They’re friends, they talk, they study together a lot, but he’s still teetering on one of those people where she’s got a fifty-fifty shot of talking to him after graduation. Because, really, what do they have in common besides being in a torturous advanced corporate finance class?

(The same taste in movies, television shows, books, a liking for black coffee, the ability to stay up past four in the morning with no issue, the same biting sarcasm, a penchant for innuendos…maybe a few other things.)

But who knows? She, who doesn’t like making new friends, likes being his friend, even if she does call him an asshole more than she calls him by his actual name. So maybe she’ll put in the effort so that they can be friends outside of this class. He’s got an entire year left compared to her one semester, so it’s not like he’s going anywhere.

“I’ve got money I’m not going to use. I can pay.”

Her lips gape open, the act of kindness shocking her considering he never pays for her stuff when she forgets her food card. “Really?”

“Aye, it’s not like it transfers over to next semester anyway. You want something to eat?”

“A cake pop.”

“Love, it’s not even noon.”

“You offered. Don’t knock on what I’m getting. And I want my coffee – ”

“ – black but you’ll add two sugars to it, I know.”

“Good man,” she sighs, patting him on the back. “I’m going to go get that table in the corner before someone else does.

She walks out of line, dodging people and hoping and praying that no one takes the spot. It doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, but an open table is pretty much buried treasure, so when you see one, you have to take it and claim it as your own. It’s a tough competition to not be sitting outside in the rain, which has been a constant for the past few days. She manages to snag the table, plopping her backpack down in Killian’s chair so that no one takes it before pulling out her laptop and opening up her notes, trying to understand what the hell Dr. Jitka was even talking about.

Killian joins her ten minutes later, placing her coffee and cake pop down on the table while he settles across from her, his legs kicking hers and shaking the table when he crosses them underneath the wood. When she goes to grab her cup, she sees a number written in sharpie right under Killian’s name. She rolls her eyes. Of course the barista gave Killian her number. She didn’t even know people did that, but apparently they do.

“So how did you charm the barista for her to give you her number on my cup?”

“Oh I didn’t.”“Then why is this number on my cup?”

“Amy, up there, is my ex. I have her number blocked, and every time I’m in here she writes her number on my cup. I hate to say an ex is crazy because, well, that’s kind of a sucky thing to do, but Amy is crazy.”

“You’re telling me that your ex-girlfriend works in here, and not only do you still come in here but you also trust that she’s not going to spit into your food?”

He puts his cup down on the table, his lips twisting up and his forehead wrinkling. “Never thought about that second thing. Bloody hell.” She laughs, reaching over and taking a sip of her drink. “Ah, ah, ah, love, if she’s spitting in my drink, what’s she going to do to yours?”

“Nothing? I’m your friend.”

“Amy doesn’t know that.”

“Oh gross,” she groans, putting her coffee down on the table and looking over at the counter, where, sure enough, Amy is staring them down. “Why’d you guys break up?”

“She thought I was cheating on her so she cheated on me.”

“Were you?”

“Nope. I like to consider myself a one woman type of guy. I’m not quite sure how she got the idea that I was cheating.”

“Well, Amy seems like a gem.”

“You want to know the kicker of it all?”

“Sure, Jones.” She leans forward, closing her laptop so she can prop her elbows up on the table. “Tell me all of your dirty little secrets.”

“She cheated on me with my best friend.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Aye. Obviously he’s no longer my best mate, but that was a fun time.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but at least you’re not with someone who’d cheat on you. No one deserves that.”

“So,” Killian whistles, picking up his cup again and eyeing it for a few seconds before seemingly deciding to screw it and drink his coffee, “you going home to your weird little town of Storybrooke for the summer?”

Changing the subject. Got it.

“It’s not weird. It’s just got an interesting name.”

“You guys have, like, one market, a diner, and a library. It’s like every small town you’d see in a movie.”

“Well, not all of us live full time in Portland, but yeah, I think I’ll go home and work for my dad. It’s easy cash, I get to spend time with him, watch all of the tourists roll in, and buy a ridiculous amount of ice cream.”

“Sounds like a dream. I’ve got to do my last semester of co-op.”“That sucks.”

“Eh, since it’s my last semester I get a pay raise, and I get paid double overtime. So obviously I’m going to be chomping at the bit for that so I can graduate with some actual money in my bank account.”

Her phone buzzes then, a text from Ruby, and that’s when she sees that she’s ten minutes late for her next class which is in another building. “Shit, I’ve got to go. I’m late for class.”

“Don’t forget about the assignment.”

“I won’t,” she promises, picking up her backpack and running out of the door, leaving her possibly poisoned coffee sitting on the table, her entire purpose for coming into Starbucks pointless now.

-/-

Emma: Joooooooonesssss.

Killian: Swan.

Emma: Oh come on, you’re supposed to be just as dramatic as me.

Killian: Oh my Swan, my Swan, whatever is wrong with the fair maiden that she calls out my name like that, since I do assume that it’s not in pleasure.

Emma: Okay, well I didn’t mean to be that dramatic.

Emma: I don’t understand our last homework assignment.

Emma: I need a B on it.

Emma: Can you help?

Killian: Of course. My place or the library?

Emma: Your place. I’m so frustrated.

Killian: What time?

Ruby calls out her name then, something about the two of them forgetting to pay a bill, and she groans as she gets up from the comfort of her bed (which is likely another reason she wasn’t getting anything done) to go see what’s happening. Ruby is scrolling through their apartment’s portal, showing her their last statement, so she doesn’t really look when she replies to Killian’s text.

Emma: How about sex tonight?

Emma: I don’t think I can finish without you.

Killian: Yeah, okay, that’s perfect ;)

She puts away her phone in her back pocket, forgetting about it and not seeing Killian’s next text as she deals with them not paying the electrical bill, which was definitely Ruby’s fault because she was in charge of paying their bills due on the first this month.

Killian: But what time are you coming over?

-/-

She pulls up to Killian’s apartment around five forty-five, but it takes a solid ten minutes to find parking. He lives close to campus, which blows her mind that he can simply walk to class, but those are the kinds of perks that she guesses you get when you’re on scholarship and literally only have to pay for somewhere to live. Seriously, even his textbooks are paid for.

It pays to be smart, apparently.

But once she finds parking a good half a mile away, she grabs her backpack and starts walking toward his place. She’s a little sweaty by the time she gets there, the rain stopping and humidity starting, but that’s fine. She’s just in her gym clothes anyways. When she knocks on his door, it takes no more than ten seconds for it to swing open.

Was he waiting for her?

Weird, but he is a stickler for time.

She doesn’t think anything of it until she gets a good look at Killian…and of the apartment. He’s wearing jeans and a light blue button down, the elbows rolled up to show his forearms. It’s a normal outfit, sure, but Killian rolls into class in sweatpants and a Henley or t-shirt, his hair usually tucked under a baseball cap. But right now it’s artfully tossed, the kind where you know the guy spent time on it but won’t admit to it. And is he…he’s wearing cologne. It smells damn good, but she’s confused.

Really confused.

Because he’s got soft music playing in the background, and she swears that she sees candles flickering in his kitchen.

“Hello, love,” he greets, bending down and kissing her cheek. When he pulls back, she can still feel where his lips touched her skin, the bristle of his scruff…she doesn’t hate it. She just doesn’t know what’s going on. “Why don’t you come in? Make yourself at home.”

“Was planning on it.” She makes her way into his apartment, passing his living area and heading toward the kitchen table only for him to grab her wrist, lightly tugging until she turns around.

“I feel like the living room would be better, or even the bedroom.”

“Weird but okay.” She’s definitely not going into his bedroom to do homework. That would be a disaster and uncomfortable on so many levels, so she settles down onto his couch, immediately pulling out her stuff while Killian sits down next to her, close enough that their thighs touch.

Her skin sparks the slightest bit, gooseflesh rising on her arms, but she ignores it, pulling open her notebook to where she’d been working out some of the more complex questions so she can get him to figure out where the hell she went wrong. But when she turns to ask him how to do the weighted average cost of capital, his face is freakishly close to hers the heat of his breath ghosting over her lips. And then before she knows it, his lips are on hers.

It’s nice, and she leans into it, returning the kiss and sliding her lips over his while his scruff brushes into her skin and his hands lightly thread into her hair. She gets lost in it, forgetting about who she’s kissing or why she’s here until he groans and his fingers grasp into her hair. That’s when it all comes back to her and she yanks back, separating the two of them and falling back on the couch, her notebook crashing to the ground while Killian blinks down at her.

“What the…” she stutters, hear heart beating quickly within her chest, “…what the hell was that?”

“What the hell was that?”

“I asked you first.”

“Are you five?”

“No, but I’m confused.”

“So am I.”

“You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“Well, I don’t despise you, and you’re a good kisser surprisingly enough. But I don’t…I don’t know where that came from.”

“What do you mean you don’t know where that came from?”

“Because I don’t? We’re supposed to be doing the damn assignment.”

“You literally sent me a text asking to sleep with me.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” she cries, backing up further on the couch until she’s sitting on the arm and curling into herself while her face heats. She’s probably red enough to pass as a tomato. “I did what now? Because I would literally never  ask anyone to sleep with me through text.”

If she’s red, Killian is worse. He keeps running his hands through his hair, making it stand up in a million different ways, while his lips open and close over and over again. What the hell is going on?

This is WACK and it has nothing to do with the Weighted Average Cost of Capital.

Oh wow, she just made a finance joke in her head. Maybe she really is losing it.

“But you did,” Killian says, reaching into his back pocket for his phone. “Here, you sent one text that says ‘how about sex tonight?’ And then right after you said ‘I can’t finish without you.’ I thought it was strange and pretty unconventional, but I don’t know. We get along. I think you’re gorgeous, but there’s obviously been some kind of misunderstanding, and I’m just going to never show my face in our class again.”

“You’d miss the final.”

“Thanks for the obvious, Swan.”

She waves her hand toward him, scooting down on the couch and sitting cross legged so that she’s closer to him. “Let me see the messages.” He hands the phone over, the messages still open, and she reads through them right up until…”How about sex tonight? I can’t finish without you. And oh my God, I said I was frustrated earlier.”

Her laugh begins low in her belly, making her entire body shake until she’s dry heaving, basically hiccupping into the laugh, and she can’t breathe. She’s laughing so hard that she can’t breathe. Killian’s phone falls to the couch, landing in between her legs while she covers her mouth with her hands to try to stop the appalling sound that’s coming out of her mouth. This is hysterical, and she has never been so glad to misspell a text.

“I’m glad you find this so funny, Swan.”

“Oh c-come on,” she gasps, wiping the tears that are falling from her eyes, “this is fantastic. I meant six, you know? I did not mean sex.”

“Aye,” Killian gruffs, rubbing his hands up and down his face until he’s practically pulling his hair out, “I realize that now. I’m sorry that I…I’m sorry that I misunderstood, that I pushed myself on you. I’m also sorry that I’m a bloody idiot.”

She shakes her head back in forth, disbelief over this whole thing settling in while she tries to stifle her laughter. She leans over and pats Killian’s knee, which only makes him groan more. “I’ve always heard the jokes about engineers not having social skills, but I really didn’t expect you to fall into that category.”

“Are you trying to torture me?”

“Absolutely not. I still need your help with my homework, and you can’t do that if you’re both emotionally and sexually frustrated.”

“Oi,” he protests, his lips finally ticking up into the smallest of smiles, atta boy, “I am not sexually frustrated.”

“Maybe you are. Maybe you’re not. Also,” she begins, getting up from the couch and wandering around the room, turning the music up on his Bluetooth stereo and blowing out the candles, “now I know what Killian Jones does when seducing a woman, and this is something I’m going to remember forever.”

“Can you knock me out so I forget?”

“No. Then I’d mess up your perfectly styled hair that I know you spent a lot of time on, not that you haven’t already done a number on it with all of that tugging.”

“I hate you.”

“Oh, I think that’s a lie.” She walks back over to him, settling down on the couch next to him and propping her head up on her palm before she sing-songs, “You think I’m gorgeous. You want to kiss me. You want to hug me. You want to love me.”

Killian rolls his eyes, a more genuine smile on his face now. “Okay, Sandra Bullock.”

“I like that you get the reference.”

“I’ve seen the movie.”

She laughs again, bending down to pick up her stuff, flipping back to her notebook page with her homework. “Killian, I promise you don’t have anything to worry about or be embarrassed with. I will never bring it up again if you want. We’ll just finish this homework and study, okay?”

“Aye, that sounds like a plan, though I don’t think I can truly forget.”

So they eventually get around to her homework. She’s still confused, doesn’t think she’ll ever understand it, but Killian talks her through it enough that she might get partial credit on the final. Possibly. She’s not really sure. But she does know she’ll at least get an A on the homework. It helps to have a genius friend who may or may not want to have sex with you but who can definitely help you with your assignments when you feel like pulling your hair out.

After they’re finished with their assignment, everything submitted through the online portal, Killian orders a pizza, grabbing two beers out of his fridge and handing one to her while a baseball game plays on the television. She doesn’t mean to, but she watches him as he takes a sip, his jaw ticking while he tilts the bottle against his lips.

It’s…attractive.

And it’s not exactly news to her. She’s always known Killian was attractive. It’d be hard to miss. His eyes…well, damn, he’s got some of the prettiest eyes she’s ever seen, and his smile is just a bright. The fact that she knows he works out regularly helps. A little. Or a lot.

His personality helps more than a lot.

Does she…like him? Maybe. Probably. Definitely.

Oh God, feelings are the worst, and she’s not sure that she wants them.  

Okay, she kind of wants them.

She kind of wants him.

“Killian?”

“Yeah, love?” he asks, not looking away from the game on the TV.

“Did you really want to sleep with me?”

He groans, falling back into the couch so that his head falls against the cushion and his hair flops in his face. “I thought you said we could forget about it.”

“I did…I just – I’m curious.”

He points over at her, seemingly circling her entire being. “Of course I wanted to sleep with you. I mean, I’d prefer that we were both on the same page and that maybe, you know, you’d let me take you out on a date first.”

“Killian Jones,” she gasps, reaching over and squeezing his shoulder, “are you asking me out on a date?”

“That is not what I said.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t mean to send you a sext, but here we are.” She laughs as he groans again, throwing his arm over his eyes. “My answer would be yes, by the way.”

He lifts his arm, peeking over at her. “Really?”

“Yeah, let’s go with the Friday after finals are over.”

“Why, Swan, are you asking me out on a date?”

She leans over and quickly slides her lips over his. Killian’s the one who takes a moment to react this time, his lips soft when they finally move over hers and his hand gentle as it threads into his hair. She meant for it to be short and sweet, but as she readjusts herself to straddle his lap, her knees on either of his thighs, it intensifies, Killian groaning into her mouth as his tongue traces at the seam of her lips. That’s when she pulls back, resting her forehead against his and loosening her grip in his hair.

“So it’s a date then, Swan?”

“Yeah, you can pick me up at sex.”

[demonwriterx]

“Singing like us” (Martin and Martha) zootopia drabble

“Singing like us” 

It was her big day. Martha White had been preparing for an opportunity to sing on a stage for years, and tonight she finally got her wish. By standing in for a sick singer, who got mange, meant she will be filling in for months. Martha sat in front of a large vanity mirror in her new changing room, surrounded by red furniture and beautiful costumes. She found a silver dress that sparkled and a cap with golden beads that made her look like a goddess. With a dash of red lipstick, she was ready to catch the audience eyes but only if she overcomes her crippling stage fright. She kept shaking in her seat in front of the mirror, anticipating the time when they will call for her. She was so nervous, she was afraid of fainting before she even reaches the stage stairs.

She jumped when she heard a knock.

“C-come in!” she called out, immediately getting up, she didn't want to disappoint her boss who gave her this opportunity. He was wary at first because she was so timid, but she begged for a chance. Now, she was wondering if she was ready for it.

A black muzzle appeared, and she immediately felt calmer when she saw Martin, wearing his dark trench coat and suit. Having just finished a case in the ZPD, he wanted to pay her a visit, when she called him to tell him the news.

He tossed his hat aside on a couch in her room, giving her a wolfish grin.

“Look at you.” He growled happily, circling her. “you're a star already.”

Martha nervously chuckled and blushed. “T-Thank you, I thought the audience might like me more if I came out like this.”

“I certainly do,” Martin replied. “Must be working, oh wait...you always had.” He grabbed her paw, making her look up at him in surprise. His eyes narrowed in concern. “Are you nervous?”

She sighed heavily and touched her head. “I-I am so afraid, Martin.” She admitted, pulling away from him and collapsing onto the couch, resting her head on at armrest. Martin bit the inside of his cheek and slowly sat down beside her.

“When Helga got sick, and Franky wanted a stand in, I was the first to raise my paw. Oh!” She shook her head in disbelief. “I begged him to give me this one night, I even bet my job on it! But now-I feel so sick, I can't stop shaking, it's actually making my body ache, and my head won't stop pounding.”

Martin grabbed her shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “Calm down, calm down, Cottontail.” He crooned. He had never seen her as a nervous wreck before. He wondered if that was the life of a diva, which meant she was born for the job. His ears went up when he had an idea.

He pressed his muzzle next to her ears, whispering to her gently.

“You feel sick with anticipation, Martha.” He began. “You're shaking because you're excited to see the lights on you, and taking the attention of every mammal in the room.” Martha’s head slowly lifted up. “And your head is pounding because of the applause you hear in that little head of yours because you know you are going to be great!” He pulled away when she saw her ears went up. She sat up in surprise.

“I never...thought of it that way.” She murmured, followed by a smile. “Thank you, Martin, you always know what to say.”

He chuckled when he leaned back against the couch. He opened his coat and took out a cigar out of his breast pocket. “Anything for you Cottontail.” He replied as he patted down his chest, trying to find his lighter.

He stopped when he felt Martha’s paw on his chest as she leaned against him, holding a spare lighter. Martin’s ears went down he saw her large ruby eyes staring right at him.

“You should really stop smoking, I heard it's not good for you.” She cooed, flipping the switch. “I read an article that it can make you sick, darling.” He puffed slightly as his eyes scrolled down to her freshly painted ruby lips. She ran her paw across his suit and brushed against it. “All this ash is also dirtying your clothes, Marty, I have an excellent detergent at home perhaps I can do something about that.” She gave him a smile, making him blush and suddenly forget to breathe out the smoke. He lurched forward and let out a set of coughs, which sounded more like he was hacking. Martha’s ears went up in alarm.

“Martin! Are you alright?” She asked patting his back as if he was a child choking. Martin got up and put out the cigar against an ashtray that was set on her vanity.

He coughed again. “I-I'm fine! I just...need some water!” To escape from the embarrassment, he went to the door. “I-I'll see you on stage!”

He slammed the door behind him, leaving Martha alone in confusion.

He shoved his face against the tabletop in front of his friend, Ben, a young bachelor lion who is his partner on the force. Ben ran his finger around the ring of his class cup.

“What happened?” His friend asked with a smirk.

Martin sighed and rested his chin on the table. “I forgot to exhaled when I was smoking in Martha’s room.”

His friend laughed loudly as he slammed his massive paw on the table. Martin gave him a glare when he shook the table. “And you coughed and spit all over her like some pup!”

Martin felt his face heat up. He sunk into his seat and shook his head. “Ugh, she probably thinks I'm some sort of fake-out, I'm clutched for sure.”

“Ey, let's cool it down,” Ben said pouring him a drink of bourbon. Martin chugged it down to try to forget about his situation. “So you're a bit of a goof, but you're still a cool cat. That classy chassie of yours probably still thinks of you as a hip fox.”

Martin still wasn't sure of that and frowned. “We have just started dating for a week, but...with all of the hate against...you know-.” He said keeping his voice down, his friend leaned over from the hard topic. In Zootopia, inter-species relationships are unheard of and are seen as taboo, any animals caught in such an affair is persecuted, sometimes even violently.

“Hey, I gotcha.” His friend, Ben replied in a whisper. Martin nodded.

“I wanted to take her to one of those passion pits to see a movie. No one would suspect a thing, it's dark, and my windows are tinted, so I thought it will give us the chance to relax with each other, but now, I'm too much of a punk to ask her after what had happened.”  

He took another gulp of his drink and leaned against the palm of his paw, as he propped his elbow up on the table. The Tundra Club was filled to the brim, and the Bar had its counter full of drinks and animals trying to look for a good time with music and beautiful baristas. One barista, noticing Martin’s empty glass, strolled by. Martin barely looked up at the snow colored arctic fox dressed in gold, colorful flapper outfit, which actually hurt his eyes. He squinted slightly when he saw her wink at him almost flirtatiously.

“Enjoying the club so far, gentle males?” She asked as she balanced a silver tray on her paw as she poured out of a bottle with the other.

“Yeah, it's a gas!” Ben replied with a chuckle when Martin hummed a response. “Thanks, doll.”

“When is uh, Martha gonna sing?” Martin asked. The fox flicked her tail to the side and blinked at him.

“Who?” She asked in almost a ditzy, high shrill voice.

“Martha White,” Martin said in a hard tone, which suddenly made her remember.

“Oh, the little bunny...maybe in ten minutes, darling, but I wouldn’t worry about her. She is just a barista fillin’ in for a sick singer, she’s nothing worth seeing.” Martin gripped on his drink in annoyance, which made Ben, clear his throat nervously and push his drink away. The arctic fox brushed her cheek when she smiled at Martin. “I mean, I heard her sing her little heart out in the dressing room and between you me-” She leaned down to him which made Martin glare at her. “She’s as mediocre as a pup in the choir.”

Martin tilted his head back, and with a finger, he knocked his glass over, accidently (but actually, intentionally) spilling his drink on the barista. She gave out a shout when her skirt got drenched in liquor and whirled at Martin in disbelief. He gave out an audible gasp before giving her a smirk.

“Sorry, doll.” He wiggled his fingers at her. “Butterfingers, you know I get this way when I have too much to drink. Better send the bottle back.”

The Fox gritted her teeth at him and huffed when she took the two glasses away and stomped off. Ben let out a whistle and crossed his arms at him.

“That was a little harsh,” Ben said making Martin snort at him. “Now what I'm I going to drink? Club Soda?”

“Please, that little tramp never heard my Martha sing, she sings like an angel.” He said in a “matter a factly” tone. “She was probably jealous of her.”

“Well simmer down, or else you might get kicked out of this place before you could hear Martha sing.”

The lights suddenly went dimmed and a spotlight shined on the large stage. Martin grinned widely.

“Looks like we didn't need to wait long.” He and Ben looked on with anticipation as they heard the soft music of the piano play. His ears went up when he saw Martha in her brilliant and shining dress capture every animal’s attention. Their hushed and impressed whispers silenced when she began to sing to the crowd, her favorite song. Martin recognized it as the song “I wanna be loved” by the Dinah Washington. Her voice filled the club with her amplified sweet voice, in perfect harmony.

I wanna be loved with inspiration I wanna be loved starting tonight Instead of merely holding conversation Hold me tight

The room was immediately infatuated by her siren voice, even Martin was swooning at the sound of her beautiful voice filling his body. He sighed in contentment as he closed his eyes.

I wanna be loved with inspiration I wanna be loved starting tonight Instead of merely holding conversation Hold me tight I wanna be kissed until I tingle I wanna be kissed starting tonight Embrace me till our heartbeats intermingle Wrong or right

He didn't even notice she finished until he heard the thunderous applause. His eyes snapped open from his daze and stood up, clapping his paws. Before he knew it, Martha was receiving a standing ovation from every animal in the room. He could see her smiling at the crowd when they began to shower her with roses. She gave them a curtsy, even blowing a shy kiss to the crowd before bowing out to retreat into her dressing room. Martin immediately took his leave and rushed towards the back of the club and back in front of her dressing room door.

He was about to knock before he heard a voice inside, talking to Martha. He recognized the small, and annoying little voice as the owner of the Club, Franky, a Weasel.

“You did great out there kid! Tell you what, I am now hiring you to perform three nights a week!” He exclaimed.

“Really?!” Martin heard from Martha. “Oh thank you, Franky!”

“Don't get sentimental, kid. Just remember, mess up, and you are outta here.”

“I won't let you down, Franky!” Martha replied with confidence.

“Alright, I'm stickin’ my neck out for you-”

Martin heard the door click, which made him duck behind a set of curtains to avoid being seen by the boss. Once he saw Franky leave, he went inside the room, closing the door behind him. Martha was gushing at the mirror, and when she saw him, she immediately went to her feet and hugged him.

“Marty! Did you see me? Oh, I was amazing! Everyone loved me!” She exclaimed, making his wince when she squeezed him tightly against her.

“Of course I did, I told you didn't I?”

She let go of him and jumped in joy. “Oh, I'm going to be a singer, Marty!” She sighed softly and wrapped her arms around his torso again. “And it's all thanks to you.”

Martin chuckled and stroked her ears down. “Y-you know, I was wondering, to celebrate…” he scratched the back of his head when Martha tilted her head at him. “That we can go...to the cinema, a drive in, that just opened up tonight.”

Her ears went up. “A picture show! How exciting, yes I would love to!” She grabbed his paw and gave him a quick kiss on his knuckle before grabbing her casual clothes from off a rack of costumes. “Give me a moment to change!”

“Okay.”

Martha glanced back and saw Martin still standing in the room, she blushed slightly and motioned her paw at him.

She giggled softly. “Wait outside, Marty.”

Martin grinned. “Are you sure you want me to?”

She gasped and laughed slightly when she pushed him to the door. “I am serious!”

“Okay, okay! I'll wait outside!” He laughed when he went out the door. He closed the door and leaned against it. He closed his eyes and began humming her song to himself, as he imagined her singing up on stage.

[michaelfallcon]

The Man Who Spoon Too Much

sssssssszzzweeep…

“…lime blossom…”

thit thit thit…

“…honeydew rind…”

fffffffffffhhhhiiiit…

“…ruby red grapefruit…”

vvip…

“More of a pomelo actually.”

“Yes, but pithier. It’s got pith. Very pithy.”

“Like a bruleed pith though.”

“Definitely bruleed.”

“What do you taste, Alex?”

“Fuck,” Alex thought to himself. He hated this part of the day. It’s not he didn’t like cupping. On the contrary, it was his favorite part of working in the coffee industry, and he was actually pretty good at it. Under normal circumstances. But not around these assholes and their free-association tasting notes. What does a lime blossom even taste like anyway?

Around them, he would freeze up. Maybe it was that Alex never felt like he was part of the group. They didn’t think he was “in” coffee, not like them. He just put coffee in bags to be sent out for “real” coffee professionals to use. He was only invited to the daily cupping at as a sort of constant against which everyone else could gauge how developed their palates had become. Or at least that’s how Alex read the situation, and perhaps subconsciously, that’s the box he pinned himself into. For all the varieties of apple or specific herbaceous notes he could confidently find during a more casual cupping setting, here his tongue may as well been coated in wax.

“Uhhhh… stone fruit?” Alex said.

“I don’t know, I’m not really tasting the tartaric acid. Citric definitely, but I can’t find the tartaric.”

“I could see it getting more malic as it cools. Maybe that’s what you’re getting.”

“Yeah, that must be it,” Alex resigned, coalescing meekly yet again to the free-range, avocado blossom hive mind.

And just like every other day, Alex would finish out the cupping in silence while the others continued their three-dimensional chess flavor profiles. And as always, no one would ask his opinion again for the rest of the day.

After these daily traumas, Alex couldn’t wait to get back to bagging. Yes, the job was mindlessly repetitive, but loved being part of coffee, if only in a not-flavor-dependent way. Sure, he’d rather be a barista champion or a green coffee buyer, but at least bagging got him in the door to the coffee world. Plus, it gave him a chance to actually think about the coffees he had just cupped, though that usually entailed reliving his newest hell. “Stone fruit? You didn’t taste stone fruit,” Alex said to himself.

Ba-ding

A new order had just came in. A single 12-ounce bag for someone named Endora Derwood of the very coffee Alex was just cupping. I didn’t know it was on the offer sheet already, he thought. Maybe it’s some sort of friends and family preview; the name doesn’t ring any bells, though. The address was on his way home and everyone had left for the night—another couple hours lost in thought—so Alex figured he would just drop off the delivery on his way home. Nothing wrong with getting a few brownie points for exceptional customer service. He filled a bag and headed out the door toward the home of Ms. Derwood.

***

As Alex’s beat up Suburu pulls up to the Derwood non-descript home, he can’t help but wonder why he’s never seen it before; though he’s made this same drive twice a day for the past two years, he’s never seen this house before in his life. “But what WOULD I notice before I’ve had my morning coffee, right?” he said out loud to himself. His dad would love that joke.

DING-dong

“Coffee delivery for Ms. Endora Derwood,” Alex said to no one in particular. It wasn’t until now he realized how bizarre it was to make a deliver at this hour and felt compelled to announce his intentions to the universe.

The door opens to reveal a woman, presumably Endora Derwood, greeting Alex with a smile.

“Ms. Derwood? You just ordered some coffee and I thought I would bring it by. It was on my way home.” Alex was now completely aware of how odd this situation might seem.

“Now that’s customer service. Kudos to you!” she said. Alex felt relieved. He was unable to pinpoint her age; She was dressed in flowy, hippy garb, but Alex couldn’t tell if it was some sort of Coachella-boho-chic thing or if Ms. Derwood hadn’t changed clothes since she was at Woodstock.

“So what does this coffee taste like?” she asked.

“Ummm… bruleed pomelo pith?” he said meekly.

“Now just what in the hell does that mean?” She may have looked like a hippy, but Ms. Derwood was a straight shooter.

“To be honest, Ms. Derwood, I have no idea. That’s just what everyone said at the cupping table today and they seemed pretty confident.”

“Well, what did you taste? You were there too, right? And please, call me Endora.”

“I… I don’t know. I kinda froze up.”

“That just won’t do. I think I have something that will help you. Would you like to try?”

It was getting late, but “what the hell?” Alex thought. This was the sort of low-pressure situation where maybe he could actually pick out the flavors.

“That sounds great Ms. Der… Endora.”

“Oh wonderful. Come have a seat and I’ll brew some up right away.”

Her setup was nice: decent enough home grinder, cupping bowls, actual cupping spoons.

“Here,” she said. “Use this one, it’s very special.” It was unlike any cupping spoon he has seen before, shimmery and variegated, but not multi-colored; more like every color at once. In the concavity of the spoon, two squares offset to make an eight-pointed star.

“I can’t use your spoon,” Alex said. “It’s too nice.”

“Don’t you mind that. I have others.”

Alex agreed—it was pretty cool looking after all—and dipped the spoon into the slurry (now reaching the ideal tasting temperature).

“Tangerine. Shit. It’s tangerine!” Alex exclaimed. Not toasted, not the rind, not poached in 25-year-old brandy, simply the juicy part of the fruit that normal-talking humans associate with the word “tangerine.”

“Why yes, I believe you’re right, Alex. Try again. What else do you taste?”

zzzzzheeet…

“…lavender, caramel, and just a touch of grassiness.” With each sip, the flavors came more into focus. Probably shouldn’t have told the customer the coffee was grassy, though.

“Right again. You’ve got quite the palate.”

“If only that were true when we cupped at work.”

“Well, why don’t you take that spoon with you? Just promise you’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

He hesitated. “I couldn’t do that, it’s is too nice. Thank you though.”

“I insist. It’s no trouble at all.”

Alex thought for a second. It’s just a spoon, right? But maybe it would bring him good luck. The flavors DID seem so clear when he was using it.

“If you really don’t mind, then I guess I could take it for luck.”

“Just remember, you must bring it back tomorrow.”

“I promise. Thanks Ms. Derwood!” Alex said as he turned and headed for the door.

“It’s my pleasure,” Enodra said, a cheshire grin beginning to peak out of the corner of her mouth.

***

The next day, Alex couldn’t wait to get to the cupping table, lucky charm in hand. He practically floated into the room.

“We’re going to do something a little different today,” Alex’s boss said. “We’ve set up a triangulation cupping for you all. The winner will represent us at the US Cup Tasters Championship this year.”

The room grew excited, except for Alex. The old “it’s tangerine, you dum-dums” trick isn’t gonna work now. Back to being the bag packing punching bag.

Nonetheless, Alex decided to participate. Who knows, maybe he’d get lucky. As the rest of the team is hrrrmmm’ing and oooo’ing their way through the row of triplet cups, jotting down their answers as they go, Alex, the last person to go, begins with the first set.

zzzzzheeet… zzzzzheeet…

zzzzzheeet…

“I think there’s been a mistake,” Alex stated. “These coffees taste nothing alike.”

“There’s no mistake. Just pick out the one that’s different,” Alex’s boss said.

“Don’t worry, it gets a lot harder,” his coworker stated, certain as they all were that Alex had no idea what he was talking about.

Himself uncertain about the obvious differences, Alex jots down his answer and moves to the next set of bowls.

zzzzzheeet… zzzzzheeet… zzzzzheeet…

Ok these are definitely different, Alex thought to himself. Don’t say anything. Just write it down and move on.

With each passing cup, the flavors became clearer and clearer. Each sip evoked a unique image in his mind, in full color, that he could rotate in three-dimensional space. It’s like he could jump into that scene himself and poke around to find what was out of place. Alex blew through sets three, four, and five. He began skipping past his coworkers in the line, so enamored with the contrasts of flavor country that he didn’t even realize they were there.

“Done!” Alex stated.

“You sure you don’t want to give it another pass?” his boss asked.

“Nope, I’m pretty sure these are right.”

“Let’s just check and see.” Alex’s boss takes his score sheet, scribbling little marks as he scrolls down the page. His brows furrow slightly. “It appears that Alex has set the bar pretty high. He didn’t miss a single one.”

As the rest of the group continued to work through the sets and turn in their answers, Alex beamed. You could have turned off the power and illuminated the whole room with his smile alone.

Second place missed three.

“Well, Alex, looks like you’re going to Cup Tasters,” his boss said.

Alex couldn’t believe it. He finally bested his coworkers/secret enemies and it was all thanks to the spoon.

Oh no, the spoon. He is supposed to give it back to Ms. Derwood tonight. If I get last place at Cup Tasters, it’ll be worse than if I never went at all… Maybe I’ll just hold onto it until Ms. Derwood messages us about it. She knows how to reach me. What could possibly be the harm?

The spoon, so beautiful, so unlike any other spoon, seemed to almost vibrate.

***

Ms. Derwood never did get in touch about it. Month and months went by as Alex prepared for Cup Tasters with his secret weapon, without a single message from the hippy dippy woman in the secret house on his route home. In that entire time, Alex never missed a cup. He picked them out faster. Nothing his coworkers threw at him—not a single errant bean, not a half a degree difference in water temperature, nothing—could fool him. The images these coffees painted in his head were just too crisp. Winning almost felt perfunctory at this point.

And it was. At the national competition, Alex steamrolled the first round with a perfect 8 for 8 in just under two minutes. In the semis, he went perfect again but in just over five minutes, thanks to a cheeky “coffee break” in which the newly-confident Alex picked up one of the cupping bowls and began sipping from it as he took a casual stroll around the stage. He almost got DQ’ed for his little stunt but he was so far away above the rest of the competition, they let him off with a warning.

Then came the finals. His pièce de résistance. So as to not run afoul of the rules that he now felt a great deal of contempt towards, Alex didn’t touch a single cup, not for tasting purposes at least. Using aroma alone, he correctly identified all eight outliers, and did so in just under a minute. The packed house roared.

Alex became an overnight sensation in the coffee world. Did this kid really just win the US Cup Tasters without a single sip?! The audacity! The nerve! The sheer badassery! Yesterday, Alex was a nobody, but today, he’s the most famous person in the coffee world. Local media ate him up—he even made a national mainstream newspaper’s weekend magazine cover. “Coffee’s bad boy” they called him, with cover photos of him flipping over cupping tables or spitting coffee directly at the camera, with his special spoon—his secret weapon, his actor’s secret—always hiding in plain sight.

Alex fell comfortably into the roll of the bad boy—”John McEnspro,” someone quipped on Twitter, and in truth, he loved it. He began saying things like, “tasting isn’t something you can learn. It’s either in you or it isn’t,” and “coffee probably isn’t for everyone, maybe you should give wine a shot.” He was snotty, he was ambitious, he was brash—the rock star competition barista of yesteryear, born anew with dizzying success.

In the weeks leading up to the World Cup Tasters, Alex didn’t so much “practice” as he did put on coffee tasting exhibitions. Not a day went by where a stranger didn’t recognize him and ask Alex to taste whatever coffee they were drinking. They started inviting in members of the local community: cafe regulars, reporters, the local high school varsity football squad (including the coaches and cheerleaders).

zzzzzheeeeeeet…

“Rose hips, pomegranate, 72% dark chocolate, and you really need to lay off the Flaming Hot Cheetos before drinking coffee.”

Alex was ready. The only thing left to figure out was exactly what outrageous stunt he was going to pull at the finals. Was he going to hand out rain ponchos to the first two rows of the crowd, the “splash zone,” and cover them with the winning coffee? He wasn’t sure yet, but he knew it was going to be wild. And he knew he was going to win at worlds.

***

Sitting at the airport waiting for his flight to Belo Horizonte to arrive, Alex was recognized a group of coffee people waiting to board his same plane, who like everyone else it seemed, wanted to see the world’s most famous palate in action. And Alex was more than happy to oblige. One member of the adoring public handed Alex their cup of airport coffee as a lark. Alex pulled his prized possession from the chain around his neck—he wore the spoon like an amulet of power now, always pressed against his skin, next to his beating heart.

zzzzzheeet…

“Baker’s chocolate, rubber, peanuts… and baby shit?”

The group laughs, they snap a few photos with Alex for the ‘Gram, ask him to sign their cup—Alex spells the name on the cup wrong intentionally; people eat it up—and they leave, satisfied to have met the phenom and seen him in action. But something was wrong. That coffee had baker’s chocolate, rubber, and peanuts, but baby shit? Maybe that was a defect from some kind of natural process that had crept into this coffee’s otherwise unremarkable provenance, but something felt wrong. He tasted that flavor when he slurped the coffee, but the flavor wasn’t in the coffee. Just then he heard the crying: a newborn some 20 yards away waiting on a flight at the next terminal. The baby’s mother was fussing with a diaper bag, getting ready for a change.

Then, a distinct odor of corn and oil, like bad tortilla chips. No sooner than Alex picks out the smell, a man with a greasy bag of leftovers from the shitty Airport Tex Mex spot takes a seat three rows over.

Every passing scent lingers now. He can’t turn them off. Alex’s senses have become too sharp, as though the focus on a camera had been over-adjusted; the picture in his head has gone blurry, overrun by atmospheric scents clashing against one another.

“Now boarding Group Six for Flight 823 to Belo Horizonte, Brazil…”

Shaking off his olfactory panic attack, Alex heads for his plane, hoping to leave behind this menagerie of odors turned to 11.

But the plane was worse. A “service dog” four rows back is having a love affair with its own butt. A man up in first class with athlete’s foot has just removed his shoes. Someone in the very back opens the bathroom door, releasing a perfume of blue chemicals and old urine. No less than three toddlers on this plane are at various stages of bodily fluids coming out of both ends. The pilot boards, bringing with him a smell of last night’s gin and cheap perfume. Alex can taste the armrests. All of them.

The odors, they are deafening.

Alex grows pallid and breaks into a cold sweat, the salty sweetness only adding to the onslaught. His vision tunnels and his ears only record a high-pitched silence as all sensory power is diverted to his nose and mouth. He begins to thrash about, pawing aggressively at anything and everything around him trying to find something to bring him back, but his fingertips aren’t registering any sensations, not the headrest, not the face of the person in the chair next to him, not even the window that just dislocated two of his knuckles. Nothing. In comes a rush of copper.

And in an instant, everything is gone.

***

Alex opens his eyes to the blurred features of a soft, white room. It’s unclear where he is or how long he’s been here. His eye muscles have grown weak from atrophy. He can feel the cool wall against the back of exposed neck. His senses must be returning.

“Ah you’ve come back to us,” Alex hears a female voice say. “That was quite an ordeal, wasn’t it.”

Alex tries to sit up but is too weak.

“Be careful now. You’re not back up to full strength. You should make a complete recovery in no time. Except for…”

Alex tries to speak but only a garbled noise comes out, accompanied by a shooting pain.

“I was trying to tell you, when you had that terrible spasm on the airplane, you bit off most of your tongue. The doctors ran a CAT scan and you seem to have fried your parietal lobe in the process. I’m afraid you’ll never taste or smell again. But on the bright side, all your other sense were unharmed.”

Tears begin to fill Alex’s eyes as hey lay motionless against the wall.

“Oh, there it is.”

The specter’s soft focus tightens as she floats closer to Alex, leaning over him to pluck a shiny metallic object from the chain around his neck. In a moment of perfect clarity, Alex can read her name tag: Derwood.

And then, as though overcorrecting the camera lens, the shape of the woman blurs, fading into nothing but a voice.

“I’d hate to lose this. It’s very special.”

Zac Cadwalader is the news editor at Sprudge Media Network and a staff writer based in Dallas. Read more Zac Cadwalader on Sprudge.

The post The Man Who Spoon Too Much appeared first on Sprudge.

The Man Who Spoon Too Much published first on https://medium.com/@LinLinCoffee

[mrwilliamcharley]

The Man Who Spoon Too Much

sssssssszzzweeep…

“…lime blossom…”

thit thit thit…

“…honeydew rind…”

fffffffffffhhhhiiiit…

“…ruby red grapefruit…”

vvip…

“More of a pomelo actually.”

“Yes, but pithier. It’s got pith. Very pithy.”

“Like a bruleed pith though.”

“Definitely bruleed.”

“What do you taste, Alex?”

“Fuck,” Alex thought to himself. He hated this part of the day. It’s not he didn’t like cupping. On the contrary, it was his favorite part of working in the coffee industry, and he was actually pretty good at it. Under normal circumstances. But not around these assholes and their free-association tasting notes. What does a lime blossom even taste like anyway?

Around them, he would freeze up. Maybe it was that Alex never felt like he was part of the group. They didn’t think he was “in” coffee, not like them. He just put coffee in bags to be sent out for “real” coffee professionals to use. He was only invited to the daily cupping at as a sort of constant against which everyone else could gauge how developed their palates had become. Or at least that’s how Alex read the situation, and perhaps subconsciously, that’s the box he pinned himself into. For all the varieties of apple or specific herbaceous notes he could confidently find during a more casual cupping setting, here his tongue may as well been coated in wax.

“Uhhhh… stone fruit?” Alex said.

“I don’t know, I’m not really tasting the tartaric acid. Citric definitely, but I can’t find the tartaric.”

“I could see it getting more malic as it cools. Maybe that’s what you’re getting.”

“Yeah, that must be it,” Alex resigned, coalescing meekly yet again to the free-range, avocado blossom hive mind.

And just like every other day, Alex would finish out the cupping in silence while the others continued their three-dimensional chess flavor profiles. And as always, no one would ask his opinion again for the rest of the day.

After these daily traumas, Alex couldn’t wait to get back to bagging. Yes, the job was mindlessly repetitive, but loved being part of coffee, if only in a not-flavor-dependent way. Sure, he’d rather be a barista champion or a green coffee buyer, but at least bagging got him in the door to the coffee world. Plus, it gave him a chance to actually think about the coffees he had just cupped, though that usually entailed reliving his newest hell. “Stone fruit? You didn’t taste stone fruit,” Alex said to himself.

Ba-ding

A new order had just came in. A single 12-ounce bag for someone named Endora Derwood of the very coffee Alex was just cupping. I didn’t know it was on the offer sheet already, he thought. Maybe it’s some sort of friends and family preview; the name doesn’t ring any bells, though. The address was on his way home and everyone had left for the night—another couple hours lost in thought—so Alex figured he would just drop off the delivery on his way home. Nothing wrong with getting a few brownie points for exceptional customer service. He filled a bag and headed out the door toward the home of Ms. Derwood.

***

As Alex’s beat up Suburu pulls up to the Derwood non-descript home, he can’t help but wonder why he’s never seen it before; though he’s made this same drive twice a day for the past two years, he’s never seen this house before in his life. “But what WOULD I notice before I’ve had my morning coffee, right?” he said out loud to himself. His dad would love that joke.

DING-dong

“Coffee delivery for Ms. Endora Derwood,” Alex said to no one in particular. It wasn’t until now he realized how bizarre it was to make a deliver at this hour and felt compelled to announce his intentions to the universe.

The door opens to reveal a woman, presumably Endora Derwood, greeting Alex with a smile.

“Ms. Derwood? You just ordered some coffee and I thought I would bring it by. It was on my way home.” Alex was now completely aware of how odd this situation might seem.

“Now that’s customer service. Kudos to you!” she said. Alex felt relieved. He was unable to pinpoint her age; She was dressed in flowy, hippy garb, but Alex couldn’t tell if it was some sort of Coachella-boho-chic thing or if Ms. Derwood hadn’t changed clothes since she was at Woodstock.

“So what does this coffee taste like?” she asked.

“Ummm… bruleed pomelo pith?” he said meekly.

“Now just what in the hell does that mean?” She may have looked like a hippy, but Ms. Derwood was a straight shooter.

“To be honest, Ms. Derwood, I have no idea. That’s just what everyone said at the cupping table today and they seemed pretty confident.”

“Well, what did you taste? You were there too, right? And please, call me Endora.”

“I… I don’t know. I kinda froze up.”

“That just won’t do. I think I have something that will help you. Would you like to try?”

It was getting late, but “what the hell?” Alex thought. This was the sort of low-pressure situation where maybe he could actually pick out the flavors.

“That sounds great Ms. Der… Endora.”

“Oh wonderful. Come have a seat and I’ll brew some up right away.”

Her setup was nice: decent enough home grinder, cupping bowls, actual cupping spoons.

“Here,” she said. “Use this one, it’s very special.” It was unlike any cupping spoon he has seen before, shimmery and variegated, but not multi-colored; more like every color at once. In the concavity of the spoon, two squares offset to make an eight-pointed star.

“I can’t use your spoon,” Alex said. “It’s too nice.”

“Don’t you mind that. I have others.”

Alex agreed—it was pretty cool looking after all—and dipped the spoon into the slurry (now reaching the ideal tasting temperature).

“Tangerine. Shit. It’s tangerine!” Alex exclaimed. Not toasted, not the rind, not poached in 25-year-old brandy, simply the juicy part of the fruit that normal-talking humans associate with the word “tangerine.”

“Why yes, I believe you’re right, Alex. Try again. What else do you taste?”

zzzzzheeet…

“…lavender, caramel, and just a touch of grassiness.” With each sip, the flavors came more into focus. Probably shouldn’t have told the customer the coffee was grassy, though.

“Right again. You’ve got quite the palate.”

“If only that were true when we cupped at work.”

“Well, why don’t you take that spoon with you? Just promise you’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

He hesitated. “I couldn’t do that, it’s is too nice. Thank you though.”

“I insist. It’s no trouble at all.”

Alex thought for a second. It’s just a spoon, right? But maybe it would bring him good luck. The flavors DID seem so clear when he was using it.

“If you really don’t mind, then I guess I could take it for luck.”

“Just remember, you must bring it back tomorrow.”

“I promise. Thanks Ms. Derwood!” Alex said as he turned and headed for the door.

“It’s my pleasure,” Enodra said, a cheshire grin beginning to peak out of the corner of her mouth.

***

The next day, Alex couldn’t wait to get to the cupping table, lucky charm in hand. He practically floated into the room.

“We’re going to do something a little different today,” Alex’s boss said. “We’ve set up a triangulation cupping for you all. The winner will represent us at the US Cup Tasters Championship this year.”

The room grew excited, except for Alex. The old “it’s tangerine, you dum-dums” trick isn’t gonna work now. Back to being the bag packing punching bag.

Nonetheless, Alex decided to participate. Who knows, maybe he’d get lucky. As the rest of the team is hrrrmmm’ing and oooo’ing their way through the row of triplet cups, jotting down their answers as they go, Alex, the last person to go, begins with the first set.

zzzzzheeet… zzzzzheeet…

zzzzzheeet…

“I think there’s been a mistake,” Alex stated. “These coffees taste nothing alike.”

“There’s no mistake. Just pick out the one that’s different,” Alex’s boss said.

“Don’t worry, it gets a lot harder,” his coworker stated, certain as they all were that Alex had no idea what he was talking about.

Himself uncertain about the obvious differences, Alex jots down his answer and moves to the next set of bowls.

zzzzzheeet… zzzzzheeet… zzzzzheeet…

Ok these are definitely different, Alex thought to himself. Don’t say anything. Just write it down and move on.

With each passing cup, the flavors became clearer and clearer. Each sip evoked a unique image in his mind, in full color, that he could rotate in three-dimensional space. It’s like he could jump into that scene himself and poke around to find what was out of place. Alex blew through sets three, four, and five. He began skipping past his coworkers in the line, so enamored with the contrasts of flavor country that he didn’t even realize they were there.

“Done!” Alex stated.

“You sure you don’t want to give it another pass?” his boss asked.

“Nope, I’m pretty sure these are right.”

“Let’s just check and see.” Alex’s boss takes his score sheet, scribbling little marks as he scrolls down the page. His brows furrow slightly. “It appears that Alex has set the bar pretty high. He didn’t miss a single one.”

As the rest of the group continued to work through the sets and turn in their answers, Alex beamed. You could have turned off the power and illuminated the whole room with his smile alone.

Second place missed three.

“Well, Alex, looks like you’re going to Cup Tasters,” his boss said.

Alex couldn’t believe it. He finally bested his coworkers/secret enemies and it was all thanks to the spoon.

Oh no, the spoon. He is supposed to give it back to Ms. Derwood tonight. If I get last place at Cup Tasters, it’ll be worse than if I never went at all… Maybe I’ll just hold onto it until Ms. Derwood messages us about it. She knows how to reach me. What could possibly be the harm?

The spoon, so beautiful, so unlike any other spoon, seemed to almost vibrate.

***

Ms. Derwood never did get in touch about it. Month and months went by as Alex prepared for Cup Tasters with his secret weapon, without a single message from the hippy dippy woman in the secret house on his route home. In that entire time, Alex never missed a cup. He picked them out faster. Nothing his coworkers threw at him—not a single errant bean, not a half a degree difference in water temperature, nothing—could fool him. The images these coffees painted in his head were just too crisp. Winning almost felt perfunctory at this point.

And it was. At the national competition, Alex steamrolled the first round with a perfect 8 for 8 in just under two minutes. In the semis, he went perfect again but in just over five minutes, thanks to a cheeky “coffee break” in which the newly-confident Alex picked up one of the cupping bowls and began sipping from it as he took a casual stroll around the stage. He almost got DQ’ed for his little stunt but he was so far away above the rest of the competition, they let him off with a warning.

Then came the finals. His pièce de résistance. So as to not run afoul of the rules that he now felt a great deal of contempt towards, Alex didn’t touch a single cup, not for tasting purposes at least. Using aroma alone, he correctly identified all eight outliers, and did so in just under a minute. The packed house roared.

Alex became an overnight sensation in the coffee world. Did this kid really just win the US Cup Tasters without a single sip?! The audacity! The nerve! The sheer badassery! Yesterday, Alex was a nobody, but today, he’s the most famous person in the coffee world. Local media ate him up—he even made a national mainstream newspaper’s weekend magazine cover. “Coffee’s bad boy” they called him, with cover photos of him flipping over cupping tables or spitting coffee directly at the camera, with his special spoon—his secret weapon, his actor’s secret—always hiding in plain sight.

Alex fell comfortably into the roll of the bad boy—”John McEnspro,” someone quipped on Twitter, and in truth, he loved it. He began saying things like, “tasting isn’t something you can learn. It’s either in you or it isn’t,” and “coffee probably isn’t for everyone, maybe you should give wine a shot.” He was snotty, he was ambitious, he was brash—the rock star competition barista of yesteryear, born anew with dizzying success.

In the weeks leading up to the World Cup Tasters, Alex didn’t so much “practice” as he did put on coffee tasting exhibitions. Not a day went by where a stranger didn’t recognize him and ask Alex to taste whatever coffee they were drinking. They started inviting in members of the local community: cafe regulars, reporters, the local high school varsity football squad (including the coaches and cheerleaders).

zzzzzheeeeeeet…

“Rose hips, pomegranate, 72% dark chocolate, and you really need to lay off the Flaming Hot Cheetos before drinking coffee.”

Alex was ready. The only thing left to figure out was exactly what outrageous stunt he was going to pull at the finals. Was he going to hand out rain ponchos to the first two rows of the crowd, the “splash zone,” and cover them with the winning coffee? He wasn’t sure yet, but he knew it was going to be wild. And he knew he was going to win at worlds.

***

Sitting at the airport waiting for his flight to Belo Horizonte to arrive, Alex was recognized a group of coffee people waiting to board his same plane, who like everyone else it seemed, wanted to see the world’s most famous palate in action. And Alex was more than happy to oblige. One member of the adoring public handed Alex their cup of airport coffee as a lark. Alex pulled his prized possession from the chain around his neck—he wore the spoon like an amulet of power now, always pressed against his skin, next to his beating heart.

zzzzzheeet…

“Baker’s chocolate, rubber, peanuts… and baby shit?”

The group laughs, they snap a few photos with Alex for the ‘Gram, ask him to sign their cup—Alex spells the name on the cup wrong intentionally; people eat it up—and they leave, satisfied to have met the phenom and seen him in action. But something was wrong. That coffee had baker’s chocolate, rubber, and peanuts, but baby shit? Maybe that was a defect from some kind of natural process that had crept into this coffee’s otherwise unremarkable provenance, but something felt wrong. He tasted that flavor when he slurped the coffee, but the flavor wasn’t in the coffee. Just then he heard the crying: a newborn some 20 yards away waiting on a flight at the next terminal. The baby’s mother was fussing with a diaper bag, getting ready for a change.

Then, a distinct odor of corn and oil, like bad tortilla chips. No sooner than Alex picks out the smell, a man with a greasy bag of leftovers from the shitty Airport Tex Mex spot takes a seat three rows over.

Every passing scent lingers now. He can’t turn them off. Alex’s senses have become too sharp, as though the focus on a camera had been over-adjusted; the picture in his head has gone blurry, overrun by atmospheric scents clashing against one another.

“Now boarding Group Six for Flight 823 to Belo Horizonte, Brazil…”

Shaking off his olfactory panic attack, Alex heads for his plane, hoping to leave behind this menagerie of odors turned to 11.

But the plane was worse. A “service dog” four rows back is having a love affair with its own butt. A man up in first class with athlete’s foot has just removed his shoes. Someone in the very back opens the bathroom door, releasing a perfume of blue chemicals and old urine. No less than three toddlers on this plane are at various stages of bodily fluids coming out of both ends. The pilot boards, bringing with him a smell of last night’s gin and cheap perfume. Alex can taste the armrests. All of them.

The odors, they are deafening.

Alex grows pallid and breaks into a cold sweat, the salty sweetness only adding to the onslaught. His vision tunnels and his ears only record a high-pitched silence as all sensory power is diverted to his nose and mouth. He begins to thrash about, pawing aggressively at anything and everything around him trying to find something to bring him back, but his fingertips aren’t registering any sensations, not the headrest, not the face of the person in the chair next to him, not even the window that just dislocated two of his knuckles. Nothing. In comes a rush of copper.

And in an instant, everything is gone.

***

Alex opens his eyes to the blurred features of a soft, white room. It’s unclear where he is or how long he’s been here. His eye muscles have grown weak from atrophy. He can feel the cool wall against the back of exposed neck. His senses must be returning.

“Ah you’ve come back to us,” Alex hears a female voice say. “That was quite an ordeal, wasn’t it.”

Alex tries to sit up but is too weak.

“Be careful now. You’re not back up to full strength. You should make a complete recovery in no time. Except for…”

Alex tries to speak but only a garbled noise comes out, accompanied by a shooting pain.

“I was trying to tell you, when you had that terrible spasm on the airplane, you bit off most of your tongue. The doctors ran a CAT scan and you seem to have fried your parietal lobe in the process. I’m afraid you’ll never taste or smell again. But on the bright side, all your other sense were unharmed.”

Tears begin to fill Alex’s eyes as hey lay motionless against the wall.

“Oh, there it is.”

The specter’s soft focus tightens as she floats closer to Alex, leaning over him to pluck a shiny metallic object from the chain around his neck. In a moment of perfect clarity, Alex can read her name tag: Derwood.

And then, as though overcorrecting the camera lens, the shape of the woman blurs, fading into nothing but a voice.

“I’d hate to lose this. It’s very special.”

Zac Cadwalader is the news editor at Sprudge Media Network and a staff writer based in Dallas. Read more Zac Cadwalader on Sprudge.

The post The Man Who Spoon Too Much appeared first on Sprudge.

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