#[Sorry for the the awfully long reply it was the holiday for Thanksgiving and had to work extra hours because of the holiday]

[delaber]

Just Friends (Part 1)

Story Summary: After moving to America for a 3-month long internship, you meet two interesting characters on a boring night out.

Word Count: 1.8K

Pairing: Rafael Casal x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, minor drug use, smut, slight dom!Rafa, swearing, and loads of British references (sorry not sorry lol). 

Chapter Note: Sooooo.... This is my take on a multi chapter Rafael Casal x reader story. Feel free to ask and hit me up if you want to be on the tag list, have questions, suggestions, etc. /Best!

Other Parts: See Masterlist

"Four margaritas, please," you sighed to the bartender behind the counter. He could definitely tell that this wasn't your night, so without any attempt at smalltalk, he sent you a curt nod before reaching for the tequila on the shelf behind him. You watched as he poured a couple of ounces of tequila into each glass before you were ripped out of your trance by three shrill voices coming from the dance floor, apparently shrieking so because the DJ had just put on Katy Perry's 'California Gurls'.

You didn't even have to turn your head to know who had emitted the noise. Of course it was your company of the night; your new co-worker Miranda and her two college friends to whom she apparently had been dying to introduce you to. Exactly why, you had no idea and right now you were almost gagging for an excuse to leave the party early. But you reminded yourself that Miranda had been good to you ever since you had moved across the pond. You needed to be on your best behaviour if you wanted to return the favour and pretend that you were having a great night; and if you couldn't pull up your socks and un-ironically make a fool of yourself on the dance floor with her and her friends, you'd have to buy the party drinks. In all honesty, a small price to pay for Miranda's otherwise pleasurable friendship.

Ever since you had moved to California, Miranda had invited you over for dinner several times a week, she had helped you pick up a sofa from a guy on Craigslist, and she had even dragged you along to her family's Thanksgiving Dinner last night - even though you had told her that Europeans don't really care for the holiday - insisting that no one should be alone on Thanksgiving. So even though her friends were pure torture, you wanted to show Miranda that you appreciated everything she had done to make the transition of moving to a different continent easier for you.

'Still a couple of hours of 'fun' to go,' you looked at your watch, 'might need some much needed help to get through,' you thought to yourself while turning you attention back towards the bartender. "Hey - on second thought," you caught his attention, "could you make one of the margaritas a double, please?"

The bartender eyed you intently, "are you sure? You've been up here several times and a double margarita contains three ounces of tequila."

"Do you not want to make money?" you smiled at him.

"Good point," he laughed, "rough night?"

"Rough night!" you agreed with a smile, "I definitely need the three ounces."

"You could always come back for more," he winked at you.

"Oh trust me, I will."

You realised that the bartender had mistaken your words for flirting as a small smile erupted on his lips. He ran his gaze over your face and body, eyes dropping a little too low for your taste. A shame, really. He had been quite cute up until that.

"Double it is," he smiled slickly while running his eyes over your chest before pouring more tequila in to one of the four glasses in front of him.

Turning away from the slightly douchy bartender, your eyes went back to the dance floor where the three girls were doing some weird attention-seeking dance to the chorus of the Katy Perry song, apparently desperate to let all the people in the bar know that they were indeed California girls themselves - just like almost everybody else in the damn bar. You were in downtown Los Angeles after all.

You could not wait to down your double margarita.

Suddenly, you realised that Miranda had caught you looking at them, and that she was currently gesturing for you to join them on the dance floor. "Shit," you mumbled as you pretended that you hadn't seen her and quickly turned your face to the other side of the room, all at once noticing two loud men sitting at the bar next to you. A handsome man with wild curls was laughing whole-heartedly at something that his equally-handsome blonde friend was telling him about. The blonde man was gesticulating wildly with his hands, using both sound effects and theatrical face expressions to get his point across to his friend. He even managed to spice up his story with eccentric details and anecdotes that were probably meaningless for the morale of the story but funny nonetheless. Listening silently to him, you found yourself almost wishing that he was talking to you, the way his face constantly shifted, his eyebrows persistently retracting and retreating, going up and down in time with his well-timed sound effects and wild expressions. Definitely a guy with a big personality. He seemed interesting.

His friend with the curls, on the other hand, seemed a bit more reserved and quiet. He was without a doubt very fond of the loud blonde guy, otherwise he probably would've told him to quiet down a bit. You thought to yourself that you definitely would've. But the curly-haired guy seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the blonde man's company as he kept laughing at his antics without showing an inch of an urge to shush him. Incredible, really. Instead, the curly-haired guy encouraged his blonde friend in the form of nods and warm, vibrant smiles.

Both men seemed very fond of each other, and you couldn't help but think to yourself that they looked as if they were on a very successful date.

When the blonde guy was done with his obnoxiously loud story, he joined his friend in laughing, the sound knocking you completely to the ground.  Immediately attracted to both of the men in front of you, you couldn't tear your gaze away from them - and suddenly it hit you; you had seen the pair of them before. Where? Did they work at the hospital too? You eyed them suspiciously for a couple of seconds while trying to come up with places you might recognise them from. You made a mental note to remind yourself to ask Miranda later if she had seen them hanging around the lab lately.

You were so preoccupied with making mental notes to yourself that you didn't even realise that you had been caught staring before it was too late. "Hey Diggs," the blonde man nudged his friend in the ribs while nodding towards you, "I think we have company."

You were whipped back to reality as you realised that you suddenly had the attention of both men in front of you. "Oh!" You spluttered, embarrassed by how unsubtle you'd been. The blonde guy seemed a mixture of annoyed and amused by the entire situation while his friend - who was apparently called Diggs - seemed a bit more uncomfortable with being stared at.

"I am so, so sorry for blatantly ogling at you like that!" You continued. A small smile erupted on the blonde man's lips but neither him nor his friend spoke so you continued, "it's just... Well, you both look really familiar to me. I feel like I know you from somewhere... Do we work at the same place maybe?" you tried.

The two men shared a look that you didn't understand. "Well, that's hard to answer when we don't know where you work," The blonde man said while slowly drawing out every word as if you were particularly dimwitted.

"Touché," you tried your most charming smile, hoping it would get them to warm up to you. Otherwise, meeting them at work on Monday would surely be an awkward affair, "I work at the medical lab over at Sinai Hospital," you tried, "I think I might know you from there?"

Diggs looked relieved as he sent you a soft smile, "I assure you; you do not."

The blonde man cackled, sipping his beer slowly while sending his friend amused looks that were immediately reciprocated. You were surprised to see exactly how bemused the two men in front of you were. It wasn't a weird question, you thought to yourself. Once more, you looked between the two of them while trying to ascertain where you might've seen them before, "...and you haven't been to - I don't know - a medical conference recently? As key note speakers or something of the sort?"

The blonde man laughed obnoxiously loud and pointed between himself and his friend Diggs, "Sweetheart, do we look like lab nerds to you?"

A bit offended by his continuous snarkiness you couldn't help but retort, "Well, do I?" you pointed to your glittery dress and heeled sandals, "cause if I don't, please tell me how I should dress according to lab-fashion, mr. Lagerfeld."

Now it was Diggs' turn to laugh while the blonde man's eyes grew wide at your quick reply. It took him a mili-second or two to come to his senses but eventually, he too laughed charmingly while repeating your words from earlier, "touché right back at you."

You couldn't help but think to yourself that they both looked awfully cute - even the fairly snarky blonde guy who you were getting annoyed with now.

The bartender's voice ripped you back to reality as he placed a tray of four margaritas in front of you, "that one's the double," he smiled at you while pointing to a glass that had a slice of lime on the rim.

"Oh, thank you," you accepted the drinks from the bartender while sliding him a 50-dollar bill.

"See you later, Margarita Girl" the bartender winked at you before he turned to the next customer.

With the tray in hand, you turned to the two mystery men next to you, "Well, I guess I thought I knew you but I obviously don't. I'll let you get back to your date or whatever you were doing."

"Date?" The blonde guy laughed.

You sent him a shrug, "what do I know. Take care."

He sent you a challenging expression, "you're leaving before you've figured out where you known us from?"

You sent him a shrug, "guess I am."

"Are you sure it won't bother you for the rest of the evening?" he smirked

"Oh, I guess it'll be a haunting mystery 'til the day I'm on my deathbed," you drew out the words the same way he had done only a couple of minutes before. To hell with awkward situations if you should run into them again; it was worth it just to see the snarky guy's smile freeze slightly as he furrowed his eyebrows. "Gentlemen," you made a motion to leave, "enjoy your evening."

Just before turning on your heel, you saw the blonde guy do a visible double-take. Maybe he wasn't used to women turning away from him when he so obviously was trying to neg.

Behind your back, the two men looked at your swaying hips while you walked away from them. When you disappeared in the dancing crowd, they faced each other, both silently wondering who you were and why you hadn't shown more interest. This was all so new to them.

#rafael casal x reader #rafael casal #daveed diggs #blindspotting #rafael casal imagine #smut #rafael casal fanfiction

[elwenyere]

A Very Small Grease Fire (and Other Human Disasters)

(Thanksgiving ficlet for the Stony and Avengers fam; also on AO3)

The Avengers didn’t have the best track record with Thanksgiving. The first time the dinner had ended in disaster, it had been Steve’s fault. One rainy fall Sunday, just months after the Battle of New York, Steve had been picking at a bowl of mint-chip ice cream, feeling tired of getting looks of sympathy about the holidays and absolutely exhausted by feeling sorry for himself. If Bruce and Clint hadn’t chosen that particular afternoon to ask him whether there was anything special he wanted for Thanksgiving – raising the question with just enough gentleness to make Steve’s jaw tighten – he probably would have said, “I’m a sweet potatoes guy” and left it at that.

Instead, Steve had been seized by a spirit of mischief. Putting on his most morose poker face, he had proceeded to invent a series of Depression-era dishes, from “Hoover Rolls” to “Poor Man’s Potatoes,” the recipes for which he concocted out of the blandest ingredients he could imagine. By the time he was in the process of describing his third Crisco-based dessert, Steve was sure he had gone far enough to reveal the joke; but Bruce and Clint had continued nodding encouragingly and jotting down notes.

The results had been borderline inedible. And even though the sight of Tony doubled over with laughter when Steve finally fessed up had thawed out a part of his heart he hadn’t even known was still on ice, the experience of eating a holiday dinner in which half the dishes tasted like over-starched socks forced even Steve to admit that the prank had been a bit of a Pyrrhic victory.

The second time…well, Steve would have said the second time was his fault too – though he supposed the rest of the team would blame the extremists who tried to kidnap the governor. Clint had just started basting the turkey when the “Assemble” alarm went off, and the team had to pile in the Quinjet to deal with a hostage situation at the capitol. It should have been an easy job – in and out with plenty of time to take the butter for the piecrust out of the freezer – but then one of the extremists had pulled the pin on a grenade just yards away from a state senator’s eight-year-old son, and four hours later Steve was waking up in the burn unit at Walter Reed hospital with the anguished sound of someone shouting his name still ringing in his ears.

“You fucking idiot,” the same voice had greeted him, and Steve looked up to see Tony sitting by his bed, the lines around his eyes drawn tight over a surgical mask. “You’re supposed to be a tactical genius, and you haven’t learned a single new method for containing explosives since basic training in 1943? I’m going to equip your suit with goddamn ballistic plates.”

“Tony,” Steve managed, feeling a halo of pain radiate up his scalp. “Are you okay? Was anyone hurt?”

Steve thought he saw something mist across Tony’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. The more fully he became aware of his body, the more he noticed the pull of his skin cells contracting in uneven loops around the burns on his torso, and it was taking a considerable amount of energy to keep Tony’s face in focus.

“Everybody’s fine but you, Steve,” Tony assured him. “And the doctors said you should be able to move to the general floor in a few hours. So shut those baby blues and let the serum do its job, because there’s a whole team of keyed-up superheroes waiting to see you, and they’re emptying the hospital vending machines fast enough to cause a run on the Frito-Lay factory.”

Steve had drifted in and out of consciousness for a while after that, finally waking up long enough to eat a holiday dinner of contraband take-out, which Natasha had smuggled into the hospital using only Thor’s tendency to knock over delicate instruments and Bruce’s oversized jacket.

“When you sign up to be an Avenger, no one warns you about doing overtime as a falafel mule,” Bruce had mused, leaning back to let Natasha steal a fry off his plate.

“I still think we could have gotten that eighth kebab if you’d been willing to consider pant legs as additional real estate,” she told him.

"You should all be eating stuffing and pumpkin pie,” Steve grimaced. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here on Thanksgiving.”

“Listen, Cap,” Clint replied, waving a dolma at him, “if you’re going to apologize for anything, apologize for the purgatory potatoes you tricked me into making last year. At least this year we have food that doesn’t have the texture of fast-drying cement.”

“Those tubers had truly been abandoned by the gods,” Thor agreed solemnly. “But I maintain that the Big Band Banana Pie was actually quite delicious.”

“Just don’t make the third-degree burns and hypovolemic shock a holiday habit, Rogers,” Tony put in. “Some of us are trying to watch our blood pressure.”

Tony had leaned over to adjust the settings on Steve’s bed as he spoke, and by the time he finished, a dull tugging sensation across Steve’s chest had loosened – the pain subsiding almost before Steve could register that it had been bothering him.

So that was why, after two years of throwing wrenches in the Avengers’ Thanksgiving plans, Steve was determined to make sure that year three went off without a hitch. He’d drawn up an elaborate plan for maximizing the utility of the Tower kitchen’s two ovens and seven burners and for optimizing the team’s various culinary skills. The operatives had been briefed the night before, and by 10:30 AM on Thursday, Steve was fluting a pie crust, Bruce was stripping fresh thyme leaves into an herb blend, Clint was whipping up a roux for the mushroom gravy, Thor was mashing potatoes and parsnips in an industrial-strength metal vat, and Natasha was dicing carrots and celery with a speed and precision that felt vaguely unsettling.

After checking the team’s progress against his itinerary, Steve turned to the next task on his own list: bringing Tony Stark his emergency coffee. Bruce had just made a second pot, and Steve poured some into the largest cup he could find: a purple novelty mug, featuring a drawing of the Hulk and the words “You Wouldn’t Like Me Without My Coffee.” He paused to tuck a few biscuits into a napkin (Tony’s relief at sighting fresh coffee sometimes opened up a narrow window during which Steve could feed him breakfast without being noticed), and headed down to the lab.

He found Tony standing with both arms braced against his worktable, designs for what looked like the paneling of Steve’s uniform projected in front of him. Steve cleared his throat, and Tony whirled around, the slump of his shoulders morphing into a graceful lounge by the time he was facing Steve.

“I was just about to come up,” he said. “I have a few finishing touches left here and then I’m all yours, Cap. Give me everything that can survive being the tiniest bit overcooked.”

Steve walked over to put Tony’s coffee on the table and then felt his breath catch in his throat when Tony reached out and took the mug from his hand instead.

“There’s no need,” Steve responded to cover his reaction, flexing the hand that had brushed Tony’s as he let it fall back to his side. “We’ve got the schedule covered for now. I was actually hoping I could talk you into a snack break.”

He waved the napkin of biscuits experimentally.

“Are you cutting me from the Thanksgiving roster, Rogers?” Tony asked. “Just because one time I set a very small grease fire – which I contained almost immediately, by the way.”

“The vase I broke when I sprinted into the kitchen would beg to differ,” Steve smiled. “But it’s not that. I just wanted to do this for you: a big dinner and sitting down with family.”

“For me?” Tony blinked at him. “Why?”

Steve started to cross his arms across his chest before realizing that he would risk crushing the biscuits. He settled for clasping his wrist with his free hand instead, widening his stance slightly and taking a deep breath. Come on, Rogers. Take it on the chin.

“Because I wanted to tell you that I woke up in this century alone,” he said, “and that you were the first person stubborn enough to make sure I wouldn’t stay that way. Now I wake up to a kitchen full of people who tease me about my lists but who know why I need them – who will eat dinner rolls that taste like soggy chalk just to make me feel at home.” He paused. “People who stay by my side for eight straight hours at the hospital.”

Steve looked up and caught Tony’s eyes, his heart rate picking up speed as memories of those same eyes flashed through his mind in quick succession: tearing up with laughter over a plate of cornstarched bananas, pinched with fear over a surgical mask, narrowed in concentration over the remote control for an adjustable bed.

“Romanov has an awfully big mouth for a spy,” Tony said with a rueful smile.

“I think it was a tactical leak,” Steve acknowledged, “to motivate her mark. She knew I needed a push. Because I’ve messed up the past two years, and I needed to tell you: pretty much everything I’m thankful for in my new life is here because of you.”

Tony was staring at him, his eyes darting quickly across Steve’s face as if JARVIS were scanning it for data. Steve held up under the silent scrutiny as long as he could before letting out an explosive breath.

“Anyway, sorry to interrupt you,” he said quickly. “You’ve got work to do, and I’ve got to go make sure everything’s on track upstairs. I’ll uh – I’ll have Bruce come get you when dinner’s ready.”

He started to make an about face toward the door, but Tony caught his arm and held him in place.

“Give a guy a goddamn minute, Steve,” he said softly. “I’m having to do a major cognitive reboot over here. It takes a while for the operating system to come back online. Just…sit down? Let me show you the new flame retardants I’m adding to your uniform.”

Steve complied. And as he watched Tony run through the specs, gulping coffee and nibbling absently at the biscuits, he realized that he knew what Tony was saying even before Tony finally spoke the words: “I’m thankful every time you wake up.”

#stony #stevetony #stony fic #festive ficlets #avengers as family #idiots in love #they're human disasters your honor #this got out of hand #and personally I blame every single character in this Tower #happy thanksgiving #stony fam

[noona-clock]

I’ll Be Fine

Genre: College!AU/Fluff

Pairing: Jae x You

By Admin B

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, The Great Cookie Bake-Off

The first thing you did after swinging open the door to your dorm room was let out a long, very frustrated sigh. And then you flung yourself onto your bed, burying your face in your pillows and whining desperately.

“So,” your roommate chirped. “I’m assuming you had a good Thanksgiving.”

You rolled over onto your back, groaning as you did because you were simply exhausted. Drained of all energy. “Oh, yeah,” you replied sarcastically with a deeply furrowed brow. “Very good. I spent the entire time dodging questions about my boyfriend.”

“...You don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Exactly!”

Your roommate sighed softly, turning around in her desk chair to face you. “Well, I spent the entire week doing homework, so I guess we’re both outta gas, huh?”

“Holidays are supposed to be relaxing! You’re supposed to come back refreshed and eager and ready to get back to the grind! So why do I just want to go to sleep for the next ten hours?”

“Go eat something,” she suggested as she turned back around and began typing. “You’re like the embodiment of those Snickers commercials. You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, managing to sit up even though you truly could’ve laid on your bed for the rest of the week. “Come with me?”

“I can’t. I’ve got this paper to finish up.”

“I’m sorry, but being a Pre-Law major sucks. I don’t know what you got yourself into, but I’m glad I did not,” you said with a grimace. She was constantly writing papers and doing homework, and you were just too lazy for that life.

Your roommate shot you a somewhat sassy look, quirking her brow and pursing her lips. “Speak to me again when I’m making double -- triple -- the amount of money you are, Miss Education Major.”

You were about to snap back with ‘Well, I’ll be teaching our future and making a difference!’ But... she would also be making a difference as a lawyer, so... There went that argument.

“Whatever,” you sighed. “I’ll just marry rich.”

“You have to find a boyfriend first,” she reminded you cheekily.

“Okay, I’m leaving.”

“Wait! I think Jae is back already. You should ask him to go with you. I don’t think he’s ever said ‘no’ to a meal before.”

“This is true,” you murmured as you slid your phone out of your back pocket. You brought up your message conversation with Jae, typing out your question as quickly as you could. You’d just realized how hungry you actually were, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could wait to head off to the dining hall.

Jae must have been just as hungry as you because he replied back almost immediately.

“All right, see you later,” you sighed as you rolled off your bed and lifted an arm to wave goodbye to your roommate.

“Can you bring me back a slice of pizza?” your roommate asked quickly as you opened the door.

“Ya snooze, ya lose.”

“I’m not snoozing, I’m working!”

You cackled as you closed the door behind you, though both of you knew you would definitely bring her back a slice of pizza. You had a habit of pretending to be mean and uncaring when, really, you had one of the softest hearts. You would do anything for your friends.

Since Jae lived in the dorm next door, you figured he would meet you at the dining hall just across the street. It was the closest one, so why would you go anywhere else?

Lo and behold, when you walked into the spacious room filled with tables, you saw Jae already waiting at one of them.

“Well, well, well,” you announced as you approached him. “Pink hair. This is new.”

Jae was actually one of your roommate’s friends from high school; a tight-knit group of them had enrolled here together, so when you’d been randomly picked to be the roommate of one of them, you’d initially felt totally lost and left out.

But both your roommate and Jae had taken you in almost immediately. You got along extremely well with the both of them, and they’d actually become two of your closest friends over the past year and a half.

Jae quickly looked up at you, a somewhat embarrassed smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Yeah... just needed a change.”

“I like it,” you grinned as he stood from his seat.

He murmured his thanks as the two of you headed over to the sushi station, collecting your trays and placing your orders.

“So, how was your Thanksgiving?” Jae asked, apparently deciding to get most of your talking done now as you were waiting for the chef to make your California rolls. I mean, honestly, once you both got started eating, your mouths would be too full to say anything, so it was just as well.

“It was awful,” you replied with an angelic smile. “My family wouldn’t get off my case about the boyfriend I don’t have.”

“Ouch,” he hissed with a shake of his head.

“Same. I mean, I don’t understand why they’re so concerned with the fact that I’m single. I’m only in my second year of college! I’m still very young! Wouldn’t they rather I focus on school right now?” You simply rolled your eyes before asking Jae in return, “What about yours?”

“Well, about the same. Found out Jamie was cheating on me, so I broke up with her.”

“Oh, my god!” you gasped. “Seriously?!”

Jae nodded, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “She’s been hounding me ever since, trying to apologize and get back together.”

“But you’re not having it?” you asked, clasping your empty tray to your chest.

“Nope. I mean, she did it once. If we got back together, there’s every chance she would do it again. I’m not gonna put myself through that.”

“...Are you gonna be okay?” you asked softly. After all, they’d been together since high school. It had to be rough.

“Yeah,” Jae replied with a nod. “I’ll be fine. Live and learn.”

You frowned, reaching out with one hand and putting it on his fluffy, pink head. You stroked his hair gently as you let out a soft sigh. Jae was one of the nicest, coolest people you knew. He didn’t deserve to be treated like that!

Just then, Jamie herself walked through the dining hall doors. She spotted you petting Jae’s head, obviously, because her eyes narrowed.

“Oops,” you murmured, quickly pulling your hand away.

“No, no,” Jae whispered. “Do that again.”

“Do what again?”

“Pet my head!”

“Why --”

“Just do it!”

You reached out yet again, smoothing your palm over his hair and trying to look as sorry as you just had.

Jae’s eyes flitted over toward Jamie, and you saw she’d now pursed her lips and stomped off to another part of the dining hall.

“Oh, my god, I have an idea,” Jae said in a tone of slight awe.

“...What?” 

The sushi chef handed over your orders then, and you thanked him before heading off back to the table Jae had occupied just a few minutes ago.

“Okay, this might sound crazy,” Jae began, sliding into the seat next to you. He leaned in, lowering his voice so only you could hear. (There was literally no one around you so it didn’t matter how low his voice was, but whatever.) “But I think it could work.”

“What could work?”

“Your family is going to hound you again when you go home for Christmas, right?”

You simply rolled your eyes in response.

“And did you see Jamie’s reaction when you were petting my hair?”

“Yeah...” Okay, where was he going with this?

“What if we pretend to be dating?”

“What?!” you cried. You immediately clapped your hand over your mouth because your voice had been a lot louder than you’d intended.

“What?!” you repeated in a whisper. “That doesn’t just sound crazy. That is crazy!”

“But think about it! I can visit you at home so your family will get off your case about being single. You can act like my girlfriend around campus where Jamie can see. Your family will shut up, and Jamie will realize we’re not getting back together and stop stalking me. We both win!”

The expression on Jae’s face made it clear he thought he’d come up with the most genius, fool-proof plan ever, and it was actually pretty difficult to say no to that face...

But you were going to, anyway.

“No way.”

“Are you sure?” Jae asked, looking awfully skeptical.

“Yes, I am sure! That would never work!”

He simply let out a sigh before grabbing his chopsticks and picking up a roll of sushi from his plate. “All right. But if you change your mind...”

“I’ll let you know,” you told him with a disbelieving chuckle. Because you were quite sure you weren’t going to change your mind.

The rest of your meal panned out in a very average way: you talked about your upcoming finals, what you wanted for Christmas, the latest Memes... y’know. Normal college stuff.

Thankfully, Jae didn’t bring up his crazy fake dating scheme again, though he did say, “And remember. If you change your mind...” when you parted ways at your dorm building.

You were still chuckling softly to yourself and shaking your head when you arrived back in your dorm room, prompting your roommate to swivel around and eye you curiously.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, man,” you groaned as you plopped onto your bed. You held out the to-go box with the pizza you’d grabbed for her on your way out, your smile growing when you heard her joyful squeal. “Jae -- well, first of all, if you didn’t know: Jamie cheated on him, so he dumped her.”

“I knew it! I never trusted her. Didn’t I say --”

“And he came up with this ridiculous idea,” you interrupted. (Your roommate had a penchant for going on preachy rants, and you’d learned to just stop her before she got started.) “I told him about my family, right? And he said we should pretend to be in a relationship to get my family to stop bothering me and to get Jamie to stop bothering him. Apparently, she keeps texting him wanting to get back together, but I immediately --”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” she mumbled, her mouth half-full of pepperoni, hot cheese, and freshly-baked dough.

You stopped talking mid-sentence, your mouth hanging open with your unspoken words.

“...I’m sorry, what?” you asked after a few awkwardly silent moments.

“It’s not! I mean, you two are friends, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You know each other, so it’s not like people wouldn’t believe it. And if it gets you guys both free from your demons... what’s the harm?”

“Uh... the harm is it’s weird?”

“It’s not that weird! You’re helping each other out! You like helping friends. You got me this pizza, didn’t you?” She held the box up with a very angelic look on her face.

“That is not even remotely the same. Getting Jae pizza and pretending to be his girlfriend are two -- I mean, you can’t even compare them. Apples to oranges.”

“Well, all I’m saying is, I don’t think it’s as crazy as you do. I think he’s right. It could totally work. But, hey, it’s not me who would be in the fake relationship, so...” She shrugged before shoving more of the pizza into her mouth and swiveling back around to face her laptop.

You were about to continue on with your argument, bringing up the fact you weren’t living in a Netflix movie or something. Pretending to be Jae’s girlfriend would only make it awkward between you two once you “broke up,” and you didn’t want to ruin your friendship with him!

But what was the point, really? Your roommate was going to be a lawyer. Whatever argument you made, she would be able to refute it and top it.

So you simply got out your phone and pulled up YouTube, preparing to watch a Vine compilation or five. Classes didn’t start until tomorrow, and you would start studying for finals then. Today, you would relax and de-stress from your Hell week at home.

Truthfully, you almost cried when your alarm went off the next morning.

You weren’t ready to get out from under your warm, cozy blankets. You weren’t ready to get dressed or brush your teeth. You weren’t ready to gather your books and put on your backpack and trek to class in the cold. You weren’t ready to sit in your seat for an hour and attempt to pay attention.

As much as you’d suffered over the Thanksgiving holidays, you were not that much happier being back at school - actually going to class.

You flung your arm out, grasping for your phone and pressing the ‘Snooze’ button on the screen. But rather than going back to sleep, you slid your phone off your side table and brought it up to your face to check your notifications.

Email, email, Instagram, Twitter, email, text from your mom, text from your aunt -- wait, holy crap.

The two messages from your mom and aunt were part of a group chat, one you had no idea you’d been added to, and as you scrolled down... you saw at least two dozen more messages.

You slid the notification over, opening the chat and navigating up to the very beginning.

The very first message was one from your cousin. She’d sent it last night after you’d fallen asleep, and the rest of your family had been responding since then, including this morning.

The message?

It was a picture of her left hand. With a ring on it.

A diamond ring.

Oh, fuck.

You thought it had been bad over Thanksgiving, but now that your cousin was engaged?! The questions and quips and remarks about your own love life would get even worse.

And you really didn’t think you could handle that.

You shouldn’t have to! Not over Christmas!

You slammed your phone back down on your side table before lugging yourself out of bed, sluggishly starting to get ready for class.

Unsurprisingly, you started off your day in a pretty foul mood. You trudged over to the English building for your first class of the day. You scowled as your professor lectured about archetypes and symbolism. You picked at your breakfast, barely touching it even though you were one to rarely ever skip a meal.

And then, as you were pushing your scrambled eggs around on your plate with your fork. you had an idea.

Well, not really an idea.

The more accurate term would be ‘you changed your mind.’

You stood immediately, picking up your tray and hurrying over to the kitchen window to deposit it. And then you weaved your way through the tables of chattering students, your heart racing and your mind whirling.

Within three minutes, you were standing in front of the door to Jae’s dorm, out of breath and knocking as gently as you could manage. You were kind of shaking, so you were finding it just a tad difficult to control your body right now.

As soon as the door opened, you made sure it was Jae answering - not his roommate, Wonpil - before blurting out, “Let’s do it.”

“...Let’s do what?” he asked groggily, his pink hair adorably mussed up. Lucky him with no morning classes.

“Let’s date -- fake date. I changed my mind. Let’s do it.”

Part 2

#day6 #day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #day6 au #day6 fluff #jae #jaehyung #park jaehyung #jae scenarios #jae imagines #jae au #jae fluff #day6 fanfic #jae fanfic #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic

[lizacstuff]

The Unfortunate Pumpkin Pie Nudity Incident  

Summary: The week before Thanksgiving Emma Swan finds herself in need of a roommate, however she never bargained for what's about to walk through her door. A Captain Swan modern AU with comedic situations, a wee dash of angst and holiday fluff.

Rating: Teen

Chapter: 1 of 4

Notes: This was originally written for Fall For CS, but I didn’t quite make the deadline. Thanks to @rouhn the generous artist who has allowed me to use the wonderful art she created, and thanks to my dear friend who agreed to beta, the invaluable @counttotwenty who always makes it better.

AO3       Fanfiction.net

“Thanks, we’ll let you know.” Emma opened the door for the departing woman, a fake smile plastered on her face. She tried not to choke on the cloud of patchouli oil that engulfed her as the woman passed. As soon as Emma shut the door on the chilly autumn air, she added softly, “Don’t call us we’ll call you.”

Mary Margaret looked hopefully at Emma.  “She was… nice. She’d make a good roommate.”

Emma grimaced and waved her hand in front of her face as if to clear the woman’s strong scent. “I can’t live with this smell-- I think you better light one of your pumpkin-whatever-spice candles to get rid of it-- plus she asked about a space where she could practice her chanting.  I’m not living with a smelly… chanter,” Emma’s voice didn’t invite opposition. The smelly chanter had been the fourth person they’d interviewed that day, and despite the chanting and the patchouli, probably the most suitable. The first candidate had been a chain smoker, which made her a different, but wholly unacceptable kind of smelly. The second candidate owned a snake and Emma was not about living with any slithering creatures, and the third candidate had potential, but she had only needed a place for three months, and Emma did not want to go through this again in three months.

The last thing she wanted to do was find a new roommate. Well, the second to last thing. The last thing she wanted to do was give up the loft, but she couldn’t quite afford the spacious two-bedroom on her own, thus the necessity of a roommate.  To be accurate, she could technically afford it on her Storybrooke Sheriff Deputy salary, however she had spent the last year saving up in order to attend Storybrooke University and finish her bachelor’s degree. Her classes were scheduled to start in January, so right now every penny counted.  

Emma groaned when she saw that Mary Margaret had taken her up on her joking suggestion and was currently lighting the candle that sat on the coffee table… and the one on the kitchen table.  Emma looked around at the abundance, at least to her, of seasonal decorations, all of it Mary Margaret’s doing. There was a wreath of berries, in all shades of orange, above the fireplace,  a colorful fake leaf garland on the mantle below it, as well as some sort of real tiny pumpkins and gourds on the kitchen table, kitchen counter and assorted other tabletops.  She’d never lived with anyone who decorated like Mary Margaret, and, though, she had yet to admit it to Mary Margaret, she didn’t hate it.

“This is all your fault,” Emma said resolutely.  

At that, Mary Margaret looked up from lighting her third seasonally-scented candle. Her eyes had gone wide, as a look of worry stole across her face.  

“If you hadn’t taken me in all those months ago,” Emma continued now with humor in her voice, “I wouldn’t know how much I liked this place.  I’d be quite content in some one-room hovel on the bad side of town.”

“This is Storybrooke, there is no bad side of town,” Mary Margaret replied automatically, and then with a note of sympathy added, “I don’t need to go, Emma. I could wait until after the wedding to move.”

“Absolutely not.” Emma replied firmly. “I was teasing.  You and David belong together now, you were made for that little farm house of his, there is no reason to wait six months on my account, and I’m so grateful to both of you, and not just because you’re letting me sublet this place.” At that, Emma felt an unexpected bit of heat rise behind her eyes and as cover, busied herself with the stack of applications the owner of the building, Gold’s Property Management, had sent over.

Emma rarely did emotions, and until just a year ago when David Nolan had given her a job and then introduced her to his then girlfriend, now fiancé, she’d never really done friends, or relationships or really anything that had to do with forming connections with other humans. Emma’s life had not been easy. Her childhood spent in and out of foster homes, her adolescence spent in and out of group homes, her late teens spent partly in juvenile detention. A long story that one. However, she’d persevered. She’d turned things around and made a life for herself as a bail bonds person in the city and she’d done it all on her own.  Grudgingly, over the last year, she’d also learned it was nice to have people. Mary Margaret was only moving a few miles away, and she knew she’d still see her, and she’d see David at work almost every day, but it still felt like she was losing something important.

Emma glanced down at the stack of applications in her hands. “We’ll find someone,” she said and then let out an involuntary sigh.  

Mary Margaret eyed her suspiciously. “That was an awfully big sigh, is there anything else wrong?”

“No,” Emma replied quickly. “Nothing.”

“Emma…”  

Emma knew if she admitted that she was feeling a bit blue at the prospect of Mary Margaret moving out her friend would never leave, instead she smiled widely, and her voice took on a teasing lilt. “It’s just that I moved in here last January after all your holiday decorations were down. If this is what you do for fall, I was hoping to see the Mary Margaret Christmas extravaganza I’ve heard so much about.”

“You will!” Mary Margaret exclaimed, as her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “You’ll come to the farm all the time. Next week for Thanksgiving, though we won’t have the decorations up yet, and then we’ll have a party in mid-December, and you’ll definitely join us on Christmas and basically any other time you want to come over, you’re welcome.” Emma smiled fondly at her, but also immediately regretted bringing up the holidays.  Truth be told Emma didn’t really do… any of it. She preferred to hunker down and ignore it until it was over.  “Oh, and I’ll leave you some decorations. I have more than I ever put up, we’ll make this place super Christmasy, you won’t even recognize it.”

Now Emma was really regretting bringing it up, so instead of agreeing she turned her attention back to the task at hand, choosing a person to share her living space. It had taken her 28 years to find Mary Margaret; she was never going to luck into finding someone she could live with and wanted to be friends with again. Therefore, she was treating the living situation as a pure matter of convenience, seeking someone who could pay a share of the bills and would stay out of her way. However, she was going to stand firm on no smoking, no pets – especially snakes, and no chanting.  

“So, who’s next?” Mary Margaret asked, nodding to the stack of papers in Emma’s hands.

“Last one,” Emma replied, then looked at her soon to be ex-roommate and waved the discarded applications at her. “Who knew there were so many people who would be unsuitable to live with in this town?”

“Maybe she’s the one.” Mary Margaret gestured to the top one.

Emma glanced at the paper and read, “K. Jones.”  She turned the application towards Mary Margaret and showed her the photo of the late-20 something.  An image of a woman with a wide, friendly smile, pale skin, dark red hair and sprinkling of freckles stared back at her.  “What’s your over/under that she’s a drummer in a death metal band and needs to practice for hours every day?” Emma asked sardonically.  

“She looks more like a preschool teacher than a drummer,” Mary Margaret replied, “But you can’t judge on appearance.” Then she leveled her best motherly gaze at Emma and chided, “Keep an open mind.”

Emma was about to protest that she had an open mind, had had an open mind with everyone the landlord’s service had sent over, when a knock sounded. Emma welcomed the interruption by saying with faux enthusiasm, “That must be my new red-headed roommate.”  She quickly made her way to the door and flung it open.

She should have looked through the peephole. That way she could have been prepared. As it stood she was not prepared, in fact she was woefully unprepared.  What’s the word for when one feels like they’ve been stunned into silence?  Dumbstruck. That was the word, and that word described Emma as soon as she laid eyes on what was on her doorstep.

The visage that met her was indeed pale, but not a red head, not a 20-something-- though probably just barely north of 30-- and definitely not a woman. No. It was a man. And not just any man, but six feet of tall, dark, and handsome man. He had perfectly mussed black hair, piercing blue eyes and just enough facial scruff that he looked like he had walked straight out of the pages of GQ.

“Hello,” the man said, smiling at Emma. “I’m Killian Jones, here about the sublet.”

Emma continued to stare at him and tried to process his words, but it was hard. Killian Jones. K. Jones. He couldn’t be her potential roommate, could he?  She was so confused it took much longer than it should have for her to realize he had an accent. A British accent. Oh my.

When Emma didn’t respond, he looked around the door as if searching for the address. “I’m sorry, love, am I in the wrong place? I’m looking for,” he glanced down at a scrap of paper. “Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

Emma was still staring at him, still dumbstruck, and didn’t notice that Mary Margaret was now standing right behind her. Mary Margaret directed a sideways glanced at Emma waiting to see if she would respond. When she didn’t, the petite brunette smiled brightly at the stranger and stuck out her hand. “Hi, you’re in the right place. I’m Mary Margaret, and this is Emma. It’s quite chilly out there, won’t you come in?”

He hesitated, clearly wary of Emma’s reaction, but then moved past her into the loft. “Thank you, you’re right I probably should have worn something warmer than this old leather jacket.” Once inside, he looked around.  “This is very nice... spacious and well appointed… not to mention… festive.”

“Thank you,” Mary Margaret replied cheerfully, clearly taking the compliment, after all, most everything was hers. Though, since her fiancé’s house was already furnished, and they were intending to buy new pieces together, she was planning to leave much of the larger furniture in the loft with Emma. “The place will come with most of what you see here.  Do you have your own furniture?”

Killian opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment Emma finally closed the door, whirled around and charged, “You’re a man.”

Emma had spoken with such fire that Killian was momentarily taken aback. He glanced from Emma to Mary Margaret who still was smiling widely, back to Emma. Tentatively, he said, “Aye.”

“You aren’t supposed to be a man.”

Still confused, Killian studied her for a moment, now struck by how attractive she was. Fine features, slender but athletic form apparent despite her sweater and jeans, long blonde hair that flowed down her back, like she was in motion, but she wasn’t, almost as if the force of her personality was propelling her in place. She was attractive indeed.  

A wolfish grin stole across his face. “Yet, as you see, I am a man.” He wasn’t sure what made him say the next words out of his mouth, perhaps it was a reaction to realizing how beautiful she was, or perhaps it was her challenging tone, aggressive stance, and the fiery way her eyes danced with anger.  “However, I’m happy to provide indisputable proof,” he leaned in, winked at her, and then leaned back and looped his thumb over his belt buckle, “if you require.”

It wasn’t just his words that set Emma off; it was his expression and the tone of his voice. She felt her hackles rise and her defenses go up.  She knew his type; she’d used her wiles on plenty of them back when she was a bail bonds person. All good looks and smarm, disguised as charm, and all of them snakes, though not as nice as the pet she’d refused to live with. “I don’t doubt you’re a man, but you’re supposed to be a woman.”

Killian’s grin slipped and once again he glanced at Mary Margaret for help, however she was studying Emma as though she was observing the situation and not taking part. He looked back to Emma and offered with a shrug, “I’m sorry to... disappoint.” The cocky grin returned as he added, “Though, I must say yours is not the usual reaction I get from women.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Who in the hell did this guy think he was? However, she didn’t doubt what he’d said for a second. He was ridiculously attractive and she couldn’t be the only woman to have noticed.  She was sure that if one were writing sonnets the only way to describe his eyes would be ‘smoldering.’  After a moment, she realized she’d been silent as she stared into those eyes, and forced herself to speak.

“No.” Emma replied in a rougher voice then normal. She shook her head as if to clear it, as if that would clear away how distractingly handsome the guy was. Business, she had to stay focused on business. She was looking for a roommate, and he wasn’t it. She held out the application so he could see. “K. Jones, the applicant to sublease, the applicant to be my new roommate is supposed to be this woman.” She shook the paper emphatically.

Killian glanced at the application, but then his gaze quickly found Emma again. There was an intrigued glint in his eye. “You would be my new flatmate,” he looked her up and down appraisingly before motioning to the other woman, “and not the lovely Mary Margaret?”

“Disappointed?” the word was out of Emma’s mouth before she could stop it. He was distracting her from the point. The point being that he was not the red headed preschool teacher/death metal drummer she had been expecting.

“Not in the slightest, I like a challenge,” Killian winked at her, before continuing, “And you seem an intriguing challenge indeed, but I take it you’re disappointed I’m not this lass.” He motioned to the photo she was still holding out towards him. “She looks a fine prospective flatmate, but I assure you,” he arched one suggestive eyebrow at her, “We would have more fun.”

Who did this flirty bastard think he was?  “Whoa, buddy. Don’t get ahead of yourself. First, I need to figure out who you are and why you don’t match this application. You could be anybody off the street.  I’m going to call the office. Mary Margaret, I knew I should have screened applicants myself instead of letting the property management company have a crack at it.”

If Mary Margaret suddenly seemed a tad nervous, and overly interested in studying her fingernails, Emma didn’t notice.

While Emma walked into the kitchen, cell phone pressed to her ear, Mary Margaret smiled at Killian. “While you’re here, we might as well see the place. Shall I give you the tour?”

“Lead on, milady.” Killian gave a slight bow and followed her down the hall.

xXx

A few minutes later, Emma hung up the phone and walked into the living room, saying as she went, “I spoke to Belle at the-”

She stopped short when she realized the room was empty.  In confusion, she looked around. They had just been there; she’d only been on with Belle for a few minutes, where could they have gone? A shot of adrenalin hit as she pictured the handsome stranger dragging Mary Margaret outside to his van. All murderers had vans, didn’t they? She rushed to the door, ready to leap into danger to save her soon-to-be ex roommate, when she heard voices down the hall.  Moments later, she found a smiling, and safe, Mary Margaret showing Killian Jones the bedroom, specifically *her* bedroom. The flirty bastard was in her bedroom. An involuntary flutter at the thought conflicted with a prickle of irritation at what felt like an invasion of her privacy.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Emma didn’t exactly yell, but her voice was raised and tinged with anger, probably partially fueled from the adrenalin rush of a minute earlier.

Mary Margaret looked startled, and confused. “I was showing your prospective flatmate the bedroom.”

The fact that Mary Margaret had picked up this man’s, Killian’s, vernacular fueled Emma’s already irrational anger. “My bedroom. He doesn’t need to see my bedroom. He won’t be entering my bedroom.” Emma’s voice held finality, but also a bit of a challenge. “For any reason.”

Mary Margaret looked at Killian apologetically before saying, “But Emma, I thought you were planning to switch to my bedroom room when I move out so…”

“Oh,” Emma’s embarrassment was so powerful, that she could almost feel the heat of the blush that stained her cheeks and chest.  Mary Margaret was right.  She did plan to move to the larger bedroom. Which wouldn’t take much; Mary Margaret had already moved many of her things to David’s.  “Right. So...”

“So this would be Killian’s room. I was showing him his room.”

The presumption helped Emma get over her embarrassment. “Again, you’re getting way ahead of things here. This is not going to be his room.”

“Oh?” Mary Margaret inquired, “What did the office say?”

Killian watched them keenly, realizing it was probably in his best interest to stay quiet. Even though this Emma, the woman who would be his flatmate, seemed maddeningly tetchy and excessively defensive, he found himself very much wanting to live here.  The location was great, the place was spacious and inviting and, he had to admit, the fiery Emma intrigued him.

“I talked to Belle. She apologized.  She said she must have attached the wrong photo by accident.  This is the right application, though.  See,” Emma held out the application for Mary Margaret’s inspection.

Mary Margaret took it and flipped the page.  A smile spread across her face, she looked at Killian and said excitedly, “One of your references is Graham Humbert? Look, Emma, one of his references is Graham.”

Emma took the application back and scowled at the paper, studying it carefully.  

“Aye, you know him?” Killian asked hopefully.

“Yes. Well, no, actually. Not really, but he’s very good friends with my boss and Mary Margaret’s fiancé.  He’s why I’m here. He was the Sheriff and when he left, David was promoted and hired me as deputy.”

“Ah.” Recognition flitted past Killian’s eyes and he turned to Mary Margaret.  “Graham mentioned that once I was settled he would introduce me to his successor and his betrothed, which must be you?”

“Well isn’t this a small world,” Mary Margaret guffawed and slapped her knee a little too hard.

Betrothed? Who spoke like that? Emma once again found herself wondering who this guy was. “How do you know Graham?” Emma asked her voice tinged with suspicion for no real reason other than she wanted to be suspicious. “Are you in law enforcement too?”

“I met him not long after I first arrived in this country; he was an instructor when I was getting certified. However, I find it more interesting that you’re in law enforcement. You look like you’ve broken more laws than enforced.” Killian’s tone was once again flirty.

Emma rolled her eyes at him, again, and then leveled a glare that pretty well conveyed she was done with his sass. “Are you here to annoy me or to convince me you would be an excellent roommate?  Because you’re doing a really good job of one of those things.”

Killian swallowed roughly and looked sheepish. “Apologies, lass...” Why did he always do this? Whenever he was a bit off balance in a situation, especially with a woman, he resorted to quips and innuendo. Now he aimed for sincere. “I very much want to convince you that I would make an excellent flatmate. Allow me to do so now.  Despite this,” he held up his left hand, it was shod in a black glove, and clenched, and unclenched, his fist. Emma’s eyes went wide as she recognized the mechanical movement of the fingers. It was a prosthetic. She hadn’t noticed until that moment. She stared for a moment and then realized he had started talking again. Her attention reverted to his face as he continued, “...I’m quite handy and can fix minor plumbing and electrical issues.  I’m a fair cook, and I’m tidy; years in the Royal Navy conditioned me, so you needn’t worry that I will disrupt the orderly home you so clearly keep.”

Mary Margaret snorted at that, and Emma glared at her.  It was true, though. Mary Margaret was the clean one. Emma could get messy, really messy when left to her own devices. However, she wasn’t about to tell this guy that, so she took command of the conversation. “Can you pay the rent?”

“Aye.”

“On time?” she pressed.

“In advance if you prefer.”

“Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Do you have pets?”

“Only Robin.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed in confusion and Killian could almost see something change in her. One minute he was winning her over, the next minute it was all gone.

“That’s a joke,” Killian added quickly, in an apologetic tone, clearly this lass was no nonsense. “I’m used to ribbing my mate Robin at every opportunity. You see he’s quite the outdoorsman, sometimes I joke he’s more like a forest creature than a hu... never mind.  Actually, he’s really the only person I know in town. Robin Locksley?” Killian said the name almost as a question. “Perhaps you know him? He owns Hood’s Tavern not far from the docks? He’s my other reference,” Killian gestured to the application that Emma was still holding.

Emma looked thoughtful. “I’ve been there a few times, but I don’t believe I’ve met him.” She glanced at Mary Margaret who was studying the print on Emma’s bedspread very closely. Too closely. “What about you? You know everyone in this town.”

Mary Margaret looked up, before feigning befuddlement. “What?”

Emma shot her a quizzical glance.  “Killian’s... mate,” Emma said the word ‘mate’ in a fairly reasonable approximation of Killian’s accent, then continued in her normal voice, “Robin, who owns the tavern by the docks, do you know him?”

Mary Margaret looked thoughtful and tapped her chin. “I believe David knows him, and I’ve met him before while in there. Nice guy. If I remember correctly he’s got an adorable son, but not old enough to be in my class yet.”

“Mary Margaret is an elementary school teacher.” Emma explained to Killian.

His eyes lit up. “Indeed? His son Roland is...” Killian paused and looked as if he was doing advanced mathematics in his head, “...five.” Killian looked triumphant at coming up with the answer.  “What level is that on this side of the pond? Nursery school?”

“Kindergarten,” Mary Margaret supplied with a smile.

“Ah.” Killian nodded.

“Do you have children?” Emma blurted. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her.

His eyes went wide at the suggestion and he shook his head quickly.

“Ever been married?” Emma was surprising herself with these questions, but enquiring minds wanted to know. It had nothing to do with how unquestionably handsome he was and the curiosity about his personal status that she felt building deep-down.

“No.”

“Why do you have only one friend in town?” Emma continued her rapid-fire questioning.

Killian chuckled lightly, before venturing to answer. “I don’t know anyone, because I don’t reside here... yet.”

“What brings you to Storybrooke?” Emma inquired, though she felt herself softening towards him. The way his eyes lit up when speaking about his friend’s son. It was... appealing. A guy who liked children couldn’t be so bad.

“My work.”

Emma didn’t bother asking, she just gave him a pointed look.

“I’m with the State Marine Patrol, and they’ve decided to station an officer here,” Killian elaborated.

“So you’re in law enforcement?” Now this was interesting.  If he was in law enforcement that probably meant he’d gone through rigorous background checks and was probably an upstanding citizen. Although, she reminded herself, she was in law enforcement and had quite a checkered past.  

“Of a sort.”

“What do you mean?”

Killian slipped into professional mode. When it came to his work, he was serious. “It’s true, the Marine Patrol is tasked with maritime security, search and rescue and to enforce laws and regulations, but we’re also involved in scientific research. That’s really why I’m here. Storybrooke University has received a research endowment and the Marine Patrol has granted use of several vessels.”

“You’re a scientist?” Emma asked; his earnest demeanor intrigued her as much as his words. It was such a change from just a few minutes earlier. She was surprised; she never would have guessed he had such... substance.

He laughed good-naturedly at that. “No, love. I’m here to captain the ship.”

Emma nodded thoughtfully. Despite her first impression of him as conceited and smarmy, it was all sounding pretty dang good.  A profession that required background checks and some sort of standing in the community, multiple references that David knew, handy around the house, clean, could cook, and pay the rent in advance, not to mention, no smoking or pets. Other than the innuendo, and being excessively good looking, he was checking all the right boxes. Well, most of them.

She shot him a penetrating stare and said, “One last question, do you chant and what do you smell like?”

His eyes went wide at the questions, but he sensed he was close to closing the deal, so he answered as best as he could.  “Chant? Uh...I don’t... chant. I’ve been known to sing in the shower, but I needn’t if it bothers you. As far as how I smell,” he tilted his head down timidly as if afraid of what odors he might find there, “I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me... is something wrong?”

“No, you smell fine. Good. Fine.” Emma stuttered, newly embarrassed, however that didn’t deter her. “Right now. But I don’t know how you normally smell. Maybe this is just interview smell. What do you put on in the morning?”

Killian’s cheeks turned red and he reached up and itched behind his ear with his index finger; this might be the most difficult interview he’d ever experienced. “Erm... put on? You mean like a bar of soap? I don’t remember what brand it is, but it’s just regular... soap.”

“So you don’t wear Patchouli oil?”

Killian looked at her in confusion. “I’m not familiar...”

“So you don’t plan on smelling weird?”

Killian glanced to Mary Margaret, clearly looking for help and this time she finally came to his rescue. She smiled kindly at him and explained, “You’ll have to humor Emma. You see the last applicant was very... earthy and she had quite a... pungent, self-inflicted, odor. I’m afraid Emma was traumatized by it.”

His eyes went wide in understanding. “Well... I wouldn’t describe myself as earthy, but the research is to do with fish and other sea creatures. I can’t promise... I mean it’s possible that I could come home smelling of... the sea.”

She lived in a fishing village; everything smelled of the sea, so she could live with that. Emma glanced at Mary Margaret. She gave her a small nod of approval and it was the last bit of confidence Emma needed to make the decision. “The room is yours if you want it, Killian.”

A wide grin broke out across his face. Emma was glad she didn’t have to say anything more. Because a smile like that, on a man who looked like that, it was... trouble.

This might be a very bad idea.

Xxx

To be continued

Chapter 2

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfiction #cs mafia #cs modern au #my fic #the unfortunate pumpkin pie nudity incident

[aadmelioraa]

Hey Kat! I've got a prompt for the Bellarke Holiday thing you're doing. :) Could you do one where Bellamy and Clarke get snowed in (modern AU) and if possible, with the "we're pretending we hate each other but actually we really don't" trope? Cause I'm a hoe for that classic enemies-to-friends-to-lovers. All good if you want to shift some things around, thanks!!

Thanks so much for the fantastic prompt, Kate!! Enjoy :)

“This is the absolute worst,” Clarke grumbled, checking the weather on her phone for the hundredth time that hour. “I can’t believe its snowing this hard already, they said the storm was supposed to hit tomorrow.”

“I would have counted on you to know meteorology isn’t an exact science,” replied Bellamy sarcastically from his position reclining on the couch. He was staring out the window, watching large fluffy flakes of snow fall. The driveway to the cabin they’d all gone in on together for Thanksgiving was already completely hidden under the initial snowfall, and it didn’t look likely to let up any time soon.

Clarke sighed and stirred the fire with a long metal poker from her seat across the room. “Yeah, I know that, I just was counting on the rest of the group to make it here before the storm hit. It’s not looking good, they’re calling for a winter weather advisory through Sunday afternoon…”

Both their phones beeped with an incoming text from Wells. We’re all just going to crash at Monty’s and Miller’s place, and see if it clears up later. Sorry we can’t make it, it’s just too far to drive now that the storm’s hit. Hope you both are making nice! Don’t do anything stupid like try to leave in this weather…

Clarke rolled her eyes. “As if we would!”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy shrugged, “You seem pretty unhappy about this whole situation…”

“Of course I’m not happy about it!” replied Clarke defensively. “We were supposed to all have a fun carefree weekend away, just drinking games and Murphy’s cooking and no family drama, and instead everyone else is having fun and I’m stuck here-“

“With your least favorite person,” Bellamy filled in dryly. Clarke made a face as if to protest, but gave up and sank down into her chair.

“You’re not my least favorite person,” she muttered, a few minutes later. “I just…thought this weekend would be different. I’ve been so busy lately, and I haven’t been able to hang out with anyone in ages, and all I wanted was to have fun for a few days and not feel guilty about it.”

“Sorry,” Bellamy replied, and he sounded like he meant it. “I know you’ve been busy lately. Everyone’s missed you, if that makes you feel any better.” He paused, but as soon as she made eye contact continued hurriedly, “You can still have fun this weekend, you know.”

“I guess I do have most of the booze with me,” Clarke remembered, eyeing the case by the door. “I can try to make a dent in that.”

“I hope you’re planning on sharing, because its going to get awfully boring being the only sober one.”

Clarke felt an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach, but instead of trying to figure out what it was, she hopped up to grab a bottle of tequila from the box she’d brought. “I was supposed to share this with Raven,” she said mournfully as she broke open the seal. “I guess you’ll have to do.”

It was Bellamy’s turn to roll his eyes now, but he sat up so that she could join him on the couch. “Didn’t know we were going to escalate to cuddling so fast,” he joked.

“Shut up,” Clarke replied, kicking him as she passed him the bottle.

Truth be told, Clarke knew why she was so upset about the way the weekend was going. She and Bellamy hadn’t spent a lot of time alone together since that weird night almost a year ago when they’d gotten a little too friendly at Jasper’s party. They’d been flirting furiously for a few weeks prior, and something about the music and the laughter that night had eliminated all Clarke’s natural defenses. She’d almost kissed him, but Murphy accidentally interrupted them. The truly embarrassing part was Bellamy had reacted by abruptly leaving the party immediately afterward. They’d never talked about it, Clarke writing it off as a stupid mistake on her part and awkwardness on his. They weren’t exactly friends anymore, though. They weren’t exactly anything.

Bellamy was and always had been very awkward. Clarke had no idea how he’d dated as many people as he had— Roma, Bree, and Gina just within the past year. He was such a dork, honestly, and would always rather watch the history channel or play video games with a few friends than go out. Secretly, Clarke thought that was one of his better qualities, though she never let on. Honestly though—he told dad jokes and she could always count on him to harass her if she used even the slightest historical anachronism to make a point. He really was the worst…but damn, he was attractive. Even now, dressed in baggy sweatpants and a thrift store sweater, she couldn’t deny he was nice to look at. Those curls, those freckles, the way his eyes lit up when he smiled. It was a pretty unfair advantage to offset his lack of social skills.

He was doing it right now, that smiling thing, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he poked her playfully with the tequila bottle. This might be a bad idea, Clarke thought, but there was no going anywhere now…

“Did you bring any food with you, or just booze?” Bellamy asked in a teasing tone. “Not complaining, this is great, but…we were meant to cook a meal tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure you’re still a lightweight.”

“Fuck off,” Clarke shot back. “I can handle myself.”

Bellamy flushed a little, which surprised Clarke. “Sorry,” she continued, sighing, “that was probably a little aggressive.”

“A little,” he agreed ruefully. “You tend to get a rather feisty when you drink…”

“You tend to get a little uptight when you don’t.”

Bellamy snorted derisively. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” Clarke replied fiercely. “Just—just worry about yourself. I’m fine.” She took another swig from the bottle to punctuate her point, however poorly.

They sat in silence for a moment, until Bellamy finally spoke. “Is this about Jasper’s party?”

Clarke glanced up at him, completely caught off guard. She hadn’t expected him to ever acknowledge the moment had occurred, but she supposed the tequila might have helped. “Yeah, I guess it is,” she admitted.

“So that is what this all has been about?” he continued, in a baffled tone, “you’ve been pissed at me for months because I didn’t kiss you when you were drunk?”

“I wasn’t drunk!” Clarke replied indignantly, “I wasn’t even tipsy!”

“You weren’t?” Bellamy replied skeptically. “Because you seemed pretty…loose.” He flushed. “Poor word choice, sorry…you just didn’t seem like your normal self that night.”

“I was having fun, Bellamy! I can have fun too, you know.”

He frowned. “Ok, sure.”

“Anyway, you were kind of a dick that night.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere. “I really thought you were wasted. You don’t party very much, and I guess I hadn’t seen you so relaxed before.” He shrugged and grabbed the bottle back from her. “If it’s any consolation, I really wanted to kiss you and now I feel like a complete idiot for misreading the situation.” He took a large swig and grimaced as he swallowed, though Clarke wasn’t sure it it was for the alcohol or his admission.

They sat quite still for another moment, Clarke taken aback at his complete transparancy, finally breaking the silence by bluntly asking, “Well, if you really wanted to kiss me, why didn’t you ever?”

“Are you serious, Clarke?” Bellamy laughed, eyebrows raised in amusement, “You barely gave me the time of day for months afterwards! Plus, you dated people, I dated people…”

“Yeah…I had a long term relationship, you had a flavor of the month club,” Clarke snapped, grabbing the bottle from him.

Bellamy bit back a smile. “You slut-shaming me, Griffin?”

Clarke couldn’t help but blush. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Forget it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said, still smirking.

“Whatever,” Clarke sighed, “Fine, I was mad at you for a long time, and it didn’t feel great to see you with a bunch of other people because…I actually like you and thought we had a connection for a minute there.” Her eyes widened in horror as she realized what she’d said. “Liked, liked, past tense!”

Bellamy just grinned.

“Shut up, shut up! It’s the tequila,” she concluded lamely, shoving the bottle at him.

Bellamy eyed the bottle. “We haven’t actually had that much, Clarke.”

“I know,” she replied miserably, burying her head in her hands. “Fine, I still like you, and now I’ve said it so I can die of awkwardness.”

Bellamy chuckled. She heard the clink of glass against the hard wood of the floor, and looked up to see that he had set the tequila down and was looking at her with a curious expression. “Did it ever occur to you, Clarke, that I still like you too?”

Well, it was now or never, Clarke thought. She leaned forward. He did too, meeting her halfway. It was a good kiss. One of the better kisses she’d had lately, for sure. Possibly ever. It was broken when an involuntary laugh slipped from her. She was suddenly overcome by the humor of the situation. She couldn’t stop laughing, till the tears came.

Bellamy pulled back, his face flushed with amusement. “What, may I ask, is so funny?”

“Nothing,” Clarke sighed, wiping the the tears from her eyes. “I just…didn’t see this coming. I thought this weekend was going to end in one of us murdering the other.”

Bellamy chuckled, and leaned forward to kiss her again. “There’s still time for that, Griffin. Let’s just see what happens next.”

#kat writes #kat writes holiday fills #bellarke fanfiction #head-and-heart