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writingbyshiloh · 2 years

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A One-Time Thing

Marty Byrde x Reader

AN: first time writing for Marty!! This took me ages, I rewrote the story 3 times until I liked it. Tag list at the bottom

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Brief mentions of reader working at Lickety Splitz, drinking. no beta reader lol

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Your preferred working space is on the top deck of the Missouri Belle. Unless a fundraiser or fancy event was planned people rarely came by. Ruth would accompany you sometimes, especially if she argued with Frank Jr before.

Climbing up the steps, you realize that you would not be working alone. You squinted trying o determine who was sitting at the bar. The frame was too big to be Ruth or Maya.

As the steps creaked under your weight, the figure turned to face you. It was Marty, your boss. You met when he was trying to buy Lickety Splitz as an angel investor. You saw right through that. You danced there while trying to pay off student loans, laundering money and doing paperwork for Bobby Dean - in exchange for all of your tips and a small raise.

After Ruth took over the club, you helped her launder money still in the strip club and now in the casino. A fast friendship developed between you both. She didn’t care that you were a dancer, and you didn’t care that she was a Langmore. During one of the many nights you both spent in front of a fire in her yard, you confined with her about the growing crush you had on Marty. You would never act on it - he was a married man and he was your boss - but you allowed yourself some fantasies

“Hey” you called across the room, raising your arm in a greeting as you crossed the floor.

“Hey” Marty greeted you back. “Want a drink?” he gestured to the opposite area of the bar. You shook your head. Maya was still inspecting the casino and the last thing you needed was to be drunk in front of her.

Sitting down, you left a seat between Marty and yourself. Glancing over at him you noticed the glass with brown liquid in it. Noticing your eyes on his glass, he lifted it in the air, almost into a cheer.

“It’s whiskey,” he said, bringing the glass to his lips. You dipped your head into a nod. It s4;30, why was he having a drink now? He often stayed late and hardly drank, let alone around the FBI while working.

You took papers out of your bag, trying to finish some work, to show Maya that you do work in the Casino. Trying to focus on the words on the page in front of you, your mind started slipping to how close Marty was.

Waves of irritation and anger were flowing off of him, as he took large sips of his drink. Finishing the first one, and pouring another drink from the open bottle behind the bar.

“Marty” your voice breaks the silence “are you okay?”

You shift in your seat turning to look at him.

“Wendy kicked me out so I am just doing fantastic (y/n)” He replied, voice dripping with sarcasm eyes looking between you and his drink.

“Yikes,” you said, trying to fill the silence. Your mind raced with thoughts. Is this going to lead to divorce? Did Wendy kick him out or did he choose to leave? What was the boiling point?

“ - At the Cider Lodge” his voice broke through your thoughts. You blinked trying to focus on the man in front of you.

“Sorry, what? I’m still trying to process this and what it means for the uh work you guys do” You said, scrambling to cover the fact that you zoned out.

“I’m staying at the Cider Lodge for a bit. Same place as Maya.” Marty repeated.

“That sounds” you paused, trying to carefully pick your words “interesting”. Marty responded with a nod and another gulp of his drink.

A silence surrounded you again, allowing you to get some work done.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Marty reach into his pants pocket and pull out his key ring.

“Thanks for the company. Have a good evening” he said, words slightly slurring.

“Where are you going?” you ask, knowing it was a dumb question.

“I’m going to suite” he paused to pull a hotel key card from his pocket “214, Cider lodge”.

You rubbed your forehead, wondering if he was okay to drive.

“I’ll drive you, I’m pretty much done here anyway,” you said waving your arm over the papers spread out in front of you.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice firm and eyes determined.

“I’m sure you are. But the last thing you need is to be pulled over for drunk driving. The Feds will love that.” You snap, words coming out harsher than they needed to be. Biting your lip you realize that the man is still your boss.

Marty nodded, putting his keys and hotel key back into his pocket. His shoulders had a slight slump but you pretend not to notice while leading him to your car.

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You twisted the steering wheel, trying to back into a spot at Cider Lodge. The town was small and if someone saw you and Marty together in a hotel, the rumours would spread like wildfire.

“Thank you for this” Marty spoke as he grabbed a duffle back of his belongings from the back seat of your car.

“It’s fine. This isn’t too far out of my way home” you replied, picking up his laptop case and a bag of food from the grocery store you stopped at on the way over.

Clicking the lock button on your car keys you followed him up the stairs to his suite, absently mindedly wondering which room Maya was in.

Marty swiped the key card and used his elbow to hold the door open for you. Moving past the doorway you glanced around at the place he would be calling home for the indefinite future.

To your right, you saw Marty taking plastic hotel cups out of the wrapper and placing two on the table in front of him. Your heartbeat quickened. You were trying to be professional for the whole encounter but this was starting to be too much. The two of you were alone, in a hotel room, about to share a drink.

You placed the bags you were carried down in an attempt to look busy while handing the cheap bottle of wine to Marty without being asked. He seemed to pick up on your hint and twisted the top of the bottle open, pouring the wine into the two plastic cups.

Reaching out, you took one from the table and tapped it against his cup before taking a sip.

You drank your cup slower than Marty, who seemed to want to forget about the fight with Wendy. As he downed him, he started to fill you in on the details of their relationship as he kept refilling the glasses. You had to sit close to hear because he kept his voice low, not knowing who would be on the other side of the doors and who they work for.

---

“That's fucked up” you murmur as his rant started to die down. The bottle of wine you two split was long empty and you know it was late evening.

You stood, head feeling fuzzy from the half bottle you drank.

“You shouldn’t drive home” Marty slightly slurred, standing up to place an arm around to keep you from falling. You knew you were only tipsy not drunk and didn't need help with your balance. Still, you felt nerves in your stomach and leaned into his touch.

Turning to face him, your argument for your keys died in your throat. His pupils were blown wide with lust, just a faint bit of blue around them. Swallowing hard you placed your hand on his arm, trying to think about what you are doing the alcohol slowing your thoughts.

Marty gently bent down and pressed his lips against yours. Immdeafly your body responded, pressing into his, a small gasp slipping through your lips as he started to kiss your neck.

Your brain was telling you this was wrong. The only reason he was kissing you was that he was drunk and decided that you would be a rebound for his ex-wife. He was also your boss.

Maybe it was the heat or the wine but you listen to your body, not your brain and kissed back, hoping it would not bite later on. Half of you hopes that this would be a standard thing, the other hoped it would be a one-time thing. Not that you would regret it.

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Marty tag list: @flowercrowns-goodvibes

#marty byrde x reader #marty byrde #ozark fan fiction #Ozark x reader

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milktyama · 3 years

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— ☕︎ IF BY CHANCE

a/n: here are the imagines that anon gave me and gave me permission to expand with my own accord!! thank you anon i love this idea (and also added the song to my playlist thank you for that) ALSO longest work ever done!

— heavy reference to if by chance by ruth b.

synopsis: "if by chance... could you forgive me?"

pairing: 3rd year/adult!kageyama tobio x reader

genre: fluff to angst, hurt little comfort, in spain w/o the s

wc: 2.3k

thank you @kohi-zeri @snoozless for beta-ing! <3

❥︎ two swear words, most obvious n smallest manga spoiler

People like to emphasize how high school will be the greatest and the wildest years of your life. And a major part of high school is exploring first loves and small infatuations. High school love is so innocent and light-hearted and sometimes awkward, but that is what makes it so charming.

That is exactly how it felt being with Kageyama Tobio after meeting him in your final year of high school. Shy confessions were exchanged on the daily, pinkies linked as the main source of public affection, anything more flustering both of your young selves.

You always thought that meeting your high school sweetheart in your last year was a sign of bad luck. It was way too late for any deep love to actually develop. It would almost feel forced or fleeting, the connection not having enough time to harvest and bloom.

Though, being with him proved that wrong.

Having him in your life was a blessing from the moment you first encountered him on a rainy spring evening during your way home. You would’ve never expected that that day to become as significant to you back then as it does now.

A small irregularity of Kageyama Tobio forgetting his umbrella when the weather forecast had explicitly predicted a 90% chance of raining during the evening. That night, you thought to yourself that he was counting on the 10% chance that it wouldn’t rain, when in reality it was simply the fact that he did not check the weather forecast daily.

Pft. You would think that being a senior in high school would mean taking up a little more responsibility, but that wasn’t the case with him. His mind still ran on the adrenaline and excitement of volleyball and volleyball alone.

You saw him attempting to take shelter under a cherry blossom tree in the nearby park. The droplets of the rain reflected the sunlight as they landed on the light pink petals of the tree, giving it a warm and peaceful glow.

Kageyama’s hair and clothes were damp from the minimal protection he had against the pouring rain. If you had not approached him that night and offered to share your umbrella, nothing would have happened between the two of you.

You two would have remained as casual classmates, having small insignificant encounters that could be easily looked over: being assigned clean up duty together, collecting tests from people in your row — simple things that no one would ever think twice about. This encounter alone could have easily been part of the list of insignificant encounters… it was just a classmate looking out for another classmate right?

But the warm kindness you showed him on that cold, rainy night had somehow reached Kageyama’s heart. What he at first thought was a mere act of kindness towards a classmate had sprouted into something a little bit more.

After that night, Kageyama found himself looking in your direction more often. His bright blueberry eyes would wander towards your figure who sat a few desks in front of him. You never caught him staring during class, but his presence was more than enough to burn through the back of your head.

It seemed his not-so-subtle glances have rubbed off onto you because you would find your eyes starting to linger on him as well. His tall and lean figure captivated you. His raven hair, his blue eyes, his indifferent voice, and infamous “resting bitch face” were triggers your brain could not miss.

The more the days pass with your attention captivated by this man, the more you realize your feelings towards him. It was a rocky but surprisingly short journey, with both parties who faced difficulties with expressing their feelings to the other, but everything eventually fell into place, leaving it up to fate to bring both of your yearning souls together.

And oh boy did fate put a strong magnetism between the two of you.

You fell in love with Kageyama Tobio through and through. Sure, it was a little awkward at first, with stiff movements and a sprinkle of miscommunication, but after speaking your hearts out, it became clear: you were in love with him just as much as he was in love with you.

At least that is how it seemed.

Even after sharing light kisses under the cherry blossom tree where you met for the first time, your hands held in his rough ones, surrounded by the smell in his clothes that you borrowed from his closet. Or passing small notes to each other during class and sleepless nights when you tried to tutor him in classes he lacked on. Or shouting from the top of your lungs whenever you attended any of his games while sporting his spare jersey.

All these memories seemingly came crashing down a week before your graduation.

Your ears rang after he utters a short phrase that had enough power to crash your world, enough power to make you feel as if everything you’ve done the past year had been a waste, enough power to leave you on your knees, helplessly clutching your chest as the pain starts to spread throughout your body.

“I’m sorry. But… I think I’m in love with someone else.”

He continued to ramble endlessly. Maybe it was more apologies, or maybe he was reasoning what he’d been doing with you this past year. Maybe he was word vomiting in order to make this impact on you less heavy. Whatever it had been, you couldn’t hear it. You lost your grasp of your senses the second those words had reached your ears.

How did you not notice this? How could you not see how his glances towards you became less frequent, how his kisses grew more reluctant, how he wouldn’t reach for your hand first, how his eyes didn’t sparkle for you? You only now realized that he fell out of love. Or maybe he loved someone else all along? Or maybe you were just a game to him? You didn’t even want to consider the latter.

Your sight was blurring with tears that you desperately tried to keep in, but they had already fallen helplessly down your face. You didn’t even notice that Kageyama was no longer in front of you.

When you finally composed yourself, you could see his retreating figure in the distance with someone else at his side. They weren’t hugging or holding hands or kissing or anything of that sort. But watching the person you thought you could love for the rest of your life walk away with someone else was just too much for your poor heart to bear.

It has been exactly 4 years since. You graduated from university and did some intern work during your summers to distract yourself. You truly believed that you have finally picked yourself up and moved one. It was only after seeing him on TV, seeing that he had achieved his dream of going pro, that all the emotions came rushing back.

You still loved him. You always have and never stopped. Your love for him was so great, so powerful, so unconditional that it never left your system, even after being broken in one of the worst ways possible.

Maybe if he had loved you then you would still be by his side, cheering him on.

He reached out to you a few months after your break up. With your wound still fresh, you had truly believed he called to get back together, only to get your hopes crushed. Well, not completely, at least. He called to apologize again, figuring that back in high school you — actually, both of you — had been too emotionally distressed to properly deal with the situation.

It was a very short call, 5 minutes at most. His apology was simple and to the point, but that was how he was. He swore he was sorry for ending things the way they did, and ended the call with a promise. He promised to never hurt you again.

Although his heart may or may not have not been occupied by someone else during your time together, he still found comfort and familiarity when he was with you. Before he could hang up, you too apologized for how you reacted and dealt with the situation, swearing the same promise.

But that promise proved harder to keep than you had thought.

You encountered Kageyama once again, but this time he was with someone else. He seemed happy. It was hard to believe that even after all these years, your heart still beat for Kageyama Tobio. It hurt your heart to see him smile for someone else, knowing those smiles used to be for you. It hurt your heart to know that you were no longer the reason for his smiles being so wide, so genuine.

You wondered if he still recalled the memories the two of you shared. If he still sang along to the song you two spent weeks choosing and claimed as “your song” or if he skipped it. If he still reacted to advertisements that featured your favorite lip balm, the one he loved tasting on your lips whenever you kissed. If he remembered the future plans you talked about, where the two of you would live in a comfortable apartment and how the interior would be decorated; how you would spend nights dancing around the living room.

Either way, you were no longer part of his life. He had found someone else to dedicate his heart to. As if to confirm the dilemma that has plagued you for so long, Kageyama leaned into a kiss to the forehead of his partner, smiling as he pulled away whilst leaning his head onto his partner.

Tears brimmed in the corners of your eyes. You ran, allowing your body to take you wherever it pleased, hot tears falling helplessly from your eyes continuously.

So much for keeping a promise.

Your feet finally stopped, tired, your eyes worn out from crying. You slowly took in your surroundings as you felt the warm breeze of a spring evening, soft petals tickling your sensitive skin. It was quite obvious where your heart belonged.

You found yourself under the tree where you first met him. Where you two would often sit and exchange fleeting kisses or a small treat, feeding each other with fond eyes. The wind blew past you as the petals from the cherry blossom tree slowly fell, surrounding you in a cozy ambiance that left a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

As your legs finally gave up at the memory that came rushing into your head, you heard footsteps that sounded like they were approaching your way. A piece of light blue cloth neatly folded entered your line of vision. Your eyes shot up to the tall figure that was now towering over you. His body faced you, however his eyes did not meet yours.

You hesitated before slowly reaching out for the handkerchief in his hand, avoiding his eyes as well.

“I’m sorry…” was all that came out from his lips. There was a moment of silence, disrupted every now and then by a couple of sniffles. Kageyama tried speaking again.

“I’m sorry for hurting you again, even after I promised you I wouldn’t.”

“It’s fine…” you managed to choke out, voice slightly cracking. You thought you sounded pathetic. You two broke up four years ago, for fuck’s sake! A lump formed in your throat again, a mix of the remains of old memories and your own consciousness trying to bring some sense into your pained heart.

“If by chance… could you forgive me? For breaking the promise I mean,” Kageyama asked. His words were gentle and soft, maybe a little sweet like honey, attempting to cover up any harshness. It was clear he did not want to hurt you for any longer. His blueberry eyes that you missed so much had a small sparkle to them. You wondered what that sparkle meant.

Was it because he still loved you? Did he miss you the way you missed him? Or maybe he only felt pity for you. Maybe he was hoping for something more. What could he be possibly hopeful for? Your forgiveness? It wasn’t like you were mad at him. Afterall, it was your own fault for falling so deeply in love with him. As painful and bitter as it was, you tried your best to pull your lips upwards.

It was the saddest smile he had ever seen.

Voices in your head screamed at the pain you felt in your heart, but your head reasoned that this was not his fault. You had to let go, once and for all.

“Of course I forgive you.”

The words vibrated through your skull. Your head forgave him, your self-conscious told your heart to forgive him, but in the end, it wouldn’t succumb to logic so easily. You thought with your heart rather than your head, and you absolutely hated it. You broke too easily and gave in to the way your heart beated instead of the words that were trying to break through your thick skull.

The sun sets, warm yellow tones of the fleeting rays of sunlight shone upon the pale pink petals of the cherry blossom tree. The petals turned into a light orange colour as they fell ever so elegantly from the branches above you, surrounding your figure on the ground.

You clutched your knees to your body as you watched his figure stray from you, slowly getting further and further away. Memories from the first time you met under this same tree flooded into your head as a single tear droplet slid down your right cheek.

You felt a lump at the back of your throat. It was an awfully bitter yet mildly sweet feeling. You didn’t mean to be selfish with your feelings towards Kageyama, but if by chance, things didn’t work out with his current partner, then maybe, just maybe, he could be part of your world again.

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

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Not the Type: 2/7

Thanks again to the mods of the @captainswanmoviemarathon for putting this event together! Also thanks to @hookedonapirate for her beta skills. For my non-American readers, I hope I explained everything in this chapter, especially bust-throughs, adequately enough. I don't know that I've ever seen that aspect of cheerleading portrayed in a movie before (though I could be wrong). But if you search google images for bust-throughs, you'll see pictures of what I'm talking about.

Summary: Emma Swan first notices him in the stands at the Friday night football game. She can tell right away Killian Jones is not the football type. Then again, she’s not the cheerleader type either, but here she is with pom poms. Life hasn’t ever gone the way Emma planned. Lately, that’s actually been a good thing. Maybe Killian Jones is a good thing, too.

My loose Captain Swan AU of the movie Bring it On

Rated: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd�� @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @spartanguard @itsfabianadocarmo

At the next game, he wasn’t in the stands. Not that Emma was looking or anything. And she wasn’t disappointed. Nope, not at all.

“Earth to Emma!”

She jumped and turned to Ruby, who was squatting with her hands cupped in front of her. Ashley was across from the brunette, doing the same.

“We haven’t got all day,” Ruby grumbled.

“Sorry,” Emma told them hurriedly. She braced her hands on their shoulders as Ariel, her spotter, came behind her and grasped her waist. Emma jumped up into the girls’ cupped hands. They dipped with her, bending their knees together, then popped her up to chin level, with a light assist from Ariel. Behind them, another stunt group lifted Jasmine up above their heads. Down below, Mary Margaret and another girl pulled on the ropes to hoist the giant bust-through to an upright position. The bust-through they had spent hours making last Sunday afternoon, only for it to get obliterated in mere minutes. Making the bust-throughs for the game and the posters to hang around the school would take away from much needed practice time, so they came in on Sundays to do it instead. Emma had chafed at it initially - they all did, really - but the girls ended up having a blast every week. It still wasn’t fair that they were taken away from their athletic training to do 1950s crap for the boys, but oh well.

When the bust-through post was close enough, Emma grabbed it. Farther up, Jasmine held it as well. On the other side of the bust-through, the rest of the squad was doing the same. The stadium speakers suddenly thrummed with Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” and the fans surged to their feet. Below Emma, the football team thundered past with a feral yell before tearing through the yards of poster paper. Ariel braced her thighs and Emma tightened her core so she wouldn’t fall. Every damn time, she felt her life flash before her eyes. The only comfort came in her absolute trust that Ariel would catch her. She discarded the post, and behind her Ariel counted out loud, “1, 2, 3, hup!”

Ruby and Ashley bent their knees, then pushed through with their arms to pop Emma up into the air. She kept her core tight, her knees together, toes pointed, and her arms out in the shape of a “T” so the three girls could catch her neatly. It was a simple stunt, actually, and not as high or dangerous as most Emma was used to. They just didn’t usually do stunts on hard packed turf with twenty large high school boys rushing past.

Half the girls ran around as fast as possible to pick up all the bits of poster paper, while the other half hoisted up the pvc pipes they used for the posts and rolled up the ropes that held the bust-through. Those had to be reused every time.

Arms loaded with crumpled up poster paper that smelled of glue and tempera paint, Emma raced off the field as fast as she could before the opposing team came running out not caring if they bowled over a five foot five, ninety pound cheerleader.

She really hated football season.

The girls shoved the remains of the bust-through into the trash, then slid the pvc pipes and ropes underneath the bleachers to put in the cheer supply closet later. Then they lined up on the sidelines for the kickoff, their poms shaking in the air.

“Gooooooo Knights!”

Like every other game, the marching band followed the kick off with the school fight song, and Emma was busy high kicking when she saw him. Killian stood out like a sore thumb - the only one in the student section not chanting, “fight, fight, fight!” Instead, he was lounging back against the bleacher behind him, glancing around at his fellow students with a mocking expression upon his face. Emma felt her lips curl up into a smile - probably the first time she didn’t have to force one during this exhausting Rockette’s-style dance. Her legs burned as usual when the song finally ended, but it didn’t bother her quite as much when Killian caught her eye and winked. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop her smile from growing and spun away from him with a tilt to her chin.

“Push em back!” Mary Margaret, their captain, yelled. “Ready? Go!”

The girls all chanted together, going through the motions of the cheer. “Push em back, push em back, defense push em waaaaay back!” They went through it twice before efficiently moving into their stunt groups. Ruby and Ashley tossed Emma into the air this time, with Ariel giving her an extra boost. In the air, Emma twisted her body in a layout, the rush of it sending adrenaline through her veins. It only lasted a moment before her stunt group caught her in their arms, but Emma would never tire of the thrill that the brief moment of weightlessness brought her.

Emma popped out of the dismount with her arms above her head. “Go Knights!”

She never had to fake enthusiasm when she got to do a stunt like that. Her eyes caught Killian’s again. Both eyebrows arched, he managed a half bow from his seat in the stands, both arms outstretched dramatically. Emma shook her head with laughter, though his obvious admiration of her skills sent a thrill through her. Nevertheless, she rolled her eyes at him.

Just then, Emma heard the loud grunts and collisions of a particularly nasty tackle. The crowd gasped, and next to Emma, Mary Margaret dropped her pom poms.

“David!” she cried out, then her hands flew to her mouth.

Emma let out a cry too when she saw her brother lying motionless on the field. Instinctively, she reached for his girlfriend, and Mary Margaret threaded her arm through hers. The cheerleaders all took a knee, but Emma and Mary Margaret never let go of each other.

“Get up, get up,” Emma whispered.

David started moving his legs, and the girls let out a sigh of relief. He was able to get up without the aid of the coaches hovering over him, and the crowd cheered. He had a slight limp at first, but his leg must have just been stiff because his stride soon became normal. He took off his helmet and grinned and waved at the crowd. The cheerleaders stood again and waved their poms above their heads in celebration. Next to Emma, Mary Margaret was still shaking a little bit.

“He scared me to death,” she told Emma.

“I know,” Emma replied, and a shiver went down her spine as she thought about how bad it could have been. David was always pointing out that she and Mary Margaret could fall out of a stunt and break their necks just as easily as he could, but it felt different. Football injuries just felt way more common, and then there were all those retired pros with neurological problems. David said that playing at the college level was unlikely since Storybrooke High was just a double A team, and she was secretly glad. The less he smashed his brains in, the better.

David was the big brother she never knew she needed, accepting her, teasing her, and irritatingly trying to protect her from the moment her prickly thirteen year old self had arrived in his home.

He had also sat on the sidelines at how many gymnastics classes? Classes she had dreamed of taking since she watched Gabby Douglas win the Olympic gold medal on TV when she was eight years old. Then, when Emma was twelve, Simone Biles became her hero. A former foster kid winning Olympic gold? Emma didn’t think such a thing was possible, but Biles gave her hope. Then Ruth Nolan made that hope reality.

“Whatever your dreams are, Emma,” she had told her, “I’ll invest in them. It’s what a mother does.”

Emma was behind, of course. She’d had school friends as she grew up who taught her the basics on the playground - handstands, cartwheels, back walkovers. She’d even learned to do back handsprings in the backyard of one of her foster homes. Still, her goal to make the high school gymnastics team seemed almost impossible. Then she read about Misty Copeland, the star principal dancer for the American Ballet Theater who didn’t start dancing until . . . thirteen. Surely, if she could defy the common thought that girls had to start ballet at three or four to achieve greatness, then Emma could defy the same thought in gymnastics. And with the support of Ruth and David, she had. She’d made the gymnastics team as a freshman at Storybrooke High.

Then, after one amazing season on the team, they had received the devastating news: the state of Maine was cutting high school gymnastics completely. Ignorant politicians spun it, of course. There would still be a state meet each year where gymnasts would represent their schools in individual competition. It would just be privatized, the politicians explained, saving taxpayers thousands of dollars. Privatized was a fancy way of saying that only gymnasts in clubs at private gyms could compete. Clubs that cost an extravagant amount of money. Money that Ruth Nolan simply didn’t have.

And that was how Emma Swan ended up a cheerleader.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You and Mary Margaret still wanna stay over at my house?” Ruby asked after the game as she slung her cheer bag over one shoulder.

“Of course we do,” Mary Margaret replied. “Right Emma?”

“Yeah sure,” Emma said vaguely as she pulled the rubber band out of her hair and shook out the loose waves. Cheer ponytails were so tight they gave her a headache. Of course, as a gymnast, she’d had to put her hair in an equally tight, equally hairsprayed bun. She rubbed at her scalp. Maybe she should chop her hair off like Mary Margaret. No, scratch that, she didn’t have the flawless skin and cherubic face to pull that off like MM did.

“Are you sure?” Ruby asked with a glint in her eyes. “Killian lives there now, you know.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m familiar with what a foster brother is. Of course I know he lives with you.”

“Just wanted to be sure you could handle the sexual tension,” Ruby said, bumping Emma teasingly with her hip as they headed to the parking lot.

“For the last time, there is no sexual tension between me and Killian!”

“You did have cheer sex with him.”

“Mary Margaret! I thought you didn’t buy into that crap!”

“Did I just say that out loud?” MM’s face was crimson.

Ruby threw her head back and guffawed. “Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, Emma.”

“God, if you two don’t stop . . . I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”

“You’ll what?”

Emma grasped for a good threat. “Smother you with a pom pom!” she finally blurted out, waving the one she still grasped in her hand in Ruby’s face.

MM literally collapsed against the side of Ruby’s car in hysterics, and even Emma lost it. It wasn’t really that funny, but they were all simultaneously exhausted and electrified from the game. Once they calmed down, they tossed their stuff in Ruby’s trunk. There was only a pleasant chill to the air this early in the season, so Ruby put the top of her convertible down, and Emma leaned contentedly against the headrest as the wind rushed past. The football team had won tonight’s game, and there was a spirit of celebration in the air as Ruby drove through the parking lot and out onto the street in front of Storybrooke High. When kids and even adults noticed a red convertible with three cheerleaders in red and white, they raised their fists in the air and shouted, “Go knights!”

“You know, it would mean a lot more if they were cheering for our victory instead of someone else’s,” Ruby commented dryly as they cruised through Storybrook’s only light after it turned green.

Mary Margaret leaned between them from the backseat, which surprised Emma, since the brunette was usually all “safety first.”

“Well, that’s all gonna change come December 5th ladies when we-”

Ruby lifted one fist in the air as she joined Mary Margaret in her cry of, “TAKE STATE!!!”

“Now wait a second, slow down,” Emma cautioned. “We have to place at regionals first.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Please, Emma, Storybrooke has dominated regionals since we were all in kindergarten.”

“Well, if there’s one thing gymnastics has taught me, it’s to not get cocky, so don’t jinx it, okay?”

“We also need to have confidence,” Mary Margaret added, giving Emma’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Confidence, not pride. Now sit back and put on your damn seat belt.”

“Intense much, Emma?”

Ruby tilted her chin and practically howled at the moon. “Someone needs to. GET. LAID.”

Emma lunged over and clapped her hand over Ruby’s mouth before she could add anything further. “Don’t. Say it.”

“God, Emma, she’s driving!”

Ruby pinched Emma in the side with her free hand, sending the blonde jerking back to the passenger’s side. “Why Emma, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian Jones knew that Emma Swan was just down the hall from his bedroom - keenly aware of it. Just as he had been aware of her since the night he’d first seen her. He had been completely honest when he told her that it was her expression and not her body that had drawn him in. If he’d wanted to ogle enticing figures in short skirts, he would have just been staring at the entire squad since the game started. But it was Emma Swan’s clearly irritated, flashing green eyes that had managed to tear his gaze away from Tolkien. He wasn’t sure what she had against the marching band’s rendition of “Louie, Louie,” but the hatred clearly ran deep.

He clenched his jaw as laughter floated down the hall from Ruby’s room, and he adjusted the knobs on his guitar effects pedal to distract him. Granny had been abundantly clear that he was to stay far away from Ruby’s friends.

He was a little offended at Granny’s lecture, to be honest. As if he were a dog in heat unable to ignore the scent of females.

Killian strummed his electric, then adjusted the feedback again. Halfway through Pearl Jam’s “Jeremy,” he’d pushed thoughts of Emma Swan far away.

Until he glanced up in the middle of a frankly ridiculous, out of control guitar solo to find her standing there in his doorway, slack-jawed and staring. She was tantalizing in a teeny, tiny pair of shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top, her blonde hair piled up on her head in a messy bun. He managed not to drop his guitar and flashed her a lopsided grin as he continued to play.

“Emma!”

The girl in question jumped a foot in the air, clutching her hands that held a purple toothbrush to her chest. “Shit, Ruby!”

“What are you doing?” Killian’s foster sibling asked from the hallway.

“I, uh . . . went to brush my teeth.”

“Um, the bathroom is that way.”

“Right, right, I knew that,” Emma mumbled.

Killian winked at her before she scurried away, still strumming. So maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt the delicious tension between them. This was a pleasant turn of events . . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma grumbled at herself under her breath as she squirted toothpaste onto her toothbrush. She couldn’t believe Killian had caught her staring - practically drooling - over him. The way he’d smirked at her as he continued to play left no question that he knew she was checking him out. She was pretty sure Ruby knew it, too. Yet in her defense, how was a girl supposed to ignore an attractive guy when he was playing the guitar?

Emma started to brush, a little too vigorously at first. She was irritated with herself, but she didn’t need to scrub her gums raw, so she slowed down. She almost jumped out of her skin when Killian came through the open bathroom door behind her, but she calmed herself before he noticed. He winked at her as he retrieved his toothbrush from the cup by the sink and got some toothpaste. Emma arched a brow at him as she continued to brush. Somehow, the idiot managed to smile at her charmingly even as he worked the toothbrush around his mouth. She rolled her eyes and looked at her reflection instead, but that didn’t work either. His gaze only found her reflection in the mirror, and he waggled his eyebrows at her. She almost choked on her toothpaste.

Then he spit, rinsed, and ran his hand across his mouth in exaggerated, satisfied fashion. “Ahh,” he said, then bowed to her and left.

Emma scowled at her own reflection in the mirror. Stupid attractive eyebrows. No one was supposed to look that good brushing his teeth. She finished brushing, rinsed, then headed back down the hall to Ruby’s room. Her friends stopped chatting the minute she walked in.

“What?”

Ruby arched a brow. “Please, Emma. I caught you drooling over Killian when you were supposed to be brushing your teeth.”

Mary Margaret pointed an accusing finger. “And you’re smiling.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she tossed her toothbrush into her overnight bag. “So I’m smiling. So what?”

“So, you don’t normally walk around smiling. It’s not the natural resting state of your face.”

Emma laughed as she plopped down on Ruby’s bed with her friends and grabbed some potato chips. “The natural resting state of my face?”

“Yeah,” Ruby explained. “Take MM here. She naturally smiles. Just walks around smiling. You - not so much.”

“Okay, fine,” Emma muttered around a chip, “so I think he’s cute. Are you happy now?”

“Very.”

Emma lifted a hand the minute she saw Mary Margaret’s face. “I think he’s cute. That’s it. I’m not saying I like him or that I want to date him, just that objectively I can admit he’s cute.”

“Puppies are cute, Emma,” Mary Margaret pointed out, “that guy in there is not just cute.”

“How is he your foster brother anyway, Ruby?” Emma asked, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere else.

“Oh, that. Well, Granny knew his mom from way back. They used to come visit every summer when we were kids. Anyways, when Killian’s dad left, he asked if she’d take him.”

Emma blinked. “Wait, his dad just dumped him here? And where’s his mom?”

“She died of cancer a few years back.” Ruby shrugged. “And I don’t know, his dad wanted to go back to England or something. Killian gets pissed whenever I bring him up, so I’m not really sure. He has a brother too, but Liam’s in the Navy.”

Emma fell silent as she grabbed more chips. As she munched, she tried to imagine being sent to a new town, new school so your dad could . . . what? Live his own life with no responsibilities? It was pretty screwed up.

The sound of an electric guitar filled the apartment above Granny’s diner once again, and Ruby let out a huff of frustration as she stomped to her door.

“Kill, seriously? Can you stop with the guitar already?”

“I live here too,” Killian shouted back.

“Both of you shut up so I can sleep,” Granny yelled at them both.

Mary Margaret and Emma caught each other’s eye and burst out laughing. Ruby groaned then slammed the door shut.

“I’m serious, Emma. If he starts dating you, maybe he won’t be around here so much, driving me insane!”

“That’s not very romantic, Rubes,” MM scolded.

“And remember, Emma Swan doesn’t date.”

“Emma Swan needs to stop referring to herself in the third person.”

Emma didn’t have her poms anymore, so she threw a pillow at Ruby’s head instead.

#cs ff #captain swan movie marathon #csmm #cs movie au #bring it on au #high school au #lieutenant duckling

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let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

Catch Me If You Can (38/40)

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: Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for being my beta, @imagnifika for the cover art, and all of you for being awesome, whether you read this story or not ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35| 36 | 37 | 38

-/-

The thing about being a starting pitcher is that Killian rarely plays. It’s every five days usually, and Killian is too competitive to simply be able to sit and watch while everyone else gets to be out there on the field. If it wasn’t absolute murder on his shoulder, he’d be in Al’s office every damn day asking why he can’t be out there.

Understandably, having to watch his teammates play without being able to help has been killing him more in this past week than it did while he was out on injury, and that was actual hell.

Rob did a fantastic job that first night clinching the first game for them by making it nearly impossible for the Dodgers to get on base, and Killian, while he didn’t play his best, pitched a good enough game and had help from Eric’s three-run homerun for them to win the second. It’s simply that everything after that has been a bit of a nightmare.

They lost two incredibly close games in a row in California to tie things up, won the next one, and now they could clinch the entire Series at home in New York.

Tonight.

With Rob pitching and Killian sitting on the bench.

And as much as Killian would love to get to be an active part of it all like he was during the winning game last year, he would give absolutely everything for them to win tonight so that he doesn’t have to get up on the mound tomorrow. The pressure and desire and want is so damn intense that it makes Killian’s heart ache, but he knows that this isn’t really about him. No part of him could be selfish enough to want to lose today so that he could have the possibility of the glory tomorrow.

That would be ridiculous, and he doesn’t know what the hell he’d do if he wakes up tomorrow morning with a stiff shoulder and he’s got to get out there and play.

Sighing, Killian stretches out his legs to the seat in front of him as a whisper of wind whirls through the stadium to bring in the late October chill. He fiddles with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, pulling them down to cover his wrists where chill bumps are rising, and he wishes that he had a hat on to protect himself from weather, his ears likely red from the cold. It’s only seven in the morning, most of the stadium completely empty except for the maintenance crew and a few people in the offices, but Killian knew that this would be his only time to take it all in with no one around him.

An empty stadium is nearly as magical as a packed one.

He’s spent his entire life building up to things like this. Sure, there were times when he had other goals. He wanted to be a teacher, wanted to get his degree and help others, but that was always the fallback goal. It was never the main one.

Baseball has been his life.

Lately, though, Killian’s been thinking about life outside of the game more than ever. It’s insane because he feels like he’s one of those obnoxious people who only lives and breathes baseball all the time, especially with what’s going on right now, but his mind has managed to find a way to wander elsewhere.

There are saved searches on his phone about going back to Vanderbilt to finish his degree and a sent message in his email to an advisor asking if it would be possible for him to finish in New York instead of having to take classes in person. He hasn’t told anyone that he’s thinking about it, not yet. Telling someone makes it real, and Killian’s not entirely sure that he wants it to be real quite yet. He’s a grown ass man, but change is still terrifying when he’s grown comfortable in his life.

Baseball isn’t forever, though, and while he may still work in the sport later on, he’s not going to be someone who goes throughout his entire life living out the glory days through memory.

Tonight, might be another big moment that defines his life, but the past six months have been pretty life changing as well. Hell, the past year has been.

Things are changing in ways that he wants and ways that he doesn’t, and that’s simply how it is.

“So, we woke up at the ass crack of dawn so that you could sit out here all by yourself?”

Killian twists his head to the side to see Emma standing a few seats over dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, scarf wrapped around her neck and Yankees cap on her head. He was so wrapped up in his own mind that he didn’t even hear her move toward him.

“Hey, love,” he smiles, reaching up and holding out his hand so that the cool tip of her fingers touch his as he intertwines their fingers while she settles down into the seat next to him and props her feet up on the seat in front of her. “I told you that you didn’t have to come with me.”

Sitting here reminds him of another time in San Francisco when he put his heart on his sleeve and willingly handed it over to Emma to crush before they decided that they would give the two of them a go and simply see how things worked out. If she had said no that day, he could have listened. But damn is he glad that she said yes.

Or, well, technically, he was the one saying yes.

Either way, everything in his life shifted.

“I know, but you get all moody and introspective, and I didn’t want you psyching yourself out.”

“I would not do that.”

“You’re a liar.”

“Just a little bit.” His hand flexes against hers, shifting his fingers the slightest bit so that he can get a more comfortable grip on Emma’s hands. “What have you been doing while I’ve been sitting here being introspective and psyching myself out?”

“I was taking some pictures. It’s kind of cool to see the calm before the storm, you know? And then David called me with some work stuff and to give me shit about us making out being all over Instagram, so I sat on a bench and talked to him for awhile.”

“He called you this early? Is he crazy?”

“I think David forgets that not everyone wakes up this early, and he has no qualms about waking me up. Usually I’m much meaner to him.”

“I’m surprised you’re not being mean to me.”

“The coffee we had at home really works wonders.”

Killian almost opens his mouth to say something about Emma referring to his apartment as home. But only almost. They’re both aware of the living situation, have joked about it to each other and others before, and they don’t need some kind of official discussion about things. It’ll all happen naturally, and when the time comes, they’ll talk about it. For now, things are perfect just as they are.

Life has been crazy with his injury and then Walsh and Brennan and the aftermath of them being absolute assholes. It’s gotten crazier with the World Series and how much press he’s now getting, both for the games and for his relationship with Emma, much of which is now weirdly being caught on camera. All Killian really wants is a bit of normal here.

The sun continues to rise in the sky, darkness shifting into an orange glow that will eventually turn into bright sunshine that makes it difficult to see without a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. The grass on the field is wet with condensation, water coating the blades, and if it wasn’t freezing out there, he thinks he’d go out and sit along the edge of the back wall instead of in a stadium seat.

Bringing Emma’s hand to his lips, he presses a kiss to each of her knuckles before pulling their joined hands back down to rest on his thigh.

“I think,” he starts, not entirely sure where he’s going, “that I could stay out here forever. I don’t know…maybe I feel things too deeply compared to everyone else, but this place has always felt like home. I can’t imagine what things would be like if I’d been drafted somewhere else or if I’d never been called up at all.”

She hums next to him, and Killian looks down to see Emma’s thumb rubbing across his knuckles like she always seems to do. “What’s that thing you’re always saying? There’s no such thing as ‘what ifs.’ Not in life and not in sport. What happened, happened.”

“Doesn’t keep me from wondering.”

“It doesn’t keep anyone from wondering, twenty-nine.” Her hand squeezes his again, and Killian’s mind dares to ask once more what his life would be like had he not met Emma. It’s a question he doesn’t want an answer to. “What if my parents had kept me? What if Ruth had never decided to foster a shitty teenager with an attitude issue? What if I had never met Neal or Walsh or Ruby or anyone who has impacted my life they the way they have? What if I never met you?”

“You’d be missing out on the best sex of your life.”

Emma knocks her foot into his as he snickers at his own awful joke. “You’re full of yourself.”

He shrugs. “It happens. And I know. I’m just – my stomach has been in knots over all of this for an entire month. I’m not sure my body is going to make it ten more hours. Or hell, possibly even thirty-six. I’ve had to hype myself up for all of this, and I’m a little…fuck, Swan, I’m exhausted and excited, and I’m scared I’m going to have some kind of adrenaline crash.”

It’s Emma’s turn to bring their hands together so that she can brush her lips over his knuckles. His heart stutters at the movement.

God, he loves her. It’s actually insane how much. Truly, it shouldn’t be possible.

“For one, getting up and coming to the stadium before the sun even fully rises is not something that’s going to help with your exhaustion.”

He twists his head to look at her, and she’s got mischief in her eyes and a smirk stretched across her lips that he has to kiss away. She still tastes like coffee.

“Also,” she whispers against his lips, kissing him again, “you’re not going to crash. Not yet. I know you’re really big on not riding on what happened last year, but you’ve got to do that. You’ve been through this before, and you made it. Those butterflies in your stomach are being felt by everyone who’s involved with this team, and hanging out by yourself the entire time isn’t going to help things. Why don’t we go get breakfast together? Or maybe go back to bed?”

“How about a game of catch?”

“What?” Emma laughs as she pulls back from him with furrowed brows? “I am not playing catch with you. Are we five?”

Killian shakes his head and chuckles as he stands from the seat and begins to stretch his shoulders out, letting go of Emma’s hand and rolling his shoulders back as he laughs at himself.

“We’re twenty-eight. I know you remember your birthday last week. And come on, Swan. I play a game of really expensive catch for a living. It’s part of my job to work on my arm today, just in case, and I need a practice partner.”

“That’s what Will and Eric or August are for.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, reaching forward to tug her up only for her weight to go dead so that he can’t move her, “but they’re not here. You are.”

Emma closes her gaping mouth, and her lips move in different directions while her nose scrunches up so that little crinkles appear around her eyes under the shade of her hat. “Okay, but if there’s one misogynistic quip about me throwing like a girl, I’m breaking up with you on the spot.”

“There’s nothing wrong with throwing like a girl, Swan. It’s pretty badass. But there’s something wrong with throwing like shit.”

“I’m not going to throw like shit.” Killian starts walking over the chairs, easily maneuvering through the stands with Emma following behind him. “But I ask you to remember that while I pride myself in my fitness, it’s in things like Pilates and running or boxing. It’s not in baseball. You, meanwhile, do this for a living.”

“These sound like a hell of a lot of excuses.”

“That’s because they are.”

“There’s no excuses in baseball.”

“I thought it was crying.”

“Fuck no,” Killian scoffs. “There’s a lot of crying in baseball, and anyone who tells you something different is a liar.”

“I can’t believe you just called Tom Hanks, America’s sweetheart, a liar.”

They have to go back through the tunnels to get a bucket of balls and some gloves as well as a few towels to wipe the grass in the bullpen down since it’s wet and neither of them are wearing the right shoes for this, but they do eventually get to the point where he can lightly toss the ball back and forth between the two of them. He’s not going to pitch at full speed, not until he has Will later, but it’s soothing to simply be out here getting a little movement in. He’s been back for two weeks, practicing for four, but it’s still all brand new again to him and shaded under a light that wasn’t there before.

Emma isn’t bad at all. She’s actually rather good, a natural some might say, and he jokes with her that if sports broadcasting doesn’t work out for her, she might take up a career in this. Naturally that gets him an eye roll or two, but she keeps on throwing until the sun is high in the sky and the day has truly begun.

Killian’s ready for it.

Everything seems to pass quickly then. The entirety of the Dodgers team walks out onto the field for their scheduled practice while he and Emma are still messing around in the bullpen, somewhere between still doing a bit of practice and Killian backing Emma up against the wall to make out with her. No one sees them, though, the loud blaring of music startling the two of them away from each other, and Killian presses Emma a little further into the wall while he buries his face in her neck so that he can muffle the sound of his laughter.

He’s not entirely sure that works, especially when Emma is doing the same, but they eventually manage to grab their things and slip inside so that an entire professional team isn’t aware of the fact that he was using the early morning stadium to kiss his girlfriend.

That would certainly have been something.

There is an actual practice that Killian has to attend today, an hour of which needs to be spent with him running on the treadmill and then getting massaged by Archie to work out any knots and kinks in his shoulder and to make sure that it’s not inflamed. Killian is always terrified that he’s going to be told that his shoulder is inflamed again and that he won’t be able to play on a day where he thinks he’s going to be able to. That would completely screw up the lineup, and…No, now isn’t the time to think about that.

Killian tells Emma that he’ll see her later, that he’ll probably come bother her wherever the network has her sitting even though he’s splitting the time in the game between the dugout, the clubhouse, and the suite where his family is going to be sitting. She has to go home and get ready for the day, and even if she didn’t, he very much doubts that she’d like to stick around and watch him run.

And then they’re both off.

Let the game begin.

-/-

“Are you guys going to win today?”

Now, that’s the question of the day, isn’t it?

Killian looks down at Roland who is dressed in head to toe Yankees gear, all his dad’s of course, and there’s a nervous smile on the kid’s face. Roland is almost never nervous. He has that childlike faith in everything even with all of the tragedy in his life of having lost his mom, and he nearly always believes that things are going to work out. There’s no good or bad, just the belief that things will work out the way you want them to simply by the power of wanting them to.

If only it were that simple.

“I don’t know, lad,” Killian answers honestly as he reaches down to pick Roland up, easily putting him on his shoulders as Killian walks him down the hallways to the suite he’s staying in for the game. Roland was in the clubhouse for all of the pre-game celebrations, and the kid heard and saw things that he probably didn’t need to hear for several more years.

A decade, really. Maybe two.

Yeah, definitely two decades. There was some creative swearing.

“Why not?”

“Well, because we can’t predict the future, and the other team is really good too.”

“But I want to win.”

“Me too,” he sighs as he pushes open the doors to lead to the suites. “And everyone is going to try their best. But you know what?” “What?”

“I think if you cheer extra hard, it might help your dad out, okay? He might lose because the other team is good, but you’ve got to cheer him on no matter what.”

Roland’s ankles hit against Killian’s collarbone, and Killian pretends that the bony lad doesn’t hurt like hell when he hits him. “I can cheer really loud. Like, Grandma says that it makes her ears hurt.”

“If you’re not making Grandma’s ears hurt, you’re not cheering loud enough.”

That sentence pretty much sums up why he’s the best uncle in the world, Killian thinks. It’s basically the equivalent of giving kids a pint of ice cream right before they go back to their parents.

Killian pushes open the suite doors and ducks down underneath them so that he doesn’t knock Roland out. Everyone is situated on the couches and around the tables in front of the TV, and no one pays him any mind as he puts Roland down so that he can run to where Addy, Lucy, and Leo are. He imagines that between the four of them, they’re going to make everyone’s ears hurt from their screaming.

Maybe Killian will go spend time sitting in the dugout instead of in here, but it’s a long game. He’s got time to move around as long as he does make time to study Robin’s throwing patterns against each batter.

“Hey,” he murmurs to Elsa in the kitchen area while she pops a chip into her mouth. “I don’t know that it’s good that you’re playing hooky from work and letting the girls do the same with school.”

“Shut up,” she says in between crunchy bites of food, her hand covering her mouth. “You think that joke is funny every time, but it’s not.”

“It is.” Killian dips his head down and presses a kiss to Elsa’s cheek. “But I fully approve of the skipping work thing, especially when your husband’s lazy ass took the entire week off.”

“He’s supporting his baby brother.”

“Younger, Els. Younger. I don’t need you encouraging that.”

Her bottom lip sticks out. “But it’s so fun to see your ears get all red with embarrassment.”

“Every single thing I’ve ever said about me being glad to have an older sister in you and Anna? Yeah, I’m taking all of those back.”

“You can’t.” She swipes another chip through the dip. “They’ve been said, and I keep them all in my heart right next to where Addy told me that even if she got to choose her mom, she’d still choose me.”

“Classy.”

“I know,” Elsa laughs. “Where’s your better half?”

“She’s working.” Killian pinches his brows together. “So we’re not even going to pretend that I could possibly be the better half?”

“Nope. Just like Liam isn’t the better half either. And don’t make some quip about being equals. Just let me have this. I’m already stress eating chips.” He laughs while reaching forward to drag the bowl away from Elsa so that she can’t eat anymore, but she doesn’t let him, grabbing onto it and pulling it back. “I didn’t say to stop me. World Series week is like the holidays. The calories don’t count until my jeans feel a little snug next week.”

“Ahh,” Killian sighs in understanding. “That’s likely a good thing for how many baked goods I’ve sent your way.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the dugout?” Ariel questions as she steps up to them with her glass of water in her hand. “It’s kind of a big game.”

“It’s also kind of the top of the first inning, and I’m not playing.”

“Excuses.”

“A legitimate one. How’re you holding up, A?”

She waves him away and reaches for the pitcher of water. “I’m fine. Eric is the nervous wreck. I have enough confidence in you guys that I won’t worry until, you know, we’re losing.”

“Only worrying when we’re losing? What kind of method is that? You have to worry all the damn time.”

“That’s how you have a heart attack, and I have not suffered eating healthily and exercising so much to have a heart attack this young.”

“This is where Liam would tell you that it can happen to anyone in any age.”

“Where is Liam?” Killian questions as he looks around the suite for his brother only to have him nowhere to be seen.

“He and David are sitting in David’s regular seats because David was complaining about Mary Margaret and Leo not wanting to use them. I imagine he’ll be up here soon when he realizes how expensive food is to buy.”

“They’re such old men.”

“Says the man who was wearing a sweater while drinking a cup of tea and reading in his apartment last night instead of coming out to dinner with all of us.”

Killian sputters a bit as he narrows his eyes at Ariel. “First of all, there is nothing wrong with doing any of that. Second of all, how could you possibly know that?”

Ariel shrugs, mischief in all of her features. “Emma sent it in the group text.”

Of course she did. A man can’t even relax in his own home without being called out for it.

“Who is in this group text exactly?”

“Oh, just me, Elsa, Anna, and Belle. Don’t worry. Not everyone gets to see the embarrassing pictures of you drooling in your sleep.”

He’s going to kill Emma.

Or get his revenge. Somewhere in between those two.

There’s a loud groan from everyone watching the game, and that’s when Killian is reminded that there’s a game going on. He didn’t know that he could possibly forget, but apparently being teased about how he spends his nights will let him do that. When he sees what’s happening out on the field, though, Killian wishes that he’d been able to completely and totally forget about the game.

There are three men on base for the Dodgers, only one out, and one of their best hitters is up to bat.

Fuck.

This is not a good start.

This is a long game, but bad starts can change the momentum of absolutely everything. It gets in everyone’s head. The losing team is convinced that they’re going to lose, that they can’t come back from this, and the team that’s ahead gets all the belief in the world with their abilities.

Momentum shifts are everything, and it’s not time for the momentum to shift. Not yet.

And yet it does.

Robin throws what Killian knows is a good fastball and Rob’s specialty, but Stewart hits a sharp line drive down past third base that Arthur doesn’t get to. By the time that he does, the Dodgers already have two runs, Stewart is on second, and Ferguson is sliding into home before the ball can get there.

0-3 for the Dodgers eleven minutes in.

Shit.

Now it’s time for Ariel and everyone else to get nervous.

And it never gets better. Not really. There are times and chances and shots that have Killian grabbing onto his hair in frustration, but nothing comes of it. Nothing at all. Every single time there’s a real chance, something happens: the Dodgers have an unbelievable get, someone fumbles when the Yankees should have an easy chance at a double play, or every single person somehow forgets how to hit.

Until they don’t.

Because now it’s the bottom of the ninth, and after an absolutely incredible eighth inning, it’s now 7-9.

They’re only down by two runs.

(Two runs.)

Killian is pacing back and forth in the dugout now exhausting every bit of emotional energy he has left in him. He left the suite the moment that first inning was over, texting Emma and Liam that there’d been a change of plans and he wouldn’t be meeting up with them after all. There was no way that he was going to be anywhere other than with his team when things were going to hell.

Being two runs behind is both nothing and everything.

There have been plenty of times when they’ve come back from a deficit like this. There have been plenty more when they’ve blown a two-run lead. And yet, like fifty-five thousand people in this stadium know, this isn’t any other game. This is The Game, and they’re closing in on the golden hour of chances.

It’s win now or come back tomorrow for one last chance of glory or crushing defeat.

Best of seven means nothing when there’s the possibility of there only being one game left.

“You’re going to exhaust yourself if you don’t sit down,” Robin tells him from his seat behind him on the bench.

Will has just stepped up to home plate, his bat in hand and feet in position, and Killian can’t breathe. His lungs have stopped taking in air.

“How could you possibly be sitting down for this? Is your blood not on fire?”

“I just pitched five innings, mate. My adrenaline high is gonedown. I’m exhausted.”

The ball is launched through the air toward Will, and Killian immediately knows that he shouldn’t take a swing at it.

He does.

Strike one.

“Shit,” Killian murmurs, kicking his foot at a water cup on the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”

“Funny, Fisher, I told your wife the same thing. Aren’t you supposed to be warming up?”

Killian doesn’t even have to look to know that Eric is rolling his eyes. “I’m grabbing my stuff to do just that.” There’s a warm hand on Killian’s back, and he turns to look at it just as a “ball” is called. “Take some deep breaths, man. We’ve got this.”

“Aye,” Killian sighs, “we’ve got this.”

Strike two.

“Shit.”

Ball two.

Ball three.

Foul ball.

Killian’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he opens it up to see Emma’s name.

Emma: They’re having to censor you on television right now.

Emma: Just thought you might want to know that. Literally every time they show the dugout, you’re cursing. Ruby is getting a kick out of it.

Killian moves to text her back, to say something witty in response, but then the wood of Will’s bat is making contact with the ball and it’s flying gone, gone, gone…

Until it’s caught in the outfield.

Out one.

“Fuck.”

They’ve still got a shot. They have to. And as much as Killian hates cheering for Arthur King and hates that he only got a monetary fine for what he said to Emma and about her, he’s exactly who Killian has to cheer for now as Arthur hits a line drive that enables him to get on first base.

That’s progress.

It’s even more progress when Eric hits a triple sending Arthur into home.

8-9.

Holy fuck.

They might do this. They just might.

Killian still can’t breathe, but this is obviously his natural state now. This is how he’s going to have to live out the rest of his life.

Emma: Okay, now I understand all of the cursing. I’m freaking out.

Killian: Me too. We make quite the pair.

Emma: The best pair. It’s all going to be okay, twenty-nine.

He smiles down at his phone, his lungs taking in a bit of air at that.

Killian: It will be. I love you.

Killian: A frankly ridiculous amount.

“Out,” the umpire yells, and Killian immediately rests his head against the dugout railing, his nails digging into the hem of his sweatshirt as sweat drips down his back even with the late October chill whipping through the stadium as the night fully comes into effect, the sun long since gone.

Out two.

“For fuck’s sake,” Al yells, throwing his hat to the ground and slapping his hand against the railing. “Why would you swing at that, Whale? You could have fucking walked, and then we’d have two men on base with one out. That changes everything.”

It’s not Whale’s fault. It’s not. He messed up, sure, but it’s a team effort. Killian doesn’t always believe that when he’s the one pitching. It’s hard to get that out of your head when you’re being yelled at by managers and fans and people online sending death threats, but it’s true. It’s not one person out there even when it feels like it.

Killian’s going to have to remind himself of that tomorrow.

No.

He can’t go there. They’re not going to play tomorrow. Booth is up to bat, and he’ll get Eric home. Then it’ll be tied up, and they’ll have their shot to close this out right here and right now.

Hope bubbles up in Killian’s chest, his throat closing up with excitement and anticipation, and that lack of breathing thing comes back again as his knuckles go white from the strength of his grip on the railing. When he looks to the right, he sees that Robin’s knuckles are just the same.

They might do this.

Roland and Addy have to be screaming their heads off up in the suite. Killian almost wants to text Elsa or Liam to see what’s happening, but his eyes are glued to the field as August swings his bat at the very first ball.

It’s a fucking foul.

Strike one.

“Come on Booth,” Will shouts out, clapping his hands together. “You’ve got it, man. Be smart about it.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s helping, Scarlet.”

“It is, Professor Jones. I’m a great motivational speaker.”

Killian’s lips stretch into a smile, a bit of calm returning, until the ball flies from the mound again, whipping through the air and curving into the strike zone at the last minute.

August doesn’t swing.

Strike two.

The stadium absolutely erupts then, hands clapping together and feet hitting against the floor while thousands of people scream, a mix of cheers and boos for August. If anyone can handle this kind of pressure, can handle the weight of world on his shoulders and the pressure, it’s August.

Pressure is a privilege.

He’s likely not feeling too privileged right now.

And as suddenly as the noise started, it calms down. While there are still people talking and cheering and making all kinds of noise, Killian can’t focus on any of it. All he can focus on is what’s right in front of him.

One. Two. Three.

Foul.

One. Two. Three.

Foul.

Killian’s stomach flips, his entire hand going white, and Will is grabbing onto Killian’s forearm so tightly that he could break the bone there.

One.

Two.

Three.

There’s a thwack of ball against Booth’s back, and it absolutely flies into the air. It’s flying, and Killian nearly jumps out of the dugout to get a better view of where it’s going. It’s got to be a home run. It’s got to be. That’s where it’s headed, and Killian’s arms break out in gooseflesh beneath the thick material of his sweatshirt.

They’re about to win the fucking World Series for the second time in a row.

Holy shit.

But then the ball dips.

It dips, right at the line of the back fence, and the ball is caught.

The. Ball. Is. Caught.

The ball is caught, Booth is out, and the game is over.

And just like the ball, Killian’s mood dips, every high hope crashing down around him and weighing down on his shoulders while his stomach flips before everything heavily settles in its place. This isn’t how today was supposed to end. They were supposed to come back from their bad start. They were supposed to win.

They didn’t, though. They lost, and even though Killian tries to be encouraging to everyone around him as they all finish up their post-game on-field routines, in his head he knows that they’ve only got one more shot at this.

They’ve got one more shot, and a lot of it is resting in the palm of his hands. Killian has been a screw up for this team so many times before, and he doesn’t know if he can do that again.

He can’t let everyone down again.

The mood is subdued in the clubhouse as everyone strips out of their clothes, just a constant murmuring of curses and complaints. Even Al is quiet when he’d usually be fired up yelling at everyone, a combination of disbarring comments and encouragements, and that may be the most shocking part of it all.

Reporters begin to fill the room as well as agents and wives and the occasional child, and Killian sits in his locker with his head between his legs taking several deep breaths to calm himself down. His heart is beating far too quickly. It’s thumping in between his ears, and that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

It’s simply not.

“Hey.”

The voice is soft and very much Emma’s, and Killian looks up to see her softly smiling down at him, Jeff no longer trailing behind her with his camera.

The smile that stretches across his lips is forced and half-assed, and he knows that Emma can tell. She steps in between his knees so that his head rests against her stomach while her hands brush through his sweaty hair. They don’t say anything else, simply stay there together while Killian breathes in the scent of Emma’s perfume on her sweater and shivers run down his spine at her touch.

He is undeniably a fan of every part of her, but being able to simply be, to exist, with her is one of his favorites. There’s nothing quite so soothing as knowing the person you love will always be by your side no matter what happens.

They lost. They did. It’s what happened, and there’s no changing it.

Tomorrow is the last chance.

It all comes down to the last one.

-/-

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