#(& you even gave me an excuse to put this unpublished bit out there!! how kind 🥺)

[sunkensubtext]

hello it's 12:23PM and I've been awake since yesterday but I just finished penchant and I wanted to let you know that your writing has been living in a corner of my mind rent free for several weeks now. your blend of comedy and emotional impact is superb and I never thought I would enjoy a piece of writing about a trip to ohio so much. apologies if this is approaching incoherence and thank you for your service goodnight

AAAA this is so kind (and completely coherent, no worries!! Lmao)

I'm so happy to hear you're enjoying my fics so far!!! I never expected anyone to really like a piece about a trip to Ohio either, to be honest, & I'm thrilled to know people are still actively reading it 😭🥺💞

(My one regret is that I missed the opportunity to have Aizawa experience eating at a Waffle House for the first time. I feel like it would have been an out of body experience for the poor dude.)

ANYWAY, this ask absolutely made my day!! As a thanks, here's a snippet from the end of the original 'getting together' scene that didn't actually make it into Ledges because I had gotten stuck and decided to rewrite it entirely.

& this was originally, too, when I had planned to bump the rating to an E, but then I decided to make it soft instead of horny. Part of me is still torn on whether or not that was the right decision for these knuckleheads, but that's just how it goes~

//

Shouta stares for a moment, eyes sweeping over Hizashi's face a few times, pupils still blown. He's speechless, Hizashi realizes, and he can't help the slight smirk that makes its way onto his face.

"Shut up," Shouta mumbles, hand coming up from where it was hanging loosely at his side to cup the back of Hizashi's neck, drawing him into another kiss. It's slow this time, much less desperate than before, and Hizashi hums contentedly, bringing a hand up to touch Shouta's face. He grins at the feeling of faint stubble he against his fingers. Shouta pulls back too soon, eyes still closed, the ghost of a smile lighting up his features.

Hizashi thinks that Shouta here, a smile on his face and standing as a dark contrast to the wildflower backdrop of the suite is probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He has the urge to tell him so, to let loose and tell Shouta everything he's ever stifled, to wax poetic about him until his voice gives out, but Shouta speaks first.

"I think," he breathes, and Hizashi feels the words against his lips, "that we should have done this a long time ago."

"And I think," Hizashi quips, smirking, "that we've got more than enough time to make up for it, if that's the route you'd like to take."

Hearing the startled breath that Shouta hisses out through his nose is well worth the brief absence of his mouth on Hizashi's, he thinks; but then suddenly they're kissing again and Hizashi's torn at which is more satisfying.

But of course, of course, a loud knock at the door tears him violently out of his thoughts and crashing back into reality.

Shouta blinks, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, and huffs in displeasure.

"We can ignore it," Hizashi offers, pressing his mouth against the side of Shouta's exposed neck. Shouta hums contemplatively, tilting his head to the side to give Hizashi better access.

"She has a key," he replies. "She'll just come in anyway."

"Not if we barricade the door." Hizashi laughs against his throat. "Better yet, not if she hears the noises I'm about to wrench out of you."

"You're the worst," Shouta mutters, and Hizashi can't tell if he sounds more amused or exasperated. He seems to genuinely think about it for a second, though, and Hizashi laughs again when he sees him glance over at a heavy oak bookcase slotted against the wall.

"Alright, alright," Hizashi snickers, stepping away and putting his hands up in mock surrender. "Building a functional barricade would be a bit of a mood killer anyway, all things considered."

He's lying. He knows it, Shouta probably knows it, and the bookcase definitely knows it.

"I'll tell you what, though," he continues. "Because I like you so much, I'll handle answering the door. You just hang out over here and keep looking...exactly like that, actually. If you could."

He punctuates the statement with an overexaggerated wink. Shouta rolls his eyes, but he's betrayed by the way the corner of his mouth twitches upward at the admission. He quickly shakes some of his hair into his face to hide the expression, an old quirk that Hizashi isn't even sure he's aware of, and Hizashi allows himself to stare fondly for another few moments before the third knock comes and breaks him from his trance.

:)

[drabbles-mc]

Date Night

Angel Reyes x F!Reader

Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: I wrote this fic when my boyfriend and I were on a big Warzone kick so be warned that a majority of this story uses that as the base of it haha. This one-shot got away from me pretty quickly, and I’ve been super hesitant to post it (it’s literally been sitting in my ‘finished’ folder for months without me posting it because ~anxiety~) But I figured it’s not doing any good sitting unpublished. I know I haven’t really been creating a whole lot of Mayans content lately, but hoping to get back into the swing of it soon! xo

Join my group-chat here: (X)

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You were sat on the couch in your apartment, headset on as you started another round of Warzone with Angel, EZ, and Coco. The four of you tried to band together at least twice a week when their lives would allow for it, all playing from your respective apartments. Coco heard you mention something off-hand about Call of Duty one night and he didn’t let it go, and somehow that evolved into the four of you running quads together in your free time. Coco and Angel were always getting intermittently suspended from the game for the things that they said when they were winning, and you and EZ found it endlessly entertaining.

“Thought you weren’t going to be on tonight, Y/N,” Angel commented as the two of you waited for EZ and Coco to get back to their headsets, each of them having gotten up to grab drinks.

You tried not to sigh, “Didn’t think I was. Plans got cancelled so I got some unexpected free time.”

“Glad we’re your second choice,” EZ’s voice founds its way over the stream with a chuckle.

“Second place ain’t that bad, EZ,” you laughed, “Don’t bitch about it.”

“Homeboy bailed again, didn’t he?” Angel asked, already fairly certain of the answer.

“Yuup,” you stretched the word out, letting your annoyance shine through, “Fuck it. Doesn’t matter,” you paused, “How long does it take for Coco to grab a fuckin’ beer?”

“Ay, I’m here,” he spoke up, finally, “Let’s run it.”

Considering the fact that the four of you were constantly talking amongst yourselves about things that had nothing to do with the game, you did pretty well as a team. You’d get a few wins together every week, and of course one of them was always trying to take all the credit. It didn’t matter enough for you to get involved, so you let them argue it out amongst themselves.

“Fuck!” Coco groaned, “Team on me. I’m down.”

You laughed, “Damn, hope you’re a better sniper in real life or Angel and EZ are screwed.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he shot back at you with a laugh.

“EZ how do you always end up in a completely different part of the map?” you chuckled, “We can’t revive you if we don’t know where the fuck you are.”

“When have I ever needed you guys to revive me?”

“This motherfucker,” Angel mumbled under his breath, trying not to sound as amused as he was.

“It doesn’t bother your man that you’re spending your night with three dudes who are, objectively, way better than he is?” Angel asked with a laugh as he trailed you in the game.

You shook your head, glad that he couldn’t see the smile on your face, “Your humility never ceases to amaze me, Angel.”

“Didn’t answer the question, Y/N,” EZ piped up.

“You guys trying to hold an intervention right now or something? Fuck,” you laughed.

“You think you need one, querida?” Angel’s tone was baiting, and you were trying not to feed into it.

Luckily, before he could keep pressing you about it, the two of you started getting lit up by another team in the game. Normally it would’ve been frustrating but you were glad to have the distraction. It was bad enough that Angel was always looking for any excuse to give you grief about your boyfriend, but you had to admit that your boyfriend gave Angel decent amounts of metaphorical ammo to use against him. You hated conceding to that, though, so the onslaught of players coming after you was a welcome distraction.

You managed to get out of it unscathed, but Angel wasn’t so lucky. You chuckled, “Have fun in the gulag, sucker.”

“We’re on the same team, you know,” he laughed.

“Not when you’re talking all that shit, we aren’t.”

“You’d still buy me back though, right?”

You scoffed, “Nah if I’m gonna drop four grand it’ll be on Coco.”

“Damn straight,” Coco’s laugh rang through the chat.

“Seriously where the fuck is EZ?” you shook your head as you sprinted across the map.

“Safe and sound unlike you fools,” he chuckled.

“Can you stop camping and come drop me some ammo?” you couldn’t hold your laughter in, completely undoing any work you had been putting in to sound annoyed.

Despite all the shit the four of you talked, you managed to clutch a win at the end of it with EZ and Coco. Angel was pouting over not being bought back, but you were a woman of your word and when you were able to Coco was the first player you brought back into the game. The four of you stayed on for a little bit in the lobby, just talking amongst yourselves before EZ and Coco got ready to sign off.

“Tell your man we said wassup,” Coco snickered.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, “Goodbye, Coco.”

“You two gonna play nice if I leave?” the smugness in EZ’s voice was palpable.

“No promises,” you laugh.

“Beat it, Boy Scout,” you could hear the smile in Angel’s voice, “Go clean your one set of silverware or something.”

“I have at least three sets now, but fine,” with one last laugh he left the lobby, leaving just you and Angel behind.

“Wanna run another one?” you chuckled, “Promise I’ll buy you back this time.”

“Fuckin’ liar,” he laughed, “But fine.”

It was silent between the two of you for a few minutes and it was almost eerie, solely because Angel was notorious for never keeping his mouth shut. A couple times you wanted to point it out, but something in the game would always distract you and you never quite got around to it.

“Boy Wonder still not home?” Angel asked.

“Something tells me that I’m flying solo tonight,” you paused, letting a half-hearted laugh fall from your lips, “Besides you, of course.”

“Of course,” he chuckled but you could tell that there was something more behind it.

“Whatchu thinking, Angelito? Hm?” you tried to coax it out of him.

“What kind of fuckin’ idiot,” he paused as he reloaded his gun, the brief pause making your stomach knot slightly, “doesn’t use dead silence? I hear your heavy feet from miles away, querida.”

You huff, knowing that he was deflecting, “That’s what’s weighing on you, Angel? Really?” your fingers nervously drummed against the back of your controller.

“Speaking of idiots,” he continued, and you wished that you could see his face, “what the fuck is your man doing ditching you again?”

There it is.

You let out a sigh that shifts into a hollow laugh, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Never thought to ask?”

You scoff, “You know, it actually never crossed my mind. Blowing my whole world wide open tonight.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, “Clearly a touchy topic.”

“I don’t even know if I want the fucking answer, at this point,” you shake your head as the two of you slowly but surely make your way towards the safe zone of the map, “I don’t want another bullshit excuse.”

“Why do you even bother sticking around, then?”

“I dunno,” you chuckle quietly, “Why do you still pick up the AK when you could grab the M13? Sometimes people just do dumb shit.”

“I’m nasty with the AK and you know it,” he laughed. There were a few beats of silence as the two of you battled it out in the game, covering each other before Angel continued, “I’m just sayin’, you should not be spending your date night playing fuckin’ Warzone with me.”

“My company that bad, Angel?”

“You know that ain’t what this is about.”

You sighed, “I know. It’s just—fuck!” you laughed and let your controller drop into your lap, “I’m down. Fuck.”

“C’mon, gotta keep your head in the game,” he laughed.

“You don’t get to grill me on my relationship and then give me shit for being distracted.”

“Wanna back out?”

You nodded before you remembered that he couldn’t see you, “Uh, yea sure. I’m tapped out for the night, I think.”

Both of you backed out of the match but you stayed on the line with each other. The silence that filled the space between you almost felt heavy. Part of you felt like you should be saying something but you didn’t quite know what.

“Wanna come over?” you didn’t know what possessed you to say that, especially given how late it was, but it was out there now and you couldn’t take it back.

“Now?” he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t surprised.

“I mean…yea?”

There was a pause before he laughed, “Fuck it, why not? I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Real fifteen, or Angel fifteen?”

You could easily picture him shaking his head at you, “Real fifteen.”

True to his word, fifteen minutes later you heard a knock at your door. You let him in and for some reason, things felt just a little bit different. It wasn’t anything that either of you said or did, but there was definitely a shift. You grabbed a couple beers for each of you before plopping down on the couch next to him.

The two of you got wrapped up in conversation, bantering back and forth about one thing then another. It was the hardest that you’d laughed in a long time and you had to admit that you needed it. Not that you didn’t love shooting back and forth with him and the guys, but there was definitely something different about sitting on the couch together and joking around as opposed to doing it over a headset from your separate living rooms.

At one point he bet you that you couldn’t win a round without your headset on. You were fairly certain that he was right, but once he made a bet out of it you needed to prove him wrong. Loading the game and taking a long drink from your next beer bottle, you got ready to hopefully make yourself twenty bucks richer.

It was about as futile as you’d assumed it would be, but the commentary from Angel made the repeated defeats worth it. The two of you were shoulder to shoulder on the couch, Angel doing everything except reaching over and snatching the controller from you in an attempt to throw you off. You playfully nudged him to try and put some distance between you as you played. Both of you were erupting with laughter when you heard a key turn in the lock of your door.

Both of you paused and looked over as your boyfriend walked in. Despite the fact that neither you nor Angel were doing anything wrong, you still felt like you were supposed to be explaining yourself. He only looked at you for a moment before his eyes locked onto Angel’s. The two of them had only met briefly on a few occasions—he never really hung out with the guys from the MC.

“Sorry. Didn’t know you had company,” he was still looking at Angel rather than you.

“Uh, yea,” you closed out of the game and leaned back on the couch, “Kind of a last-minute thing.”

“If you’re busy, I can leave,” his eyes darted back and forth between you and Angel.

“She shoulda been busy a few fuckin’ hours ago, bro,” Angel spoke up before he could stop himself.

“What?” his tone had more bite to it than you were used to.

“Angel, don’t,” you kept your voice quiet.

“No, let him say what he’s gotta say,” you could tell by the way your boyfriend shifted his weight that he was going to turn this into more than it needed to be.

“I’m just saying,” Angel shook his head slightly, “Me and my boys have spent more time with your girl on your date nights than you have lately,” he sucked his teeth, “No reason that she should be stuck playing fuckin’ Warzone with us jokers when you’re supposed to be taking her to dinner and a movie or some shit.”

“Fuck,” you whispered as you ran your hands down your face.

He stepped forward towards the couch, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Angel stood up off the sofa, effectively dwarfing your boyfriend without even having to try, “Who the fuck are you?”

Your boyfriend looked over to you, “Y/N, why do you le—”

“Nah, nah,” Angel shook his head, “This is between us now,” he motioned back and forth between them, “Say what you gotta say.”

“What gives you the right to come in here and tell me what to do with my relationship? Don’t you got biker shit you should be doing?”

“What do you think I’m doin’ right now?” there was a cocky smirk on Angel’s face as he spoke and you knew that you shouldn’t have found it as amusing as you did.

You must’ve been worse at hiding your amusement than you thought, because when your boyfriend looked over at you, anger instantly took over his features, “This shit funny to you, Y/N?”

All of the care in you disappeared, “I mean,” you sighed and shrugged, “honestly? A little bit.”

He scoffed, “You know what? I don’t fucking need this,” he shook his head, “I’m not gonna stay here and just be disrespected. I’m fucking, I’m done. I’m out.”

You knew that you should’ve felt something, but you just didn’t. You didn’t even bother to get up off the couch, “Leave your key on the way out, then.”

Both he and Angel looked at you with surprised expressions on their faces. Your boyfriend shook his head slightly in disbelief, “Wh-what?”

“If you’re done,” you leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, “then leave your key to my place. I don’t want my ex to be able to get into my place whenever he wants.”

He sputtered a few fractions of words before tossing the key onto the table and turning to head out. He slammed the door behind him and Angel looked back to you, shock written all over his face. A smile crept across his lips and he shook his head at you.

“That was fuckin’ cold.”

You chuckled, shrugging, “Was a long time coming though, right?”

“I mean, yea, but still,” he paused, really looking at you, “You good?”

You nodded, “Right now? Yea. Maybe it’ll hit me tomorrow or something. Or maybe it won’t,” you had to laugh.

“Sorry I kinda brought this on,” you could tell by the look in his eyes that the apology was genuine.

You shrugged, “You and your big fuckin’ mouth certainly didn’t help,” you chuckled, “But none of that was on you.”

“You wanna talk abou—"

“No,” you cut him off with a shake of your head, “C’mon,” you motioned for him to sit down next to you again, “Time for you to lose without a headset on.”

He laughed as he sat next to you, “I ain’t gonna lose.”

You smiled, shaking your head as he took the controller in his hands. Without thinking much of it, you found yourself settling against his side. He froze up for a moment before reaching around you, lightly wrapping you up as he held the controller in his hands. Neither of you said anything about it for a few minutes while he got himself set up.

You chuckled as you watched him loot for weapons, “Still gonna use the goddamn AK?”

“The gun isn’t what’s gonna make me lose, querida,” he chuckled as he chanced a glance down at you cozied up against his side.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you smiled up at him knowingly.

He chuckled, shaking his head, “Nothin’, nothin’.”

[diamo-chan]

A bit of lore and backstory

(snippet of the ninth chapter of my unfinished unpublished fanfic in the classical trope of “let me put as much info as possible compressed into a tiny dialogue”)

not beta-read/ written on a tired mind/ english is not my native language/ my list of excuses goes on and on...

Word count: 1.7k

It was at times like these when Pheebe noticed that she was way too emotional to do her job the way it should be done. Binding her hair back into a loose ponytail she threw an exhausted glare at the blonde aristocrat who barely lifted his eyes from the book he was currently reading. A if they did not just have a war council, as if death itself was not waiting just around the gates.

“Vlad this is serious. If we want to survive this we have to work together, we have to talk like normal people.”

He turned the page, uninterested. ‘What the fuck was so important, he had to read it now?!’

“I will survive this, I’ve been through worse. And you are just food to us. A blood bag to satisfy Ivan’s needs. Why should I treat you, like you are anything special?”

Pheebe wanted to scream and flee the room. Hadn’t Vladimir disagreed to listen to her plan, they would already be all on their way to a safe place. But no, instead he was clinging to this mansion. They had more important things to take care of. And for once, she knew that Beliath would agree.

This is not about me. It is about Mary. About Ethan. Both are on the edge of death and you talk about waiting and planning”

He turns another page. But she saw the hand that held the book upright tighten against the Bordeaux hardcover. He took a deep breath to maintain his poise, before speaking with the certainty of a head of house, no room for discussion: “Ethan will manage, and if your friend doesn’t make it we can still share her blood, drain her before the battle. But we will not run into a confrontation unprepared!”

The last drop broke the barrel. How dares he even suggest using Mary in such a gruesome way? How dares he put organization above life. And at once, the words poured out before she could stop them. “I cannot understand how you can live with yourself, let alone how other people can live with you. You only care about yourself, don’t you? You don’t give a damn about the suffering of others”.

A reaction. He looked up. There was shock in his eyes, as well as a tiny warning of the storm that was rioting in his thoughts. Through tiny slits and gritted teeth he growled at her.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be immortal. Have you ever watched everyone you care about die, with nothing that you could do to stop it? You know nothing of pain and suffering!” His voice became louder and louder until, at the end, he was screaming in rage, at such a volume that Pheebe was sure, even Ivan in his room two floors above them, could hear every single word. She did not fear his anger, and he was powerless to lift his hand against her. At last, she got what she wanted and he was no longer as emotional as a stone. But he would not guilt trip her with a sad back-story or the typical “I-am-a-poor-misunderstood-immortal”-farce. Eyes hard, she brought her face closer to the blond man’s, who backed away in irritation.

“Do you know what it feels like to drive a knife through the heart of the person you love?”

At first he was taken aback by the question. Then a condescending smirk appeared on his face “Oh, yes, go on. Tell me the story of the vampire that fell in love with a hunter and gets staked down in return.”

Patience! She told herself. Think of him as a child that questions the whole world. “He was sick. Do you know what bloodlust does to a vampire?” His discomfort became more and more apparent. His eyes danced over her face on the search for some kind of weakness. She felt the threatening waves that he tried to sent off, but once again she thanked Miss Ginaldi’s team for her training. Not many Vampires have encountered bloodlust and survived it. None of the ones that Pheebe had known, at least. ”Incurable, it turns him into a feral beast, with no recognition of anything but blood.”

“How do you know that it was bloodlust? Maybe He attacked you because he just found out what you are and-“

“Because I was there when he caught it. I was there when he fought it.”, every word was pressed out with anger and frustration about Vlad’s stubbornness. About his way of denying anything he didn’t want to see or hear. “He always hoped that maybe it would go away. And he trusted me to step in if it didn’t. Because he knew who I was from the very beginning, or rather, who I was supposed to be.”

“That’s what vampires get for trusting a hunter.” Voice cold, face empty.

His expression remained calm and neutral, there was not one muscle that gave a sign of consideration, no empathy left for her words and it made her fume. Pheebe had tears brimming on her lashes, so short of falling to his ignorance. But her anger was without cause. Vlad could not have known, there was nothing he knew about her but her name and the fact, that she did not like him.

“I wasn’t a hunter back then. I was just…” she searched for a suitable word, an attempt to justify the unjustifiable, “an employee who wanted to help maintain peace.” But then her emotions dropped as pictures flashed in her memory, vivid as if she was at that place once again. Laughs, smiles, congratulations. Hands ruffling through her hair and telling her that it was time she grew up to the expectations.  So much positivity over a lost life. “You cannot imagine how proud my family was when they found us, when they saw what I have done. I don’t even know why I had that dagger with me in the first place. I swore to never touch these damned murder instruments!”

They were both breathing hard with keeping this discussion on a verbal level. The need to shake the pale boy was stagnant in Pheebes chest. Meanwhile Vlad has stood up to put his book back into the shelf, as it was apparent he would not be reading in peace with the hysterical girl in the library. Eyeing her from bottom to top his voice turned almost soothingly intrigued: “A Vampire willingly associated with someone who was connected to the circle?”

The facepalm was only mental. Of cause Vladimir would not know how the circle worked. For most of the vampire population it would remain a secret for all of their drawn-out lifetime. Meanwhile, for others, well…

“There were many vampires who worked with or for us, some voluntarily, some not.“ To sum up the whole picture Pheebe went for both extremes: “some came to council meetings, others were chained up and starving in the basement… With all those doors that my parents opened for me, to proudly present my new future, with that blood on my hands I could no longer play friends with your kind. I started my training so I can bring hope to those who don’t deem themselves worthy of it. I have saved almost fourty vampires, and it was never necessary to shed even a drop of blood for them to cooperate. Maybe they felt that I was a little like them, damned from the depth of my blood. A curse that already shows on my hands.”

Once it was pronounced the black eyes of the vampire scanned her arms to hind her hands unexpectedly bare. There were soft lines that faded on their way towards her elbow, as if drawn up with coal, fingerpainted with ashes of burned purity and hopes.

“Is that why you wear gloves?”

Pheebe nodded. “They are so I can touch my weapons. The vampire blood in my system keeps rejecting contact with the cursed materials. But it is also what keeps me immune to hypnosis and manipulation.” This was what made this discussion so hard for Vlad. She had seen the way he talked to the humen at Nikita’s party, and felt that he instantly surrounds them with his commanding aura to get his points across more easily. But talking to her was like talking to  the other house members. Futile, if she was as closed off to his point of view, as he was to her.

“Where did you get blood from our kind?” There was a little bit of disgust in his expression. But who would blame him, for not finding the aspect of being drained of your life essence, so someone else had it easier, appealing. He had never lived on that side of the food chain after all.

Suddenly she felt like a walking tome of hunter knowledge to Vladimir’s eyes. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, with morbid interest. Just how much was he allowed to know? Or rather how long would he survive to pass that knowledge on?: “It was an integral part of my training to regularly get vampire blood and venom injected, so it does not cause  turning if I die in battle or cause hallucinations when I am bitten.”

His eyebrow rose. “The effects of vampire blood in the human system are dangerous. You never know what it might cause”

Something rang in her memory as he said that sentence. She must have heard it somewhere. Or read it in a book. There were not many objectively useful tomes about vampire blood, the only ones are lost, stolen from the hunter association’s library, written during experiments and updated regularly. The last ones who were working on the manuscript were Monsieur and Madame Martine-Blanc, or so it was told.

“You know…There were two hunters who are kind of a legend in the circles, scientist, who were obsessed by the idea that the cure to any disease could lie in the blood of the elder vampires. My instructor, Doctor Ginaldi told me about them. One night they just disappeared, and took half of the inventory with them. After searching for their whereabouts for 3 month, they gave up.” And with a tiny laugh that was only encouraged by the uneasiness on the blond vampire face, she added:” And now, twenty years later, I read their names on a doorbell in the middle of fucking nowhere. Crazy, isn’t it?”

[wellhellotragic]

Oh Captain, My Captain (1/2)

So I was going though my google docs and found this little ditty from the first time Colin played in a charity soccer match.... It’s just been sitting in my docs for over a year now unpublished

Six weeks had passed since Emma’s name had been thrown into list of mandatory volunteers to play a charity game for the local soccer club. In an effort to boost rating for the aging show, Regina, the producer, had contacted the head of the club, pitching the idea. Their team would be composed of veteran crew members from “Enchanted,” a fairy tale show based on Disney characters, as well as some of the professional team players. Regina had also struck a deal with Robin, the producer of “The Jolly Roger.”  It was a show that also filmed in Vancouver, and played on a rival network on the same night and time slot. Every Sunday night, the two shows battled for viewership numbers, and each week, Emma’s show was coming up shorter and shorter.

It wasn’t uncommon for a show of it’s age. After six years many of the actors had declined to renew their contracts, and a slew of new kids were coming in. Twitter had been up in arms about how the show should have ended its run during the last season, and if anything, this next season was nothing more than a money milking spin off. Fans were still kind during the conventions, but there was an current of resentment and nervousness running just below the surface.

The Jolly Roger, or the Rolly Joger as Emma and David had dubbed it during a drunk night of binging so they could make fun of it, had only been on the air for two years. It had actually been one of the first shows announced for a season pickup, much to the chagrin of everyone on Enchanted, who weren’t notified until right before the network upfronts. It was pandering, plain and simple. Real pirates had scurvy and potbellies, waxed mustaches and bad perms. Their teeth were black and rotted. They didn’t look like fucking Killian Jones, with blue eyes that launched into your very soul, or raven hair that rivaled a Greek God. No, the show was crap, and so was Jones’ portrayal of Captain Hook.

She hated that man with the very essence of her being. True, she’d never met him personally, but she’d heard things, sometimes in vivid detail. He’d managed to romance more than any man’s fair share of the extras that bounced from show to show in the city, and had even caused a skirmish or two on set when two of his conquests had found out about each other.

Luckily she’d been able to avoid him during the past two weeks of practices and scrimmages. His team practiced earlier in the mornings than hers, and she’d hid out in the team’s clubhouse until she saw him leave the field for the parking lot. David hadn’t shared her proclivity for hiding and had actually talk to the man on their second practice. Somehow the interaction had led to some friendly trash talking and before she knew it, Regina had them all filming mini spots to release as promotion for the game. Everyone seemed to be taking the entire thing in stride, and it irked Emma. Didn’t they understand that they were the enemy?!

The line was drawn when the other show’s cast members starting responding. Or more specifically, when Killian Jones responded to her. Ruby had Killian’s retort pulled up, playing it for David and Henry 2.0, as he’d been lovingly dubbed. Emma had walked onto set far too early that morning after a late night of filming, and she heard a voice ask him who he thought his biggest competition was. She’d hardly registered any of it, still severely under caffeinated, until she heard a lilting voice say her name, forcing her to look at Ruby’s cell phone.

“Uh, I’d hafta say Emma Swan. She seems like a pretty feisty lass, and I’m quite eager to see if I can score on her, or even if she might be able to perform a header.”

The most infuriating part had been the way his eyebrows wiggled as he said it. No, the most infuriating part was that it was now out there, on repeat. It was war.

Over the next three weeks, Emma gave her everything to practice. There was such an intensity to her resolve that she’d started staying late, practicing one-on-one with Graham Humbert, the star of the Whitecaps Soccer Team. He taught her how to read the other players’ looks so she’d know the plays they were about to make, and before long she and Graham had their own silent conversations, making them an unstoppable force.

When Emma arrived at the stadium the morning of the match, it was near chaos. Fans were lining the entrance trying to get autographs and pictures with all of the actors and team players. She signed a few pictures, but when she really started looking around, she noticed that most of the fans were younger women, all decked out in t-shirts donning Killian’s name on them. Some of the shirts even had a ‘C’ for captain slapped on the sleeve. She’d had to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she heard the screams and cheering pick up.

She looked back to find the man of the hour approaching the crowd with a sharpie marker already in his hand. She tried to duck out, but between the crowds and security, she was boxed in, and Killian stood between her and the entrance. She motioned to move past him, but as she did he caught her arm and leaned into her.

“Emma Swan. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

There was something in his facial expression that set her on edge, cocky bravado that he probably used when speaking to every woman. She gave him a forced smile, but when he winked at her, she’d had enough and pushed past him, making sure that her shoulder caught him on the way.

“Ah, a preview of what’s to come? Oh, Emma,” he shouted, causing her to stop and turn around to face him. “Don’t be afraid to, ya know, really get into it.”

His eyebrows wiggled again, the way they had in the video, and Emma had to force herself not to punch him. Instead, she made her way into the stadium, where David and Graham were waiting for her. Together the three of them headed for the locker room. Normally, it was one large open area, but as the charity match was co-ed, a curtain had been drawn down the middle to grant privacy.

They changed quickly, only taking time to put on their pads once they had regrouped on the sidelines. After the rest of the team and actors had joined them, Graham called out the roster, telling each person who their equivalent position on the opposing team was. As team captain, Graham was matched up with Keith Nottingham, David with Mary Margaret, a pint sized woman who played a tavern owner on Killian’s show. The rest of the list went on, but Emma zoned out until she heard her own name called, followed by the last person in the world she wanted to be attached to for the rest of the day. Killian Jones.

She pleaded with Graham to change the lineup, but he told her that it wasn’t his decision and that his hands were tied. Apparently Regina had made the suggestion that the two leads should be teamed up knowing that it would gather more attention. Internally cursing herself, she took the field for the first play. She had Graham had devised a plan. It was simple really. She was to going to start, play the first half, and be done until the last fifteen minutes of the game - just enough playtime to appease Regina - , but it seemed Killian had other ideas as he refused to be taken out of the game, which meant that Emma was stuck in as well.

She was in shape - at least in good enough shape for all of the physical stuff she needed to do for filming - but soccer was a whole different beast. The running never ended, and by half time, Emma was certain that her lungs were going to explode. It didn’t help that Killian had spent most of the time throwing out innuendoes like the goalie threw out blocks.

Graham had run as much interference as possible for her, but Killian had been unphased, all too happy to being playing the game with men he’d come to idolize. He was in his element, and if Emma hadn’t been too keen on hating him, she might have found it endearing how he blushed when receiving a compliment from one of the professional players. She might have noticed how nimble he was as he slid to kick the ball, or how glorious his bum was as he stretched out on the sidelines. But she didn’t notice any of that. Definitely not.

What she did notice was the very naked fan that had leapt out onto the field running straight for the penalty area near the end of the second half. Killian on the other hand, had only had eyes for the ball, as the man that would eventually become dubbed as the ‘Whitecap Wanker’ (pun intended) nearly collided with him, in what surely would have been an ankle-breaking incident. Without thinking, Emma bolted for Killian, wrapped her arms around him, and pushed him backwards to save him. They both tumbled to the ground, causing Killian to land squarely on top of her.

The wind had been knocked out of her, she was sure of it. That had to have been the reason she was breathless. It certainly couldn’t have had anything to do with him lying across her, or the way his blue eyes bored into her soul. The way those same eyes briefly fell to her lips before snapping back up to her own eyes.

The moment was ruined though when Will Scarlet sauntered over, reminding them that this was a family friendly charity match and they should go get a room. Something shifted and the blue of Killian’s eyes darkened just a bit as he stood and offered his hand out the help her up. She took it reluctantly, but once she was up, instead of releasing her, he pulled her further forward, so that her chest was pressed into his. His lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“It’s about bloody time, but I can think of much more pleasurable things to do with a woman on her back.”

She hoped he didn’t notice the small shiver that ran up her spine.

“I was just trying to keep you from getting slapped in the face with streaker junk.”

“Well, that’s a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but next time don’t stand on ceremony.”

She pushed back, schooling her face into something closer to determination.

“Trust me, Jones, you have a better shot of scoring a goal than you have scoring with me.”

They had been so enraptured with each other that they hadn’t even noticed that the game had started back up. Not until Emma heard Graham calling her name and she saw the ball whizzing straight at her. Taking a moment to look back as Killian, she noticed he was still transfixed on her. His jaw nearly pulsated.

Graham called her again and she snapped out of the bubble she and Killian had created for themselves. Stepping around him Emma found the ball and kicked it with all of her might. It flew through the air and sailed straight into the net. The game-winning goal.

The celebration had been lively. Her team had been ecstatic about her goal in the last three seconds. The team popped champagne and danced around her, chanting their captain’s name. Eventually the party dispersed and Emma was left alone in the locker room with Graham, who was smiling at her sweetly.

“You were marvelous out there, Emma.”

She felt the blush crawling up her neck.

“Thanks, but I think the credit really goes to you and all of that extra practice time you put in with me.”

He took a step forward.

“Trust me, it was my pleasure. Spending time with you wasn’t exactly a hardship.”

She had to overt her eyes. He was dancing around dangerous territory. Emma didn’t date, plain and simple. She’d been screwed over often enough to realize that relationships just weren't worth the pain they inevitably brought.

“Graham-”

“Wait. Emma, I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks with you, and to be honest, I’m not really ready for it all to end. Would it be too forward of me to ask you out to dinner?”

She took a deep breath, trying to stifle the panic she felt clawing it’s way out of her. He really was a sweet guy, and she didn’t want to hurt him, but it was too much.

“Graham.” His face fell, already knowing what she was going to say. “My schedule is so erratic right now, and filming just started a few weeks ago.”

“It’s okay, Emma. I understand.” He clasped her hand squeezed it. “But you have my number if you change your mind.”

She nodded and he released her hands before turning away, pausing only long enough to grab his bag, before exiting the locker room. The breath that she’d been holding slipped out and she finally let herself relax. Every muscle in her body had been so tense that now her legs felt they might buckle under her, and the champagne had left a sticky residue on her jersey and skin.

All she could think about was how much she wanted a hot shower. Looking around, noticing the empty locker room, she considered her options. Ya, she could wait until she got home, but that was thirty minutes away in traffic, or, she could sneak into on of the empty stalls in the locker room. Everyone was gone, and she’d just be in and out. Taking one more look, calling out to ensure that she was in fact alone, Emma headed through the rows of now empty cubicles that had housed uniforms earlier that day. The shower wasn’t anything like she had expected. In high school, there had been separate stalls, blocked off by curtains to protect everyone's modesty. In college, she’d avoided sports all together, so she’d never had to worry about it.

Standing in the Whitecaps shower though, there were no barriers. Just one large room with rows of shower heads peeking out from the wall. It was almost enough to make her change her mind, but the thought of getting in her car with her sticky clothes gave her the push to stay. After all, everyone had already left.

Finding an available clothing hook on the opposite side of the room, Emma slowly began to peel her jersey off. The dried up sweat and alcohol had stiffened it, causing it to stick as she tried to pulled it over her ponytail. It took a fair bit of fighting to dislodge herself from the offending garment, and she nearly gave up, but when a voice called out, the shock had her wrenching it off to cover her front side.

“Oh, love. There’s no need to stop on my account.”

“Shit!”

Of course it was him.

“Well, Swan. You bested me.”

“Like there was ever a question.”

“Don’t be so dismissive Swan. I can count the number of people who’ve beat me on one hand.”

He held up his right hand, flourishing it for effect. She should have been pissed that he was there. She was pissed, but she was also thinking about how his long fingers would feel inside her. Something about their match, their constant drive for dominance over each other on the field had awoken something in her.

Fuck. She wanted him.