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mirkwoodshewolf · 5 years ago

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You’re still the smartest girl I know; John Deacon x daughter teen reader

*Author’s note*

Hey guys wow my final crunch time at college has kept me REALLY busy with all these final projects that I need to do, so my thanksgiving break is gonna be INSANE with doing all this work that I need to do BUT the good news is is that I had this request done in my downtime that I had, so to the anon who requested this awhile back, I’m SOOO SORRY for getting it to you so late but I hope you love it either way.

I also have updates on a few of my series so I may end up making a post about my writing updates and what all I plan to work on to try and get more organized with all that I have to do. So I’ve got two updates for you guys so I hope you all like this fic.

Warnings: school, mild angst, failing school, FLUFF, Dad!Deacy (cause let’s face it its a warning because he’s FREAKIN ADORABLE!!!) and my unknown knowledge of how Catholic schools work, so if I’m wrong about something, PLEASE send me a comment or an inbox to correct it.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@waddles03

@queendeakyy

@platawnic

@kairosfreddie

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I just don’t get it. My dad graduated with 8 GCE O level and 3 A level in electronics, he’s designed his own amp, and helps with not only the family finances but the band finances too. He’s the smartest guy I know and I share half of his genius, or at least I should.

I needed to sustain at least a 3.50 average to stay in my current Catholic secondary school but with my failing classes I’m barely at a 2.50. It’s not that I don’t try to do the work I do the homework and attend the lectures, it’s just that some of my classes like Geometry and Ancient religions, the teachers make the assignments so confusing.

Even when I would write the papers, they always found something to pick at and I end up with either C’s or even D’s on my papers, even when I would stay up all night skimming through book after book to get the required aspects they ask for. Also their quizzes and exams are so unfair, they would tell us this or that would be on the test, but by the time the test came around, absolutely NONE of the stuff they said would be on it, is on it. Hell they’ve put things down that we haven’t even learned yet.

It was currently Fall break and I spending some time with my family for the holiday trying to get my mind off of school. I was watching over my brothers rough house in the backyard. God they were so lucky they don’t have to deal with the harsh school life just yet.

“So (y/n) how’s school going love?” I heard my mum say. I quickly looked up at her and said quickly.

“School’s fine.” She looked at me skeptically.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yeah mum, everything’s fine.” Then fortunately saved by the bell, the doorbell rang and I immediately shot up and said. “I’ll get it!” I quickly raced to the front door and cracked it open. And there at the door was the mail carrier. He took out of his bag our mail for the day and he said.

“Here’s your mail ma’am.”

“Thanks Gardner, have a good day.” I said. He nodded and walked off the curb and continued down the road with his route. I closed the door and skimmed through the mail. Most of it was bills, some Queen stuff for dad to sign and look over, but then there was a letter from the school sent to me. At this point my heart was racing.

“Who was that?” Oh shit dad. I turned around to see him coming down the stairs holding my baby sister who had probably just woken up from her nap.

“Oh just the mail. Mostly bills this time, but then again what else is new. And there’s some Queen stuff for you to look over dad.” I handed him most of the mail but kept the letter from London University for me.

“Well what’s that?”

“What? Oh this oh it’s just junk mail. Something about 20% interest rate on life insurance from a different company. Damn things are just scams anyway. I’ll shred it dad.” I walked up and kissed his cheek then my baby sister before racing upstairs.

As soon as I reached my room, I closed the door and locked it and leaned against it in a panic. Nervously I opened up the envelope and it read the worst thing I could imagine.

To Miss (Y/n) (M/n) Deacon,

It has come to our attention of your low grades. It is required that your parents come in for a meeting with the Headmaster in regards to your low grades.

At that point my mind went blank as I ignored all that the letter said. Tears formed in my eyes. Goddamnit why did they send this letter? Cause first comes the letter, then the phone calls will follow. I’ve tried so hard to keep my struggles in school away from my parents because I didn’t want them to get involved, that all I needed to do was try better since that’s all teachers seem to push onto me, if not then I’ll make it up in summer school.

I just wanted to prove that I was as smart as my dad is.

So I hide the letter in the folds of my diary knowing that my parents don’t go snooping around it and putting it in the secret place where I know my snoopy brothers can’t get to it (thank god I change places every week) and tried to forget about it. It was then a knock was heard at my door.

“(Y/n)? Poppet is everything okay in there?”

“Uhh—yeah dad everything’s fine.”

“Then why is your door locked?”

“I’m changing clothes dad, I’m meeting Stacy and Courtney for a movie later tonight.” There was a brief moment of silence before he said.

“Alright but at least unlock it. We’ve talked about this before, plus your brothers think girls are gross so I doubt they’d pop in on their sister changing.”

“Okay dad sorry.” Thank god he bought it. I then went over to my phone and tried to make my lie seem real as I called both Stacy and Courtney to meet me at the theater in 15min.

Thankfully since it was the weekend, my parents let me go out later than usual so long as I was back before ten. My dad gave me some money for the tickets and food and we kissed each other goodbye and I drove off to the theater.

I soon met my two best friends and we decided to just walk around the mall instead going to see a movie. It was there I told the girls everything. As they were trying on new stuff from a new store called The Gap, I said to them.

“What am I gonna do girls?”

“Well you know me girl, if I were you I’d just come clean.” Said Courtney.

“Are you crazy?! No way can she tell them about this. Okay chick this is what you do. You answer any calls the school makes and come up with any and every excuse you’ve got.” Stacy said as she peeked over her changing room into Courtney’s.

“Stace, no offense but your parents may buy into that but I’ve met her mum and dad and they aren’t stupid like yours are.”

“Yeah you got a point. Hell I could go to prison for murder and my parents wouldn’t care.”

“Guys hello! Back to me.” I begged.

“Sorry. Well looks like your screwed chickadee.”

“Oh gee thanks Stace.”

“Look (y/n). All I can tell you is that you won’t be able to hide this forever. Just—show them the note and tell them the truth. I’m sure they’ll understand if you explain it to them. And I can back you up about Mr. Crowley. Guy’s a right up arsehole if you ask me. Gave me -20 points because I used the wrong citation for the Bibliography page. And it was only one source that was labeled wrong” Said Courtney.

“Yeah and our Geometry teacher Miss. Ringo, I can barely understand what she’s saying with that thick Dutch accent of hers. Gave me a 30% on our last exam.”

“That’s because all you did was doodle and call her an old bat.” I said bluntly.

“Oh yeah. But oh man you should’ve seen the look on her face on the last homework assignment we had.”

“I don’t even wanna know.” Said Courtney.

“Trust me you don’t.” I vouched.

“Hey come on, let’s forget about school, get you to try on some clothes. We’ll go to the food court and get your mind off of things. Sound good?” Stacy said as she came out wearing a new jean jacket with suspenders underneath. I nodded and said with a smile.

“Thanks guys, you’re the best friends I could ask for.”

“Hey divas in diapers remember? The three musketeers. The triple threat angelz.”

“With a Z because…..”

“We’re bad bitches!” we all exclaimed as we held our right hands out in a fist touching each other’s in a triangle shape. And so that’s how it was, the girls helped me get my mind off of the letter and the stress of school with a good Girl’s day out.

A couple days later I was back in school in my Ancient Religions class. Mr. Crowley of course barely allowed any time for me to fully write down what he had on the board because he immediately went to the next thing. He never once asked if anyone had any questions and if someone stopped him, he’d slam the ruler down on the student’s desk and either ask them to meet him after class, or just give them detention.

“Alright students; I’m going to give you your final assignment for the semester for you to do just before winter break.” Everyone groaned. He had just give us a 10 page paper on how Christianity as a whole effected the Global conquest, and now he’s giving us another essay to do. “Hey, hey, hey, hey! No complaints you miscreants!”

But just before he could continue, the intercom beeped above us.

“Mr. Crowley?”

“Yes?” he said annoyedly.

“Will you please send Miss. Deacon into the office.”

“She’s on her way.”

“Thank you.”

“(Y/n) Deacon.” At that point everyone but Courtney all made the ‘oooo busted’ vocals. I flipped them off as Mr. Crowley made me my hall pass so that I wouldn’t get caught by a teacher patrolling the halls. I grabbed my bag and left the classroom.

I walked down the second floor staircase, down to the main level and turned towards the entrance where the main office was. I walked in and I said.

“I’m (Y/n) Deacon. I was told to come here from Mr. Crowley’s class.” The receptionist said.

“Ahh yes Miss. Deacon. The Headmaster would like to speak with you.” Oh shit. This is probably about that letter. I swallowed nervously and hung my bag further up my shoulder and walked down the corridor towards the Headmaster’s office. It felt like the walkway was getting longer as I walked towards that dreaded office room, that was until finally I arrived at it.

Slowly I reached up and knocked on it. There was a brief period of silence before a low voice said.

“Come in.” I opened the door and there standing at the grand desk was Headmaster Byron. He was a fairly older man (if I had to make a guess I’d say currently around Miami’s age). He was a bit—you now stout shape wise. He was going bald and he wore glasses over his hazel eyes. “Ahh Miss. Deacon please sit down.” I walked in and nervously sat down at the chair in front of me.

“You—wanted to see me sir?”

“Yes. I’ve called you down here regarding a letter I had sent over the fall break. I expected to hear a call from your parents but I hadn’t heard anything back from them. Is there a problem?” Oh god what do I say to him?

“Well I—I guess the mail service was just a little slow. Because we haven’t received the letter just yet.”

“Hmm well that’s unusual. Usually the mail service is properly on time. I mean at least we’re more organized than the American system at least to my knowledge.”

“Yeah guess they must’ve lost it.” I said nervously fiddling with my fingers, anxiously picking at my nails.

“In that case; I can send you with another copy of the letter. But if I don’t hear anything within 24hours expect the first phone call.” I nodded as he handed me the same letter that I had gotten in the mail over the break. I thanked him and quickly headed out of the office. On my way back to class I ripped the letter up into as many pieces as I could before discarding it into the nearest bin and returned to class like nothing happened.

After school I was in my room trying to make sense of the math homework I had to deal with and that’s when a knock was heard at my open door. I looked up and there stood my mum.

“Hey love. So you’re dad’s working late tonight with the band so I’m ordering a pizza for dinner. What would you like on yours?”

“Get me a full cheese and my toppings are sausage and pepperoni.”

“You got it. Doing homework?” I nodded solemnly. “Which class is it for?”

“Geometry.”

“Oh yeah, I remember taking that class. Hardest thing I ever knew. In fact all math was difficult for me. Thank god for your dad though, he was always better at finances than I was. That’s how we met as a matter of fact, I was struggling with my Algebra homework and he offered to help me since we were in the same class together.” Lucky her that she at least had dad to help her, meanwhile I on the other hand had absolutely no one to help me.

Everyone was in it for themselves, not even the teacher was willing to give us tutoring sessions if we didn’t get any of the stuff taught in class. He just expected us to memorize and do everything correctly.

“Say, speaking of geometry did you get the midterm results back yet?” Oh god that’s right. Dad actually skipped out on Queen rehearsals to help tutor me for the upcoming fall midterm exam.

Unfortunately for all that hard work, nothing we had practiced was on the midterm, half the stuff was gibberish to me so I just wrote random answers that I could and I ended up with an F.

“He uhh—he got super busy grading our other stuff that he didn’t have time to look over the midterms. But he said hopefully in the next week or two he’ll get to it.”

“Are you sure?” I nodded and she looked at me skeptically.

“Okay, if you say so. I’ll call you when dinner arrives okay?”

“Sounds good mum. Love you.”

“Love you too.” She kissed the top of my head and left my room. I turned away and tossed my books and homework off my bed and buried my face into my bedsheets and softly began to cry.

Why? Why does this have to happen to me?! Why can’t I just get the damn work? Why do I have to be such a fucking idiot!?!?

Days passed and I still didn’t have the heart to tell my parents that I was failing school. And when the phone started ringing I tried to make an effort to try and answer it before they did, fearing that it was the school.

Some calls it was to which I would make excuses for the school and then tell my mum and dad that it was just boring telemarketers trying to sell us stuff. Other times it’d be Uncle Freddie or uncle Roger calling for Deacy about some Queen business stuff (and of course I chatted with them, I’ve known them ever since I was a baby, plus Freddie was my godfather—or I should say fairy godmother).

But it wasn’t until one day when I came home from an afterschool football game Stacy and Courtney invited me to, that I would pay dearly for the lie that I had been trying to keep.

“Yeah I know and when Bobby finally scored the winning goal I swear it was a one and a million shot he got that!” Stacy exclaimed as we got out of her car and walked up my driveway before stopping at the gate.

“I tell you you’ve got one lucky man right there Stace. Your boy’s gonna go far in football.” Said Courtney.

“All I know is that for the first time in decades our school is finally in the playoffs and that we might have a shot of winning the district championship since 1971.” I said.

“Well we definitely have the best team to get us there. Not to mention the cutest.” Courtney said before snickering towards the end.

“I’ll drink to that.” I said taking a shot of my water.

“(Y/n). Can you come in here please?” I looked up to see my dad standing there by the door. His arms crossed over his chest and I could tell something was wrong.

“Yeah dad I’ll be right there. See you girls Monday then?”

“We’ll save you a seat at the cafeteria before homeroom.” The girls then walked back to the car and they drove off. I opened the gate and trotted up the stairs before standing in front of him.

“Is something wrong dad?”

“Come in the house and let’s talk.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me inside. As we walked through the house towards the kitchen, I could feel the tension in the air. It was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. My mum sat there at the kitchen table looking distraught almost. “Have a seat.” Okay now I was getting a little freaked out.

I sat down and that’s when dad stood behind mum placing his hands on her shoulders.

“(Y/n), has something been going on at school that you’re not telling us?” asked my mum concerned.

“No—why do you ask?”

“Well we caught Robert and Michael reading your diary and—”

“They what!? MICHAEL! ROBERT GET YOUR ARSES DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW YOU LITTLE BUGGERS!!!”

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Language and lower that tone in your voice!” dad snapped at me. “We handled the boys, but it was then we found this.” He took something out of his pocket before unfolding it and placing it down right in front of me on the table. My heart sunk and my throat grew dry.

It was the first letter sent in by my school.

“So we called the school and they said they’ve been trying to get in touch with us. And that you said we didn’t receive any letter the first time around so the Headmaster gave you a second letter.” Mum stated more in an interrogating tone than the concerned tone she had earlier.

“Have you really been failing your classes? And this time don’t. Lie. To us.”

“No!” I exclaimed.

“They said you’re barely holding a 2.50 GPA.”

“Well I—I just….I don’t mean to I-I-I-I….the teachers they’re…..” I kept rambling as I felt tears in my eyes and my throat clenched. “I don’t get why I’m being target.”

“The better question is why did you lie to us!? You’ve known about your grades for what weeks? And you lied to us every time a grade was mentioned! Do you have any idea the level of betrayal you’ve given to me and your mother!?” my dad’s voice slowly raised up in anger.

I tucked away in fear at his intimidating voice. He rarely and I say this with a big emphasis that my dad rarely gets mad, but when he does—oh god help us all. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer him.

“(Y/n) (m/n) Deacon answer me when I’m talking to you!” he snapped. I looked up fearfully and ashamed and I did the only thing that was running through my mind.

Run.

I got up and as quick as I could I raced out of the house and down the street. I fucked up. I know, but at this point it was too late. Just seeing my dad get angry with me, I knew he hated me now.

I ran all the way down the street and turned left and ran towards old widow Johannsson’s back garden. I opened the gate that stood around her AC vent and locked the door so that no one could open it. I leaned against the corner of the gate and just sobbed as hard as I could.

All of my fears and sorrow came out as I wept hysterically and choked on my sobs, that’s when I heard my dad’s voice calling out my name. I held my hand over my mouth to try and keep quiet as his voice got louder and louder. I soon saw him through the cracks in the fence as he looked around. Unfortunately a sniffle just had to come out and soon dad turned towards the fence.

“(Y/n)?”

“Please just go away and let me cry in peace.” I choked out.

“That’s not going to happen, now c’mon open the gate.”

“No you—you already hate me.” He scoffed out a sigh.

“Wha—what makes you think I hate you?” he asked in disbelief.

“You only yell when you hate someone. And now you hate me. You hate me that I lied to you. You hate me for keeping secrets. And you hate me because I’m stupid.”

“Hello? What—what is going on out here?” widow Johansson came out on top of her deck and looked down towards us.

“I’m sorry Valarie but—could you give us a few minutes?” she must’ve looked down and saw me because that’s when she slowly backed off and allowed my dad to talk to me again. “(Y/n), love I—I don’t hate you. Yeah I’m upset because you lied to your mum and I but I could never, ever hate you.”

“But you do dad don’t deny it. I kept this from you and you’ll never forgive me. You’ll never love me again because I’m a stupid bitch who can’t understand anything!”

“First of all you are not a stupid bitch. You are a brilliant, smart, beautiful young girl. And I will always love you no matter what.”

“Stop saying that. Please just go away please…..” I trailed off before pleading out one last time. “Please.” With that I didn’t hear another response from him as I continued to softly weep. I could hear footsteps walking up widow Johansson’s back deck and then the back door closed. I looked up and saw my dad as well as widow Johansson gone. I wiped my tears and just curled myself into a ball.

I don’t know how much time passed but I knew it wasn’t long, maybe 5-7 minutes because the next thing I hear are footsteps walking back down the deck and my dad sitting himself down against the gate. It was then I heard a guitar being strummed before a familiar tune was being played.

It was strange to hear it on guitar instead of an electric piano like it was on the record but the tune was easily recognizable, especially when my dad softly began singing the lyrics. And sure he didn’t have as good a voice as my uncles did but—he still made the song count.

Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had I've been with you such a long time You're my sunshine and I want you to know That my feelings are true I really love you Oh, you're my best friend

While it is true that my dad wrote this song for my mum back when a Night at the Opera came out, he also written it for me as well. Because when he first played it for us, he said he wanted a song dedicated to his favorite girls.

So taking the electric piano he practiced and practiced till he knew how to play the tune and since then the song’s been like a comforting lullaby to me. And he’s played and sung it to me ever since.

Ooh, you make me live Whenever this world is cruel to me I got you to help me forgive Ooh, you make me live now honey Ooh, you make me live

You're the first one When things turn out bad You know I'll never be lonely You're my only one And I love the things I really love the things that you do Oh, you're my best friend

Ooh, you make me live

I'm happy at home You're my best friend

He stopped playing and slightly turned towards me. I wiped away my tears and just like it always did, it made me stop crying.

“Guess I still got it huh?”

“Shut up.” I muttered which made him softly chuckle.

“Can you please open the gate love? Let me see my best friend.” He asked. I slowly scooted towards the gate and slowly reached for the handle. I held onto it for a while and I pulled one side down which caused the other side to lift up. The gate slowly opened and there sitting a few feet away from me was my dad. “There she is.”

I sniffled and wiped away the tearstains but I was still afraid to look him in the eye for more than a second. I felt his hand cup the side of my face wiping away the tears.

“Do you think you can talk to me now?” I nodded. “Okay. Now (y/n) please explain to me why you lied to us about your grades?”

“Because I—I wanted to prove myself.”

“Prove yourself about what?”

“That I could be as smart as you. You’re the smartest man I know and you never seem to get stumped about anything. You graduates college with the highest in your major, you’ve built your own amps from old junk, and you handle both our finances as well as the bands. But—the schoolwork I’m given is so beyond hard. I tried my best dad it’s not that I don’t do the homework because I do. I really do, it’s just that…..”

“Hey, hey poppet. Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” I sniffled and harshly wiped my tears away but my dad stopped me and replaced my thick sleeve with his gentle but calloused fingers. “I know you do the homework. I’ve seen you do it and so has your mum.”

“But the teachers make it so unfair to learn. They say this or that will be on the test but then something we haven’t even learned yet is what ends up as majority of the questions. Or they’re not consistent with what they want on the papers before giving us a bigger paper the next day after the previous one. Dad I—I’m a failure. And I didn’t want you to be ashamed of having a stupid daughter like me.”

“Oh (y/n),” he scooted closer to me and cupped both sides of my face forcing me to look up at him with teary eyes. “I am in no way, nor will I ever be ashamed to have you as my daughter. You’re my first baby girl and I love you soo much. You don’t have to be a genius like me to be my daughter, because you are smart in your own clever way.”

“But I—I’m failing my classes, how can I be smart when I’m failing?”

“You’re still trying, are you not?” I shrugged.

“I guess.”

“Then that proves your smart. Oh my sweet girl I wish you had come to me about this sooner instead of feeling like you had to hide this from me.”

“I’m sorry daddy.” I softly choked out.

“It’s okay love. Now come here, you deserve cuddles and kisses right now.” I immediately fell into his arms and buried myself into his shoulder. He rubbed my back in soothing circles and stroked through my hair. “We’ll get this sorted out okay? But promise me that you’ll never lie to us about school again, okay?”

“I promise…..never again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And they did just that. I showed my parents everything regarding exams, homework and showed just how unfair the work was for me. I showed them my notes and told them what my teachers were really like.

The next day they scheduled a meeting with the headmaster and they talked about how the teachers are treating me and my fellow classmates unfairly with too much work and not unfair teachings of not asking for help.

Now one would think after telling you this I got off scot-free right? Wrong. I was grounded for the same amount of time that I had lied to my parents about school, so that meant over a week and a half of no TV, no after school activities and no phone privileges.

But after getting the teachers fired and currently dealing with substitutes for the rest of the year, whenever dad wasn’t busy with Queen; he made a promise to sit down with me and if there was anything I was stuck on, he’d help me with it. No matter how long it took.

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

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I wanted to tell you I watched an NHL game last week for the first time. Its all down to Blue Line! Hockey playing Killian is too hot. Except that playoff beard...*shudder* (Baseball fan usually so I know the playoff beard. I mean I get it, but theyre so ugly. Lol) If you were serious about ideas for stuff for the Blue Line world, I would adore seeing Emma’s joy when the playoff beard returns to normal Killian/Colin scruff. And her reluctant admission that yes, she hates the playoff beard. Haha.

Ah, this is the nicest anon! Hockey-playing Killian and this whole group of other Rangers has kind of taken over my life. They win a lot more than the real Rangers, but that’s neither here nor there and I’m mostly just bitter that our defense is so awful.

Anyway, I agree completely about the playoff beard. The worst. The woooooorst. So here’s, uh, here’s 4.1K on playoff beards and athletic superstition and Emma’s thoughts on making out with her boyfriend. Set just a few days before the epilogue of Tripping Over the Blue Line. Also, whispers, I’m always down for Blue Line prompts and The PyeongChang Triple updates on Tuesday and Friday at noon.

“It’s just…very long.”

His lips twitched at the announcement, eyes cracking open and Emma tried to hold her ground – something that was easier said than done when they were still in bed and she wasn’t sitting up, just a pretzel of limbs and blankets and pillows and a playoff beard that had, officially, overstayed its welcome.

“I’ve got it on good authority that’s how hair works, Swan,” Killian muttered, arching an eyebrow and that wasn’t playing fair at all. He grinned when she rolled her eyes.

“You’re being difficult on purpose.”“You’re making sweeping comments on hair.”

“Facial hair.”“Is there a difference?”

“I mean, obviously,” Emma grumbled, nearly kicking a blanket off the bed when she flipped onto her side and –– “God, that is just stupid.”

Killian’s eyebrows flew up his forehead, the left joining the right in its apparent quest to make her stomach do several somersaults at whatever time it was, “You’re shouting insults at me now,” he grinned, flipping his head on the pillow and maybe he should get a haircut too.

His hair kept falling into his eyes and, really, Emma didn’t mind that much because his whole face seemed to shift when she’d lean over and brush it away and that did something else to her stomach too, but she could only think so many sentimental things at once and she was on a quest.

A facial hair quest.

She’d come up with a different name eventually.

Maybe after she forced a razor in his hand.

“Swan,” Killian prompted, tapping a finger on her wrist and she nearly jumped out of the bed. “You’re like a live wire. Why are you making proclamations about facial hair?”Emma made a face, scrunching her nose and working a laugh out of him and this was not going according to plan at all.

Four days after making history and finding themselves on Page Six, again, and there was still a goddamn trophy sitting on her kitchen counter, and they hadn’t really done much more than sleep and kiss and not kiss and occasionally eat and Killian kept trying to force her to drink glasses of water because “hydration is important, Swan,” and the smirk whenever he said that was easily the best and worst thing she’d ever seen.

They’d been outside twice.

For the post-victory dinner and brunch at the brownstone before Mr. Vankald drove Elsa and Liam and three painfully adorable children to LaGuardia.

He wouldn’t let them call a car.

It was the single most familial thing Emma had ever seen – and Mrs. Vankald hand wrote her recipe for cinnamon sugar french toast and handed it to Emma before they went back uptown.

She kind of wanted to make cinnamon sugar french toast.

But, now, four days after making history and locking themselves away from the rest of the world, they had another team dinner and a parade to help plan and something needed to be done about the playoff beard.

“It’s overstayed its welcome,” Emma muttered, realizing rather belatedly she’d never actually answered his question. His eyes fell closed when he laughed, shoulders shaking against the mattress when he tried to tug her back against his side.

Emma flopped down, twisting her arm awkwardly underneath her and Killian was still laughing when he looked at her – eyes just a hint brighter than usual and that was almost impressive considering how much hair kept falling into his eyes.

“Should I be offended by that?” Killian asked. “I have been a little preoccupied.”He widened his eyes meaningfully, something that felt a bit like flirting lingering in the air and Emma bit her lip so she didn’t do something stupid like push his shoulders even further into the mattress and hitch her leg over his hip and that was part of the problem to begin with.

“Not offended,” she argued. “Just…it’s really long.”“You’ve mentioned that several times now, love.”“Yeah, well, you keep doing whatever, so it’s really cheating and it seems wrong to tell you that I want you to shave your face.”That smirk was the dumbest thing in the entire world.

And kind of working.

And she didn’t even want to think about how many e-mails were sitting in her inbox. She hoped Merida wasn’t too stressed out. Emma had never planned a parade before.

There were probably eight-hundred forms to fill out.

“Shave my face,” Killian echoed, sounding as if he was just half a second away from another round of laughter and Emma stuck her tongue out. The laughter arrived in full force, bouncing off the walls of her apartment and maybe into the center of her soul or something equally absurd and she was definitely going to make french toast.

“What else would you call it?” Emma asked. “You really can’t show up to dinner looking like you’ve spent the last two months in the mountain.”

His whole body shook with the force of his laughter and Emma was going to do permanent damage to her shoulder if she kept twisting and turning and trying to smack at her boyfriend – her Stanley Cup-winning, distractingly attractive, even when he looked like he was auditioning to be some kind of Bear Grylls stand-in boyfriend.

“God, you are the most frustrating person in the entire world, you know that?” Emma groused, voice muffled when her head landed on his shoulder and Killian hummed before kissing the top of her hair.

“That’s been mentioned a few times, yes,” Killian grinned. He traced his hand across the curve of her spine, brushing in between her shoulder blades and back down and it probably would have been decidedly romantic if Emma didn’t reach up her hand and tug on the end of his beard. “God,” he yelped, eyes flashing towards her, all blue and sharp and Emma couldn’t really shrug, but she tried anyway and maybe her smile was a little cheating. “That was almost aggressive, Swan.”“I have a lot of feelings about this facial hair.”“You seem to have one feeling about its length.”“Because it is mountain-man long. Robert Redford in that movie long. Haven’t seen humans in years long. Very good at foraging for berries long. Should have signed with the Sharks long.”

Killian glared, but it didn’t hold much weight and front office was still talking and Regina hadn’t kicked down the apartment door yet, which either meant it was going well or absolutely horrible and Emma was an absolute idiot.

Superstitious athletes.

“Killian,” she breathed, but he shook his head once and the force of her jaw snapping shut seemed to reverberate down her spine.

“Jeremiah Johnson,” he said. Emma blinked. “The Robert Redford movie you’re looking for is Jeremiah Johnson.

“God, why do you know that?”He smiled, kissing her forehead again and Emma shifted, twisting her legs up with his and the blankets and there really weren’t many clothes between them. She had no idea where her phone even was.

“Swan, you brought it up,” Killian pointed out. “If you’re going to make sweeping generalizations about the state of my facial hair with slightly dated Hollywood references, then you’re not allowed to be surprised that I know what you’re talking about. Those are the rules.”“Those are incredibly detailed rules.”“Call ‘em like I see ‘em.”“Pun or cliché?”“An overused answer in post-game press conferences.”Emma smiled, something fluttering in the pit of her stomach that felt a lot like hopes and wants and they should probably discuss their apartment situation at some point. After the parade. After dinner. Definitely after he shaved his face.

“I have worked in the league for years and I have never once heard a single person use that phrase at any point,” Emma laughed, arching her back when his hand moved again and they were never going to get out of bed. She’d make him shave that goddamn beard in her bedroom if she had to. “It doesn’t even make any sense. That is a baseball pun. At best.”“I thought we decided it wasn’t a pun.”

Killian made a noise in the back of his throat, half a laugh and a bit of a disagreement and someone’s phone rang…somewhere in her apartment. “I really don’t know what we’re talking about at this point,” he said. “Is that your phone or my phone?”“I don’t know. How come you’re worried?”“About?”“Killian!”

“You’re still assuming I know what we’re talking about, Swan. And I think that’s your phone. I’m fairly certain mine is dead.”Emma rolled her eyes, hardly surprised and just a bit charmed and Merida was probably freaking out about permits. “Why are you worried about this? You won a Stanley Cup. You stole a Conn-Smythe.”“Borrowed.”“That implies you were intending to give it back and that would require you to actually leave this apartment. Is that why you haven’t shaved? So the league reps won’t recognize you?”“I have every intention of getting out of this bed at some point today.”“With a razor?”“That question suggests that there is, somewhere, in this bed a razor that I would bring with me when I got out of said bed.”“Oh my God,” Emma groaned, squeezing her eyes closed and Killian chuckled lightly under his breath. Her phone stopped ringing. And started again.

“How many times do you think Merida will call to ask you about the parade before she tells Ruby you’re not answering your phone and Lucas arrives with some sort of battering ram?”Emma laughed, but he probably wasn’t far off the mark and her stomach growled. Loudly. Killian quirked an eyebrow, waiting for a response and pointedly ignoring what he absolutely was not admitting to. “Half a dozen,” she answered. “But I’m not sure if that includes the inevitable text messages and e-mails she’s sent too. And you’re being stupid.”“I’m sorry, what?”“They already told Regina they were going to offer. She’s probably just bartering zeroes.”“I don’t think you barter with contract extensions, Swan.”“And I think you’re refusing to shave because you’re trying to hold onto some kind of Stanley Cup winning magic or whatever.”His eyebrows shifted again, another deflection and Emma tried not to scowl. It didn’t work. “Are you suggesting that we won the Stanley Cup with magic, love?” Killian asked, taking his time on every letter and Emma probably wouldn’t have been able to hear the strain in his voice a few months before.

It felt like it reached out and slapped her.

“De. Flec. Ting,” she said, rapping her knuckles on his chest in between every syllable. He caught her around the wrist as soon as her jaw snapped, tugging her hand up and brushing his lips over her knuckles and it sent a chill down her spine that felt incredibly out of place in the middle of the summer and the start of the offseason and she kind of wanted him to shave just so there was more face to kiss.

She didn’t say that out loud.

“Maybe a little,” Killian admitted, widening his eyes when Emma let out a sound that was vaguely triumphant. “And maybe I really didn’t want to get out of bed when you’ve been in it. Wearing team-branded when you happen to do wear anything.”Emma had a response. She did. She had some sort of flirty, slightly sarcastic retort, could feel it sitting on the tip of her tongue, but then she met his gaze and he looked so….certain. In this and them and how much he wanted to stay in New York and, maybe, stay in bed and her fingers were in his hair before she realized her brain had even decided she wanted them to be there.

She made a noise when he moved her, something between breathless and swooning and eventually she’d tell him that she absolutely, positively did not care about the zeroes or whatever Regina was bartering or anything even remotely related to the inevitable Post story about his contract negotiations, but Emma was far too busy trying to document whatever her whole body did when he canted his hips up.

A live wire.

The beard scratched against her jaw when Killian kissed her, likely leaving red marks in its way when he moved down the side of her neck. She nipped at his collarbone in retaliation and she’d probably think about the sound he made – some kind of strangled, needy, slightly desperate thing – for the rest of her goddamn life.

And if they’d been a mess of limbs and blankets before, it was nothing compared to what they were now – hands moving quickly, like they were trying to stretch the moment out in front of them with their legs twisted together and Killian hissed when Emma’s toes brushed against the side of his ankle.

“You’re feet are freezing,” he mumbled and she could feel the hint of his smile against her skin.

Emma rolled her hips in response, working another groan out of him and the morning was doing dangerous things to her ego and certainty that she could plan a parade in 48-hours. “You’re talking way too much.”He grinned at her, a flash of teeth and want and calling it desire sounded absurd, but she was having a hard time formulating coherent thoughts anyway so that seemed like par for the course.

That was another pun.

Or cliché.

Whatever.

Emma rocked back, trying to find enough space between them to tug the shirt over her head, but Killian’s fingers were back on her wrist and she was fairly certain the look on his face had imprinted itself on several different parts of her brain.

He shook his head deftly, something in his gaze that probably would have led her to come up with another electricity pun if she was still a cognizant human being, but Emma was straddling her boyfriend and he couldn’t shave because he was nervous about the rest of his professional hockey-playing career and all of those things colliding together formed some sort of impossible scenario where they absolutely had sex while she was still wearing team-branded.

And his number.

“You’ve got some sort of name and number thing happening here, don’t you?” Emma asked knowingly and the tips of Killian’s ear’s went red. She brushed her tongue over her teeth, a shock of control shooting through her limbs and it felt a bit like standing in the middle of an inferno or winning a Stanley Cup four days before and she didn’t hear her phone ring again.

Killian shook his head again, shifting against the mattress with a hand heavy on Emma’s hip. She could see the tendons in his neck when she stared at, strained as he tilted his head back into the pillow and his eyes fluttered shut.

Emma smiled. And laughed. “It’s rude to laugh like that, love,” he mumbled, voice gruff and that need was back. They were never going to get out of bed.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Emma countered. She ducked her head, letting her lips trail across his jaw and he probably couldn’t even feel it through the ridiculous amount of beard. “I’m just pointing out observations. Play by play as it were.”He groaned when she carded her fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly over the nape of his neck and there were goosebumps on his skin. She was bordering just on the edge of uncomfortable, body bent in a way that wasn’t doing anything for her thighs, but Emma laughed when Killian’s hand moved again, pushing underneath cotton and a t-shirt that still looked pretty good even after a season of team rules and away games and some kind of historic performance.

There was a deeper meaning in there.

She ignored it.

“You’re the one who said I was talking too much, love,” Killian bit out, flipping them again and grinning when Emma’s hair splayed out underneath her. “Quid pro quo or whatever.”“Ah, you are a font of cliché.”

He opened his mouth to mutter something, but Emma didn’t give him a chance, tugging him back down and she might have sighed when his lips crashed against hers, but that might have been him too and she’d lost track of anything that wasn’t how exceptionally good they were at kissing each other.

She never took the shirt off.

They did, eventually, get out of bed, lingering in each other’s space and Emma was fairly certain her neck would be red for most of the offseason, but there was a mark just under Killian’s collarbone so it felt like they were almost even.

“You want some help?” she asked, voice quiet when they padded into the hallway. She wasn’t wearing any pants.

Killian tilted his head, like he was waiting for some metaphorical rug to be yanked out from underneath him, and Emma tried to smile. “Yeah, ok,” he said, letting his palm rest flat against her back and it was some sort of miracle they didn’t trip over each other on the way into the bathroom.

It was a balancing act of sorts – Emma perched on the edge of the sink with her toes only just skimming the floor and Killian standing in between her legs with a pair of tiny scissors in her hand. She tried to concentrate, but that was a very distinct type of challenge when his thumb was brushing small circles around her knee and Emma was positive she nearly cut off his nose at least four times.

“You don’t have to do anything except snip, Swan,” he muttered and the whole thing felt oddly personal and, somehow, a bit romantic and she’d clearly lost her mind.

Maybe it was because they hadn’t been outside in two days.

“Stop moving,” she grumbled. “You’re freaking me out.”“You know I am capable of shaving myself, love.”Emma hummed, a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, and she nearly stabbed him in the cheek when he smiled. “I’m just trying to make sure this happens. Do we have…whatever here? Are you going to ruin your face doing this?”“Shaving cream?”

She didn’t answer immediately and Emma tried to cut in a straight line, far too aware of the placement of his nose and the quirk of his lips when the scissors got too close. “You know it’s going to be fine, right?” Emma asked, hooking her foot around the back of his knee. He nearly crashed into the cabinet under the sink. “Like…no matter what?”Killian’s eyes flashed, darting up towards Emma and they should really find shaving cream. It felt like the wrong moment to mention that.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I do know that. And there’s shaving cream underneath your left foot because I brought it before the season started.”Emma bit her lip. “Planning ahead, Cap?”“Hoping.”“Unnecessary.”

“Move the scissors so I don’t impale myself while trying to kiss you.”

She did and he did and there was shaving cream on the edge of her shirt by the time Killian ushered her out of the bathroom and told her to put Merida out of her misery.

Emma had sixteen text messages and two very detailed threats from Ruby and she was mumbling instructions to Merida, phone pressed against her ear with her shoulder and Mrs. Vankald’s recipe sitting on her counter, when she heard the quiet whir of an electric razor at the other end of the hall.

It took him nearly forty-five minutes and Emma was in the midst of trying to decide how to separate the team on floats that could only be certain dimensions as dictated by the city of New York and the canyon of heroes when she heard footsteps.

She nearly took out the pan on the stove when she spun around.

And Merida shouted when Emma dropped her phone.

“It’s rude to stare, Swan,” Killian said, arms crossed lightly over his shirt and she couldn’t stop moving her eyes, tracing over the clothes and how well they fit and the distinct lack of any facial hair. He smiled when he took a step forward, bending to grab her phone and she was pleasantly surprised to find her entire arm didn’t explode when he brushed his fingers over her palm.

Merida was still talking.

“Not staring,” Emma said. “Just…” She waved her free hand through the air, sighing when one side of Killian’s mouth tugged up and maybe he should have shaved the eyebrows off too if they were going to keep doing whatever it was they were doing.

Taunting her.

The fucking eyebrows were taunting her.“Certainly feels like staring,” Killian countered, tilting his head and maybe she wouldn’t think about those sounds from before all night. She’d think about his jaw. And the shape of it. And how sharp it looked when it wasn’t covered in playoff beard or perpetual stubble and Emma wasn’t sure she was still breathing.

His cheeks flushed slightly when she didn’t say anything, rocking back on his heels and it wasn’t jarring so much as it was surprising and attractive and Merida was still talking about player distribution.

They should come up with another name for that too.

“Swan,” Killian said, caution in the name and his face and she couldn’t stop staring at his face.

She’d had seen photos at the brownstone – Draft night and college articles and even that one picture of the entire family on the steps of a downtown courthouse, slightly stunned smiles on their faces and there’d been no hint of a beard then, but this was…something else all together.

Killian always had stubble, not quite a beard, but definitely enough that it would drag across her skin in a way that made her toes curl and it always made him seem…him. And now it was like she was seeing his entire face for the first time, looking younger and more open than Emma could remember and her toes curled for a totally different reason.

She wasn’t sure he’d completely shaved since he got into the league.

That felt important. To this and them and each other and maybe she was just as weirdly possessive as he was.

Emma reached up, brushing the tips of her fingers over his jaw and the slant of his cheekbones, mumbling something to Merida when she asked another question. “Your cheekbones are insane,” she said, rolling her eyes when Killian blinked in surprise. The smirk was back. “That’s not what I was planning to say.”“I’ll take it,” he grinned, brushing his lips over her. Merida absolutely heard. “Is she freaking out?”“Kind of. You want to share a float with Scarlet? He’s got to film all this stuff anyway and we’ve got to put your face everywhere.”“My face specifically?”“Yeah.”“Huh.”“Fishing for compliments.”“Eh, you were staring, Swan,” Killian said and her breath hitched when he pulled her flush against his chest, nuzzling his nose into her hair. The french toast was going to burn. “And I don’t care about float positioning or distribution or however seriously Scarlet is taking his filming duties. Whatever you need, love.”“That seems fairly wide sweeping.”“It does.”

Merida shouted something that sounded like I don’t need to be here for this and we can figure this out later, boss and Emma barely heard her when Killian tugged the phone from her hand and they had to make more french toast.

Robin and Will both laughed at the distinct lack of facial hair later that night, collapsing against the side of the bar in the restaurant with hands around their middles and tears in their eyes and they only stopped when they noticed the look on Emma’s face.

Killian wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head and didn’t flinch when Roland leapt towards him shouting Hook, look at your face like he was a totally different person.

There were probably comments on the SubReddit – discussion and discord about Cap’s lack of beard and what it meant or could mean, but Emma spent most of the night kissing everywhere she could and she was, absolutely, done worrying about the internet.

She was fairly certain Mary Margaret looked close to tears several times.

And, two days later, on a float in downtown Manhattan, when the scruff was back and the zeroes were certain and the future was set, Emma kept kissing everywhere she could, trying to promise and ensure and she was fairly positive it worked when Killian muttered I love you, Swan in her ear.

She didn’t take the team-branded off.

#cs ff #anon #laura rambles #blue line one shots #captain swan #always down for prompts #about this stupid hockey team #and how much i hate playoff beards

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