summary: soonami studios forces you and keys mckey into a shared apartment as a temporary housing arrangement. at first, it's just surviving each other - the arguments, the competition, the constant tension of being around someone who gets under your skin too easily. but the longer it goes on, the harder it becomes to ignore how naturally your lives start folding into each other. and once someone becomes part of your everyday life, losing them starts feeling a lot more dangerous.
warnings: forced proximity, workplace rivalry, profanity, tension, mutual annoyance, emotionally unavailable behavior, reader and keys being incapable of communicating normally, housing instability, mild flirting if you squint, sarcasm, workplace chaos
You got there twenty minutes early, which apparently was a mistake since no other intern was. The lobby of Soonami Studios is busy in a way that doesn’t include you. People move through it like they already belong here, badges tapping against glass doors, conversations picking up mid-sentence, steps that don’t slow down or second-guess. You stand just inside the entrance for a second too long, adjusting your bag on your shoulder like you’re waiting for someone to tell you what to do next. You could’ve shown up exactly on time. You could’ve waited outside, walked in with everyone else, blended into something that already existed instead of standing here like you’re trying to figure out where you fit in it.
You let out a quiet breath through your nose, pushing yourself forward before you can overthink it again. It’s your first day, you’re supposed to be here. That has to count for something.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, you try to ignore it but you can’t. You already know what it is. Same apartment listing site, same problem. Same prices that don’t work no matter how many times you look at them. You scroll once, twice, like there’s going to be something new, something reasonable, something that doesn’t give you a headache.
The cubicle they give you is smaller than you expected. Not bad, just like it was set up for someone passing through, not someone staying. A desk, a chair that rolls too easily, a divider that barely reaches above eye level when you sit. There’s a desktop waiting to be logged into and a pen left behind in the corner. You set your bag down slowly, taking a second to look at it.
You sink into the chair, adjusting it slightly as it rolls back an inch more than you meant it to. Around you, people are already working—typing, talking, moving like they’ve done this a hundred times before. You try not to stare, try not to look like you’re taking everything in too fast. You’ll get used to it, eventually. Out of nowhere, you heard a masculine voice say your name. You look up quickly, your manager Parker stands just outside your cubicle, one hand resting lightly against the divider. He looks exactly how he did during your interview. Calm, put together, like nothing here ever really goes wrong.
“Hi—yeah,” you say, straightening a little. “Hi.”
“Welcome,” he says easily. “Settling in okay?”
“Yeah,” you answer, a little too fast. “I mean—Yes. I’m good.”
He nods like he expected that. “Come on,” he says after a second, gesturing down the aisle. “I’ll walk you through things.”
You grab your badge off the desk and stand, falling into step beside him. The office feels different when you’re actually moving through it, less like something you’re watching and more like something you’re part of, even if you’re still figuring out where you fit in.
“UI/UX is over here,” he says, motioning toward a section filled with dual monitors and half-finished layouts pulled up on screens. “You’ll be working with them primarily. Interface design, user flow, making sure things feel intuitive for the player.”
You nod. “Okay.”
“You’ll be collaborating with the dev team a lot,” he adds. “What you design, they build. So there’s a lot of back and forth.”
He slows slightly as you pass another area. “Deadlines can get tight, but don’t get stuck on something longer than you need to. Ask questions.”
“Got it.”
“You’ve got a good portfolio,” he continues, glancing back at you briefly. “We’re expecting you to contribute, not just observe.”
“Okay,” you say, quieter. “I will.”
“I did see your email,” he adds, almost casually.
Your stomach tightens. “Yeah,” you say, trying to keep it light. “I just—sorry, I didn’t mean to make it a whole thing. I just needed to figure something out with housing.”
“It’s fine,” he says. “You’re not the only one.”
You blink. “Oh.”
“I’ve got someone else in a similar situation,” he continues. “Out-of-town, nothing lined up yet.”
A small bit of tension eases in your chest. “Okay,” you say. “That’s… good.”
“We don’t usually handle housing for interns,” he adds, “but I took another look at your resume.” That catches you off guard. “And theirs,” he says.
You glance at him.
“You’re both strong,” he continues. “Stronger than most we get at this level. So I figured it was worth trying to make something work.”
You don’t say anything, just nod, letting him keep going.
“We had a unit open up nearby,” he says. “Two-bedroom. Walking distance from here. It’s not official—more of a temporary solution. A favor, really. You’d each have your own room, just sharing the space.”
“If you’re both comfortable with it,” he finishes.
You hesitate for a second, already knowing there’s a catch. “Who’s the other intern?” you ask.
You try not to think too hard about what kind of person they are. Whether they’re awkward or quiet or messy or the type to leave dishes in the sink for days. Whether they snore. Whether they’ll talk too much. Whether this is going to turn into one of those horror stories people tell later to make themselves laugh. You barely even know where you’re sleeping next week and somehow now you’re about to discuss living with a complete stranger.
Your manager doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. He keeps talking as he walks, pointing out sections of the office you pass like this is still part of the tour. “Most intern teams stay pretty collaborative,” he says casually. “Especially in your department. We try to avoid keeping people boxed into one thing too early.”
You nod, though you’re only half listening now. Your brain’s somewhere else entirely. The office door comes into view at the end of the hallway. Your manager reaches for the handle without hesitation.
“Like I said,” he says, glancing back at you briefly, “this is completely up to you both. If either of you are uncomfortable, we can try to figure something else out.”
That somehow makes you more nervous.
Your manager, Parker, opened the door and there was a guy sitting down in the office already. For a second, all you really register is that he looks just as out of place as you feel. His hair falls messily over his forehead like he’s pushed his hands through it too many times to care anymore, and there’s a pair of thin-framed glasses resting low enough on his nose that he keeps looking over them instead of through them. Sleeves pushed up slightly at the wrists, one leg bouncing faintly under the chair, fingers tapping once against the side of his coffee cup before going still again. Defined jaw, soft mouth, eyes that look like they’re constantly focused on something five steps ahead of everyone else in the room. He doesn’t smile when you walk in, but there’s still something almost amused sitting underneath his expression, like he’s already making observations he’s not saying out loud.
The worst part is that he looks like he belongs here.
He glances up the second the door opens, eyes flicking toward you first, then your manager.
“Perfect,” your manager says easily, stepping past both of you and toward his desk. “Now everyone’s here.”
The guy sets his coffee down slowly, straightening just slightly in his chair. Up close, he looks a little tired. Not exhausted exactly, just the kind of tired that comes from staring at screens too long.
Your manager gestures between the two of you, he said your name then, “This is Walter Keys McKey.”
The guy lifts a hand slightly in acknowledgment before leaning back again.“Please don’t call me Walter,” he says immediately.
You blink once, catching you off guard. Parker snorts quietly like he’s heard that sentence a hundred times before.“He goes by Keys,” Parker explains.
“Yeah,” Keys mutters.
Parker gestures toward you then. “And this,” he says, looking back at Keys, “is the other intern I was telling you about.”
Keys’ eyes flick toward you again.
“She’ll be working on interface and visual systems mostly,” Parker continues casually. “Strong portfolio. Fast learner. Probably one of the better applications we got this cycle.”
Keys raises his eyebrows slightly at that before looking back at you again.
“She’s also apparently homeless,” Parker adds bluntly.
“Parker,” you say instantly.
“What?” he asks innocently. “You literally said that in your email.”
Keys snorts quietly into his coffee cup before trying to hide it behind another sip. Your eyes narrow immediately.
“Oh, good,” you mutter. “Love that this is my introduction.”
“To be fair,” Keys says finally, setting his coffee back down, “mine wasn’t much better.”
Parker points toward him immediately. “Yeah. He wrote me a three paragraph email about how he couldn’t afford rent without selling a kidney.”
Keys shrugs slightly. “The market’s bad right now.”
You let out a laugh before you can stop yourself.
Keys glances toward you almost immediately afterward.
Parker moves around behind his desk then, completely unaware of the weird shift in energy happening across the room. “Anyway,” he says while shuffling through papers, “you two actually have a lot in common professionally.”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” Keys says casually.
You look at him immediately, he doesn’t even look apologetic.
Parker ignores that completely. “Both of you scored ridiculously high during application review. Similar strengths too. Problem solving, adaptability, creativity—”
“Competitive,” Keys adds dryly.
Parker points at him once. “Very competitive.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. “Is that supposed to be a warning?”
“A little,” Parker admits.
Keys leans back farther in his chair. “I just don’t love working with people who slow projects down.”
Your eyebrows lift immediately, “That sounds like something someone says right before becoming unbearable in a group setting.”
Keys looks toward you calmly. “I usually end up being right.”
“Oh, so you’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“The kind of guy who thinks being condescending counts as a personality trait.”
Parker physically closes his eyes for a second like a man already developing a migraine.
Keys tilts his head slightly toward you. “You formed that opinion in under thirty seconds?”
“You made it easy.”
“That’s impressive,” he says flatly. “Usually people wait at least a week before deciding they hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” you reply instantly.
Keys raises his eyebrows slightly.
You pause.
“…yet.”
That finally gets a real reaction out of him. Some amusement at least.
Parker clears his throat loudly before the conversation can spiral farther. “Okay,” he says carefully, “before the two of you start fist fighting in my office—”
“She started it,” Keys says immediately.
Your jaw drops. “Oh my god.”
Parker points between both of you. “This is exactly why I hesitated before bringing up the shared apartment.”
“The shared apartment?” Keys repeats slowly.
Parker nods once before leaning back in his chair. “Like I said earlier, the company owns a furnished two bedroom apartment nearby. Since both of you emailed about housing issues…” He gestures vaguely between you. “I thought this might help.”
Keys leans forward first. “No offense,” he says while looking directly at you now, “but this feels like a terrible idea.”
You blink at him. “Oh, none taken. I was literally thinking the same thing.”
“Great.”
“Fantastic.”
You glance sideways before you can stop yourself. Keys is already looking at the manager, jaw resting lightly against his knuckles, expression unreadable.
“We had a two-bedroom unit open nearby,” your manager continues. “Walking distance from the office. Furnished. Temporary.”
“You’d each have your own room,” he says. “Shared common space. That’s it.” Then your manager adds, “There’s one other thing.”
You don’t know why that immediately feels ominous.
“You’re both on the same placement track.”
Your brows knit slightly. “Meaning..?”
“It means,” he says calmly, “that while your departments differ slightly, you’ll both be working under the same branch of development.”
Beside you, Keys sits up a little straighter. Parker keeps going, he points at you. “Your focus is UI and player experience. Keys, yours is systems implementation and backend integration. Your work will overlap constantly.”
“At the end of the internship,” he says, “there will be one full-time position available.”
You actually thought you heard him wrong for a second. “One?” you repeat.
“One,” he confirms.
You glance over slowly, Keys is already looking at you. Like the second your manager said one position, something clicked into place for him.
Competition.
“We’re not expecting hostility,” Parker says lightly, almost amused. “You’ll still be collaborating on projects. But yes, technically speaking, you’re competing for the same role.”
You barely know this person, and now you’re apparently supposed to live with him and compete against him at the same time.
“So,” Keys says finally, leaning back slightly again, “best-case scenario, we either become coworkers…” His eyes flick toward you briefly. “…or one of us gets unemployed.”
Parker laughs. “You’ll both survive,” he says easily.
You glance at Keys again, just for a second this time, trying to get a read on him. He doesn’t exactly look thrilled about any of this, but he also doesn’t look like he’s backing out. Which probably means you aren’t either.
You look back toward Parker. “How far is the apartment?”
“Five-minute walk.”
You exhale slowly through your nose, staring down at your hands for a second before nodding once. “Okay.”
Beside you, Keys is quiet for another second longer. “…yeah,” he says. “Okay.”
Your manager nods, satisfied. “Good. I’ll have the keys waiting for you with Kenzie the receptionist downstairs after work.”
Neither of you say anything for a second after that. The conversation feels oddly finished, like the room itself already moved on before you did. Parker reaches for something on his desk. A folder, another email, some other problem waiting for him and it becomes very clear that to him, this arrangement is simple. Meanwhile, you’re sitting there trying to process the fact that less than twenty minutes into your first day, you somehow agreed to live with a stranger competing against you for the same position.
Parker glances between you both one last time. “You’ll get your project assignments by the end of the day. For now, just settle in. Meet your teams. Try not to stress yourselves out too much.”
You nod anyway, adjusting your grip on your folder before standing. Besides you, Keys does the same, slower somehow, like he’s still mentally catching up to the conversation. For a second, the two of you just awkwardly stand there. Then Parker’s already looking back down at his computer.
You glance toward the door first and Keys notices immediately, standing back just enough to let you walk out ahead of him. “Thanks,” you mutter automatically as you pass him.
“Yeah.”
The door shuts softly behind you, cutting off Parker’s office from the rest of the building again. For a second, neither of you moves. People pass through the hallway around you, keyboards clicking faintly from nearby cubicles, conversations carrying from somewhere down the hall, but the silence between you feels separate from all of it.
You shift your folder against your chest. “So…”
Keys looks over at you.
“This is weird, right?” you ask.
The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, almost like he wasn’t expecting you to say that first. “A little.”
“A little?”
“You could’ve said no.”
“So could you.”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “But unlike you, I enjoy not couch surfing.”
You stare at him for half a second. “…you’re annoying already.”
“Good to know.”
You start walking before the conversation can stall out again, hearing his footsteps fall into pace beside yours a second later. The elevator at the end of the hall dings open just as you reach it, and the two of you step inside together. The silence comes back immediately. You press the button for your floor, then lean back lightly against the wall, staring ahead while the doors slide shut. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Keys adjusting the sleeves of his black button-up before shoving his hands into his pockets.
The elevator hums quietly as it moves.
“So,” you say eventually, mostly because the silence is starting to feel intentional now. “Backend systems?”
He glances over. “UI?”
You nod once.
“Hm.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“You said it like it meant something.”
“It didn’t.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. “God, help me.”
“You seem like you redesign things that already work.”
Your eyebrows lift immediately. “You haven’t even seen my work.”
“I saw your portfolio.”
That catches you off guard. “You looked at my portfolio?”
“You were sitting right next to me in Parker’s office while he talked about it for five minutes,” he says flatly. “Kind of hard to avoid.”
You fold your arms loosely. “And?”
“And it’s very…” He pauses just long enough to make it irritating. “…pretty.”
You let out a short laugh. “Wow. You really are a developer.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you think functionality matters more than design.”
“It does.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It literally does.”
You shake your head immediately. “See? Annoying.”
“And you sound expensive.”
“What does that even mean?”
The elevator dings before he can answer. The doors slide open. Keys steps out first this time, glancing back briefly when he realizes you’re still staring at him. “…you coming?” he asks.
You blink once, then step out after him. The hallway outside the elevator is quieter than the rest of the office, lined with dark carpet and glass windows that look out over the city below. Keys slows just enough for you to walk beside him again, though it doesn’t feel intentional.
“So?” you say after a second. “You’re just not gonna explain that?”
He presses the button to another hallway door with his badge. “Explain what?”
“You saying I sound expensive.”
“I said you sound expensive, not that you are.”
“That somehow made it worse.”
Keys pushes the door open, holding it there just long enough for you to walk through first. “You talk like the type of person who’d spend six hours picking a font.”
You let out a short laugh. “Okay, first of all, fonts matter.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“They literally affect readability.”
“They literally don’t.”
You stop walking long enough to stare at him. “You’re one of those people who thinks default settings are acceptable, aren’t you?”
“I think if something already works, you don’t need to redesign it every five minutes.”
“That’s because you people think functionality is enough.”
“You people?”
“Yes. Developers.”
Keys glances over at you, finally looking slightly entertained. “You’ve known me for, what, twenty minutes?”
“And I already have you figured out.”
“That’s impressive,” he says dryly. “Wrong. But impressive.”
The two of you round another corner, and you’re suddenly very aware of how strange this entire situation actually is. You met him less than half an hour ago. You still barely know anything about him besides the fact that he’s sarcastic, works in backend systems, and apparently enjoys arguing just to argue.
“So what’s your deal?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
Keys glances over. “My deal?”
“Yeah. Like… where are you from?”
“Oh.” He adjusts the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder. “Seattle.”
You nod once. “Okay. That explains a lot.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You look like you haven’t seen sunlight in years.”
He deadpans immediately. “Good one.”
“Thank you.”
“And where are you from?”
You glance over at him briefly. “California.”
“Yeah. That tracks.”
You reach the row of cubicles again, slowing near yours while Keys continues walking another few steps toward his side of the office. He glances back when he realizes you stopped.
“Well,” you say, adjusting your bag higher onto your shoulder, “I should probably see if I can actually get some work done.”
Keys nods once. “Probably a good idea.”
“Yeah.” You gesture vaguely toward him. “Some of us didn’t move across the country just to stand around arguing with men who look like they correct grammar for fun.”
His eyebrows lift slightly. “I don’t correct grammar.”
“Not out loud, maybe.” You point toward your cubicle. “Anyway, I have better things to do.”
“Like what?”
You glance at your still-unopened computer. “…wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Okay well, good luck with that,” he says.
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Was that condescending?”
“A little.”
“Wow. We really are off to a great start.”
“Could be worse.”
You scoff softly. “Don’t jinx it.”
Then, before he can say something else irritating, you turn and head back toward your cubicle. Even from behind you, you can practically feel him watching you for a second longer than necessary. The office around you buzzes softly with overlapping conversations, keyboards clicking, phones ringing somewhere farther down the hall. A few people glance your way curiously before going back to their screens. You barely sit down before another voice cuts in from beside you.
“Okay,” a girl says quietly, leaning against the divider between cubicles, “what was that?”
You look up immediately.
The girl leaning against your cubicle wall smiles first. Soft features, long dirty blonde hair falling over one shoulder, oversized cardigan hanging off her arm. She looks approachable immediately. The kind of person who probably knows everybody’s business without being weird about it.
Beside her, the other girl has sharp small eyeliner, round blue light tinted glasses, rosey cheeks, and the kind of expression that says she’s already decided this situation is entertaining. Lanyard clipped to her jeans, rings covering half her fingers, one brow raised like she’s actively waiting for drama to unfold.
“Okay,” the second girl says immediately, “what the hell was that?”
You blink. “What was what?”
“The weird heated enemy thing you just had going on with Keys,” she says.
Becca groans instantly beside her. “Eve.”
“What?” Eve defends. “You saw it too.”
“I met him like twenty minutes ago,” you say.
“That’s somehow worse,” Eve says immediately.
Becca laughs softly before holding her hand out toward you. “I’m Becca, by the way.”
“And I’m Eve,” the other girl says.
“Unfortunately.” Becca rolls her eyes playfully.
Eve points at her. “See? This is what I deal with all day.”
“You literally create ninety percent of your own problems.”
“And the other ten percent are caused by engineering.”
Your eyes flick automatically toward the other side of the office again, landing on Keys. He’s leaned back in his chair now, one hand resting against his mouth while he squints at something on his monitor. Glasses slipping lower on his nose again while he types one-handed like he’s already irritated with whatever he’s working on. Then, like he can physically feel you looking at him, his eyes flick up. Straight toward you, causing you to look away.
“…and that one specifically,” Eve adds.
You let out a quiet breath through your nose. “Please tell me he’s not always like that.”
Eve snorts. “Girl, we met him today too.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” Becca says with a laugh. “You’re not alone. Parker introduced him to us this morning and within five minutes Eve already called him emotionally unavailable.”
“Because he is,” Eve defends instantly.
Across the room, Keys shifts in his chair slightly, still typing.
“He hasn’t even been here a full day,” you point out.
“And yet somehow he already acts like he’s correcting everyone’s code personally,” Eve says.
“That’s because he probably is,” Becca mutters.
You glance over again before you can stop yourself. You narrow your eyes at him automatically before turning back around.
Eve follows your line of sight for a second before shrugging slightly.
“I mean,” she says casually, “he’s annoying, but unfortunately he is cute.”
Becca snorts softly into her coffee. “Very unfortunately.”
You blink once. “…him?”
Eve looks at you like that’s the most obvious thing she’s ever heard. “Yes, him.”
You physically grimace. “No.”
“Girl, be serious.”
“He looks like he’d explain cryptocurrency at a party.”
“That doesn’t cancel out the face,” Eve argues.
Becca nods slightly. “The glasses situation is helping him a lot.”
You glance over again against your better judgment. Keys pushes his glasses farther up his nose absentmindedly while staring at his screen.
“No,” you repeat firmly.
Eve grins. “Oh, so you’ve thought about it enough to disagree passionately.”
“I hate both of you already.”
“That’s fine,” Becca says easily. “We’re still right.”
Before you can defend yourself again, one of the office phones rings sharply somewhere behind you.
Becca immediately groans. “Oh no.”
Eve points at her. “Don’t make that face. You answer it.”
“You answer it.”
Finally, Becca reaches across your desk and hits the speaker button dramatically.
“Design department,” she says.
“Hi,” a voice says immediately. “Quick question. Why are none of you answering? I called like fifteen times.”
Eve snorts instantly. “Morning, Emi.”
“Unfortunately,” the voice replies. “And unless somebody wants Parker seeing the homepage mockups before I fix them, I need you and Eve in conference room B like… immediately.”
Becca sighs. “Can I at least finish my coffee first?”
“No, suffer.”
Eve leans closer to the speaker. “You’re literally a manager.”
“And yet somehow none of you respect me.”
“That sounds earned,” Eve says.
“Okay wow. Hostile work environment.” There’s a pause before Emilie continues casually, “Also whichever bitch just left comments calling my formatting ‘complicated’ is officially my enemy and I need them gone.”
Becca slowly turns her head toward the engineering side of the office. “…Keys,” she says carefully.
“The new guy?” Emilie says immediately. “Oh, absolutely not. He’s been here like twelve minutes.”
You glance across the room automatically. Keys is still sitting there typing like his life depends on it, completely unaware he’s currently being talked about over speakerphone.
Eve narrows her eyes. “I knew I didn’t trust him.”
“You called him cute like thirty seconds ago,” Becca reminds her.
“Cute people can still be deeply irritating.”
“Unfortunately true,” Emilie agrees through the speaker.
You laugh quietly before you can stop yourself.
“Wait,” Emilie says immediately. “Who was that?”
You freeze.
“The new intern,” Eve says.
“Oh my god,” Emilie replies instantly. “Hi. I’m so sorry you got placed with us. It’s genuinely chaos over here.”
“That’s becoming very clear.”
“Perfect. You’ll fit right in.” You can practically hear her grin through the phone. “Anyway, conference room. Now. Before I get fired for threatening engineers emotionally.”
Becca hangs up finally while shaking her head.
You stare at the phone for another second. “…I think I’m gonna like her.”
Eve grabs her coffee immediately. “Yeah. Everyone does.”
One: nobody at Soonami Studios explains anything fully the first time.
Two: every single system requires a different password and somehow all of them have different rules.
Three: Eve treats workplace drama like live entertainment.
Four: Becca has already saved your life twice and it’s only been a few hours.
And five: Keys is somehow everywhere.
Every time you look up, he’s somewhere nearby. Leaning against someone’s desk while talking about some code, walking through the office with coffee in his hand, typing so fast it sounds aggressive from three cubicles away. I mean fuck, it’s his first day too. He’s acting like he already owns the damn place.
The onboarding files Parker sent over are still open in front of you, except now they’re joined by three tabs you didn’t mean to click on and an error message you definitely don’t understand. You click through the window again, with the same error still popping up.
“…okay,” you mutter under your breath. “Cool.”
Your eyes flick briefly across the office before you can stop yourself. Keys is sitting at his desk a few rows down, glasses low on his nose while he stares at one of his monitors with an expression that somehow looks annoyed and focused at the same time. One hand’s moving absently against his keyboard while the other rests against his mouth.
You’d honestly probably rather die than ask for his help. So instead, you spend another five minutes trying to fix it yourself.
You let your head fall back against your chair for a second, staring at the ceiling before finally muttering, “Oh my god.”
“Problem?”
Your eyes snap open, Keys is standing beside your cubicle.
You straighten immediately. “No.”
He glances toward your screen, then back at you. “…right.”
“I have it handled.”
“You’ve clicked the same thing six times.”
Heat rises into your face instantly. “Why are you watching me?”
“You sigh really loud when you’re frustrated.”
You stare at him. “That’s weird information to have.”
Keys shrugs lightly. “You’re not subtle.”
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Did you come over here just to insult me?”
“No.” His attention shifts toward your monitor again. “Move.”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
“You broke the login loop somehow.”
“I did not break it.”
“You definitely broke it.”
“I literally clicked what it told me to click.”
“Yeah,” he says flatly. “That was your first mistake.”
You scoff softly but shift your chair back anyway, mostly because now you want to prove he’s wrong. Keys leans down slightly beside you, one hand resting against the edge of your desk while he uses the mouse with the other. Up close, he smells faintly like coffee and something clean you can’t place immediately.
“You skipped a verification step,” he says after a second.
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I literally followed the instructions.”
“Yeah, and Soonami’s instructions are terrible.”
You watch quietly while he fixes something buried under three different menus you never would’ve found yourself. You stare at the screen. “…oh.”
Keys leans back again. “There.”
You look up at him reluctantly. “Thanks.”
He nods once like it was obvious. “Try not to break anything else before three.”
You immediately point toward the exit of your cubicle. “Okay, you can leave now.”
The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. “See?” he says. “You are mean.”
“And you’re annoying.”
“You’ve mentioned.”
You fold your arms. “And yet you keep proving it.”
Someone across the office calls his name, and the moment breaks immediately. Keys glances away first. “Later, California.”
You stare after him as he walks off.
Asshole.
Still, the rest of the day goes better than you expected. Somewhere between lunch and your third cup of office coffee, things start clicking into place. The systems stop feeling completely foreign, the programs become easier to navigate, and eventually you stop hesitating before opening things because you’re scared of breaking them. You figure out the internal messaging app, finally organize your inbox, and by mid-afternoon you’re moving through your assignments without rereading every instruction three times first.
Turns out you’re actually good at this, which shouldn’t be surprising. You know you earned your spot here. You know Parker didn’t offer you housing out of pity. But there’s still something reassuring about seeing it happen in real time, watching the nerves slowly get replaced with muscle memory. One of the designers compliments one of your mockups before disappearing into a meeting. Another coworker stops by your cubicle to tell you your player flow notes were “actually really smart,” which embarrasses you a little more than you’d like to admit. Even Parker pauses at your desk once on his way somewhere else, glancing over your screen before nodding once.
The office around you grows quieter as people start packing up for the night. Conversations drift toward elevators and dinner plans while monitors shut off one by one across the floor. You stretch slightly in your chair before finally saving your work and closing your laptop with a soft click. You start gathering your things slowly, charger stuffed into your bag, notebook shoved underneath your laptop, phone finally pulled from where you tossed it beside your keyboard hours ago. Your shoulders ache a little from sitting all day, but it’s the satisfying kind. You slip your bag onto your shoulder and stand, glancing around the office one last time.
That’s when you notice Keys. He’s still at his desk a few rows away, one elbow resting against it while he types something with the other hand. Most of the lights around his section are already off, making the glow from his monitors sharper against his face. Glasses low on his nose again. Sleeves pushed up, completely focused. You look away before he can say anything else and head toward the elevators, adjusting your bag higher onto your shoulder as you walk. The office feels completely different now compared to this morning, less intimidating somehow. Most of the interns are already gone, and the people still left behind look settled into the kind of late-night focus that probably comes with working at a place like Soonami Studios.
The doors slide shut and you exhale quietly, letting your head lean back against the wall for half a second. Your first day is over. Somehow. You didn’t embarrass yourself - besides messing up and needing Keys’ help, didn’t get fired, didn’t cry in the bathroom, which honestly feels like a successful start. The apartment thing still feels insane, though. Living with someone you met less than twelve hours ago shouldn’t feel legal, especially not someone like Keys. He feels like trouble. The elevator dings softly as the lobby comes into view again. The second the doors open, the noise of the building shifts around you, phones ringing faintly from somewhere behind the desk, quiet conversations near the entrance, the low hum of traffic outside the glass doors.
The receptionist from earlier notices you almost immediately. “Hey,” she says with a small smile. “You’re here for the apartment keys, right?”
You nod. “Yeah. Parker said they’d be down here.”
She reaches underneath the desk for a small envelope. “Just keep going up this street, make a right on Cornelia and you’re there.” You take it from her carefully this time, immediately checking the front.
Address. Entry code. Parking information.
“Your roommate hasn’t come down yet,” she adds casually.
You try very hard not to react to the word roommate.
“Right,” you say instead.
The receptionist smiles knowingly anyway, which makes you instantly suspicious.
“It’s a nice place,” she says. “Parker did his big one.”
The lobby doors slide open behind you, letting in a rush of cool evening air and footsteps. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.
“Kenzie,” Keys says behind you casually, “did you tell her I’m the favorite intern yet?”
Kenzie laughs immediately. “You wish.”
Keys walks up beside you a second later, dark backpack slung over one shoulder, sleeves still pushed up from earlier. Up close, he looks more tired now than he did this morning, though somehow still irritatingly put together in that effortless way you’re starting to resent. You hold the envelope a little closer to your chest before he can try taking it.
His eyes flick down to it instantly. “…you already grabbed them?”
“Yes,” you say slowly, already defensive.
“That’s usually how picking something up works.”
You narrow your eyes immediately. “You are physically incapable of having a normal conversation.”
“And you’re weirdly territorial over an envelope.”
“It has my future apartment in it.”
“Our future apartment.”
You immediately grimace. “Don’t say it like that.”
The corner of his mouth twitches slightly.
“Oh,” Kenzie says, glancing between both of you. “You two are gonna be entertaining.”
You and Keys speak at the exact same time.
“No we’re not.”
You look away first, already regretting staying downstairs this long. “Anyway,” you mutter, adjusting the envelope under your arm, “I’m gonna go before this gets worse.”
Keys leans one elbow against the front desk casually. “Pretty sure it already did.”
You point at him immediately. “See? That. That’s exactly what I mean.”
Kenzie is fully invested now, watching the two of you like she just turned on a reality show.
“You know,” she says thoughtfully, “most roommates at least pretend to like each other on the first day.”
“We’re not roommates,” you say automatically.
“We’re two people temporarily sharing a space,” Keys corrects.
You stare at him. “That was somehow worse.”
“Thank you.”
You exhale sharply through your nose before turning back toward Kenzie. “See? I can’t live like this.”
“You literally agreed to it.”
“Under financial distress.”
That gets another laugh out of her. Keys pushes himself away from the desk then, adjusting the strap of his backpack onto his shoulder. “Relax, California. I’m not planning on bothering you.”
“That’s reassuring coming from someone who already bothers me professionally.”
“You’ve known me for one day.”
“And it’s been exhausting.”
The corner of his mouth twitches again, it’s stupid how often he almost smiles.
For a second, the lobby settles into a quieter rhythm around you, people filtering out of the elevators, the front doors opening every few seconds with gusts of evening air drifting inside. Outside, the city’s already slipping into that blue-gray hour between afternoon and night, lights reflecting against the glass windows.
You glance down at the envelope in your hands again. You clear your throat slightly. “So… what’s the plan?”
Keys looks over. “Plan?”
“For the apartment.”
“Oh.” He shrugs lightly. “I was just gonna head over later.”
You blink. “Later?”
“I need to stop somewhere first.”
Honestly, relief hits you a little faster than it should. “Oh!”
His eyes narrow slightly, like he noticed that reaction immediately. “Why? Were you scared to be alone with me?”
You scoff instantly. “Please. I was scared you’d talk the whole walk there.”
“That’s crazy coming from you.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’ve spent ninety percent of today insulting me.”
“And every single one was deserved.”
Keys shakes his head slightly, looking almost amused now. “You’re a lot meaner than you looked this morning.”
“You looked annoying this morning.”
“I wasn’t even talking.”
“Exactly.”
Kenzie actually snorts behind the desk this time. You point toward her without looking away from Keys. “See? She gets it.”
“She’s enjoying this way too much.”
“She’s not the only one,” Kenzie says immediately.
“No she’s not,” you mumble under your breath before realizing you said it out loud.
Keys’ eyebrows lift slightly, heat flashes into your face instantly. You recover way too fast to let him enjoy it. “I meant enjoying watching you embarrass yourself.”
“Mhm.”
“Oh my god.”
Keys reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone before glancing back at you one last time. “Anyway. Since apparently my existence causes you emotional distress, I’ll let you walk there alone.”
“Thank you.”
“But if you get lost, I’m not coming to rescue you.”
You clutch the envelope dramatically against your chest. “I think I’ll survive.”
“Debatable.”
You narrow your eyes immediately. “See ya, Keys.”
He starts backing toward the doors. “Bye, California.”
“Stop calling me that.”
The doors slide open behind him before you can say anything else. You stare at the closed lobby doors for another second before letting out a quiet breath through your nose. “He’s unbelievable.”
Kenzie smiles knowingly from behind the desk. “You say that now.”
You immediately point at her. “Don’t start.”
She laughs softly, lifting her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.”
You shake your head, trying not to smile despite yourself as you adjust the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder again. “Have a good night.”
The evening air hits cooler once you step outside, carrying the noise of the city with it. Traffic humming past the curb, distant music spilling from somewhere down the block, people talking over each other as they pass. For a second, you just stand there. Then you reach into your bag, untangling your wired headphones from the absolute knot they somehow became over the course of the day. After a minute of fighting with them, you finally shove them into your ears and hit play without really looking.
Your Indie Pop mix fills your ears immediately. The city feels different now than it did this morning. Earlier, everything felt huge and intimidating and temporary. Now, even with your feet aching slightly and your brain still overloaded from the day, it feels a little more real. You pass glowing storefronts and crowded sidewalks, people laughing outside restaurants, cars lined up at intersections while neon signs flicker against windows. Somewhere nearby, someone’s walking a dog that looks more dressed up than you are. Someone else is yelling into their phone dramatically enough that half the block can probably hear it.
Your fingers tighten slightly around the envelope tucked under your arm as you keep walking. Apartment. Roommate. Job. Everything changed in a single day, and it still doesn’t totally feel real yet. Still, before you can even think about settling into the apartment, you have one more thing to deal with. The motel. Cheap, slightly questionable, and somehow always smelling vaguely like old cigarettes no matter how many air fresheners the front office tried to use. You’d booked it in a panic after realizing how impossible housing was going to be near the office, telling yourself it would only be for a few nights until you figured something else out. Technically, you did. Even if “something else” ended up being Keys McKey.
Four hours later, you’re exhausted. Not emotionally exhausted, though there’s definitely some of that too, but physically exhausted in the way that only comes from carrying your entire life up multiple flights of stairs because the motel elevator stopped working halfway through the second trip. Turns out you owned more stuff than you thought. Or maybe everything just feels heavier after a ten-hour day.
The apartment is quiet when you step inside.
Plain, mostly. Just, very corporate. Beige couch, a brick accent wall which added a pop to it, generic framed art that probably came with the unit. The kitchen’s small but clean, tucked right beside the living room with barely enough counter space for two people to function without bumping into each other.
You drop your bag near the couch with a tired exhale before taking the place in properly for the first time. The living room opens up enough that it doesn’t feel cramped, and both bedrooms sit on opposite sides of the apartment with the bathroom shoved awkwardly between them. Equal-sized rooms too, which somehow feels important. No obvious “better” room. No reason to fight about it. Your boxes sit stacked near the wall where you left them after your last trip from the motel. Clothes shoved into duffel bags, makeup case barely zipped shut, random chargers tangled together in ways that make no sense. Half your wardrobe is currently hanging out of a laundry basket because at some point you gave up trying to pack things properly. You stare at the mess for a second, then laugh quietly to yourself.
You walk slowly toward the rooms, nudging the door open wider with your foot. Same plain furniture setup as the rest of the place, a bed already made with stiff white sheets, basic dresser, small desk shoved near the window. No decorations. No personality. Nothing that says someone actually lives here. You set your tote bag down on the mattress and glance around again, trying to picture yourself here. Morning routines. Work nights. Hearing someone else moving around the kitchen while you get ready for work. Sharing a space with someone who already knows exactly how to annoy you after one day.
You flop backward onto the bed dramatically, staring at the ceiling for a second. The apartment’s still completely quiet.
Which means Keys isn’t here yet. Honestly? Relief.
You need at least ten more minutes before dealing with him again. Maybe twenty. Maybe the rest of your life. You close your eyes briefly, letting the silence settle around you while the city hums faintly outside the windows. You slowly sit back up with a quiet sigh, rubbing your hands over your face before glancing around the room again. One duffel bag half unzipped near the dresser. Tote bag on the floor. Shoes kicked somewhere near the doorway. The lamp that nearly killed you carrying it upstairs leaning awkwardly against the wall.
You reach for your phone beside you, opening your music again before letting music start playing softly through the tiny speaker this time. The sound fills the room just enough to make it feel less empty while you stand and start unpacking little things first.
Toiletries into the bathroom, setting up your desktop onto the desk, jewelry tray beside the bed, smallish things.
You grab one of your hoodies off the bed and pull it over your head before climbing back onto the mattress, legs crossing underneath you. Tomorrow’s another workday. Another full day of pretending Keys McKey doesn’t get under your skin, even though you just met the guy.
You stare across the room again. His room sits dark across the hallway, door cracked open just enough for you to see the plain furniture inside. No boxes. No clothes. No signs that someone else is about to live here too. For now, the apartment still feels like yours. You let your head fall lightly against the wall behind the bed, listening to the music drift softly through the room while the city glows outside your window. Somewhere downstairs, a car alarm briefly goes off before someone starts cussing. A siren echoes faintly in the distance after that.
an: i hope you loved the first chapter bc god i’m so obsessed with them already. adding my oomfs to this is so fucking fun too god i’m having way too much fun writing this already. if you have any reqs on what you wanna see happen, shoot them my way. i’ll try my best to incorporate anything. also send me your thoughts and reactions i loveeee reading them hehe.
comment to be on taglist!
reblogs and reposts are appreciated as always, thank you.
Warnings: roomates au, forced roommates, acquaintances to lovers, mutual pining, drinking, swearing, suggestive situations, annoying characters (lol), varying points of view, countless amounts of sass, fluff
Word Count: ~6.7k
Summary: You transfer schools midway through the semester at college and get placed into the last dorm with space for you - a coed suite. And you're just in time for the rager he's throwing this weekend.
A/N: just a lil treat i thought up a few weeks ago <3 beta'd by the effervescent @jadedvibes , my beloved. if you enjoy it, reblog it! leave a comment, too, we love interaction here <3 thank u! happy aprilllllllll <3
The stone towers and tiled spires jutting upward from the main building on campus are a lot more intimidating now that you’re standing directly in front of them. They ooze class and history and money, which, up until you were awarded the scholarship that allowed you to transfer here midterm, you had heretofore never experienced. It awed you, even more so when you entered your dormitory hall. The walls climbed high into the sky, decorated with expensive, ancient portraits of people that must have been important at some point; the ceilings were gabled, rafters finely carved and decorated. Not a leaf in the multitude of bouquets adorning small tea tables at intervals along the hallway dared move a centimeter out of place.
You're brought back to the present when you run nose-first into the shoulder of your guide. Startled, she readjusts her hair and snaps at you, "Watch it, new kid."
Shrinking away from her, you smile sheepishly, "Oops, I'm sorry. My head was somewhere else."
Muttering under her breath, she adds, "Yeah, up your ass."
You frown, but before you can say anything else, she flips her hair and smiles so brightly at you that you squint and take another step back.
"Because you're starting so late in the school year, you've been assigned to the only room available, a coed suite. Hopefully that's not a problem."
Something about her smile feels insincere. "Oh that's fine, yeah I grew up with four brothers so this should be, like, a piece of cake." You snort, hoping for some kind of commiseration, but as your guide's smile wavers, nearly betraying her disgust, you wish you were anywhere but in this moment. You put your hand to your forehead, regretfully rubbing it as your guide turns and unlocks the door with what’s now your key.
The sound of laughter draws your attention back up, your new roommates bellowing from deep within. You take hold of your bags, eager to get in and unpack, waiting for your guide to step aside so you can get through the open door. But, she doesn’t. Instead, you’re left standing behind her as she stares straight ahead.
You step to the side of her and are about to ask her to politely move her toned ass out of the way when you witness a change in her demeanor. She transforms before your eyes from the grumpy, too-good-for-you mean girl to a sweet wilting flower, twirling her hair around one finger as her stance sinks, one hip jutting out pronouncedly as she simultaneously pushes her chest out. You snort again and lean against the tall handle of your suitcase, ready for whatever show she’s about to put on.
“Hey, Buck. Miss me?”
The blatant disregard for her question is enough to make your own cheeks blush from secondhand embarrassment as silence emanates from the room. You bite down on a knuckle to keep yourself from laughing as she continues.
She clears her throat and flips her hair, becoming visibly flustered, “Well, ha-ha, uhm, so, your like, new roommate is here, or whatever.” Feigning indifference with the added flare of valley girl mannerisms coupled with the proto-typical accent. Nice.
Poking your head inside, you look back and forth, then back at your guide, and you try to hold back your smirk, “There’s no one in there.”
Her façade falls away completely. She stamps her foot, flipping her hair again, trying vainly to regain some of her previous composure. Without looking at you, she tosses you your key, turns, and skulks back down the hall, hollering a rehearsed line over her shoulder, “If you need anything, I’m Missy.”
She stops and swings her head back to you, “But don’t need anything.” And then she’s gone.
Alone in the hallway of your brand new school, you take a deep breath and breach the threshold.
—
As it turns out, within the suite, you each get your own, unshared space, as well as your own bathrooms, and they trail down separate hallways, neither of them sharing a wall with the other. Each room leads to the center living area - it’s huge, decked out with a massive TV, gaming consoles, a huge sectional couch, foosball, a ping pong table, a pool table; anything you could think of wanting to do, you spotted.
Including your roommate.
Shaking your head, you put that thought aside for now. You just got here, for crying out loud. Once you were finished unpacking the mountain of things you hadn’t even remembered bringing in the first place, you flopped onto your mattress and stared at the delicate engravings dotting the crown molding encircling the room for a solid five minutes before you dragged yourself to your feet and headed back out into the main room.
—
It’s a surprise to see a body on the sofa when you reemerge, halting you in your tracks. He’s sitting there with his attention wholly focused on the shooter game he was playing on the massive plasma screen. You watch him lick his lips in concentration and immediately feel your cheeks blush.
Shaking your head and putting on your bravest face, you plonk down next to the boy, who jumps, stopping his game and pulling the massive headphones off his head. He stares at you, still as a statue, for a long, long moment before he jolts and sticks his hand out, “Uh, shit, hi. I’m Bucky Barnes, you must be my new roommate.”
His eyes are what strike you first: a piercing, bright blue, dancing in the warm light from the quickly dimming sky. His tousled brown hair sits perfectly messy atop his head, and a cocky grin finds its way to his lips. There’s a careless ease about him, a charm that melts into your skin and soothes any jitters you might have about meeting new people. You notice he’s a big fan of rings as well, his right hand sporting so many that it might as well be made of metal.
Clearing your throat and taking his hand, you introduce yourself, giving it a quick shake before letting it go, tucking your hair behind your ear. A somewhat awkward silence settles over the two of you, so you decide to break it, “So, this is what you do for fun, huh?”
“Yeah,” Bucky gives you an awkward laugh and turns back to the screen, resuming the game he’d paused when you had spooked him, though you do catch his gaze as he peeks at you from the corner of his eye. He then quickly refocuses as his character is shot and throws his controller down on the table.
“Aw, c’mon, no way that should’ve hit!” Bucky complains, rubbing his eyes. Without hesitating, you pick the controller back up and start a new round.
Bucky laughs to himself, a little surprised. “Actually, speaking of fun,” he starts, “you’re just in time for the Fall Mixer.” He laughs again as you look at him with an upturned brow, “I know, I know, sounds lame as hell, but they made the mistake of letting me plan it this year.” He waggles his eyebrows, “Get ready for the most kick-ass rager you’ve ever been to.”
“Well, who says I even wanna go?” you quip, smirking when you hear the dismay in his voice.
“I… uh, okay, how about we make a deal?”
You pause the game, turning to fully face him, intrigued.
He picks up a second controller and hooks it into the console, saying, “If I beat you, you come to the rager, no questions asked. If you win, you can stay home and be a loser.” He bumps your shoulder with his playfully. You roll your eyes and agree, immediately unpausing the game.
The two of you go head to head, the match clearly lasting longer than Bucky thought it would. “Damn, you’ve got skills, newbie. Where’ve you been hiding?” he asks, impressed. You’re about to answer when your controller is knocked out of your hands and your character is shot, the game declaring Bucky the winner.
“Hey!” You grin, “You cheater!” You throw a pillow at him, hitting him on the side of his head.
Bucky snickers, “Never said I had to beat you fair and square.” Rolling your eyes again, you flop into the cushioned sofa back. He hops up, stretching as though he’d just run a marathon, “Well, guess I’ll see you at the party Saturday, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Cheater.”
Bucky chuckles and disappears into his room, leaving you alone to try and get the image of his fingers flicking the different knobs and buttons on the controller out of your mind.
—
You blink, and suddenly it’s the day of the Fall Mixer. Tugging at your pleather mini skirt and readjusting your babydoll top, you open your bedroom door and are smacked immediately with a thumping bass and people mingling everywhere, the scent of beer wafting lazily overhead. Looking around for a moment, bewildered, you watch as a couple attached at the lips barrels towards you, clearly in search of a place to be alone. You quickly turn around and lock your door, then flash them a bright smile. They sneer at you for a moment before turning back to each other and going back down the hall, staking out their next spot. You wipe your brown and lean back against your door, taking your bedroom key and stuffing it in your bra.
A bedroom key. You had a bedroom key for your dorm room. What in the hell kind of fancy-ass school does that?
Turning to look out at the crowd, you spot your roommate and walk forward, dodging the next couple trying to get into your room for some alone time. They try the door and frown as you walk away, making you smirk.
You march your way towards Bucky, hollering when you get near enough, “Barnes!”
He turns toward you and waves, then immediately stops when he sees the look on your face.
“What the hell, Barnes? You didn’t say the Fall Mixer was going to be here!”
He smiles as you tap your foot, crossing your arms. Shrugging, he laughs, “You didn’t ask!” He takes a sip of his drink, then turns around, grabbing a solo cup and filling it from the keg that he somehow got into the dorm without you hearing. Man, those rooms don’t let any sound through.
“Here, lighten up, huh? It’s a party, just relax and enjoy!” he hands you the cup and you take it begrudgingly, downing half of it the second it hits your lips.
Grumbling, you say, “Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
He winks and turns back to his friends around him, leaving you to your own devices as you wander through the crowd of strangers that have infiltrated your space.
—
“I know, I know, I don’t know what to do,” Bucky groans, leaning back against the counter as he watches you walk away, nearly knocking his buddies’ drinks over.
Sam reaches out and catches them before they lose a single drop, setting them back down and receiving an appreciative look from Steve as he grabs his and cradles it in protection. Putting a reassuring hand on Bucky’s shoulder, Sam says, “First of all, you spill my drink, I kick you out of your own party.” Bucky glares at him, and Sam continues, “Second, dude, if you like her, just tell her.”
Bucky grimaces, “Ah, yeah, see I would, but that would upset —Missy! Hey!”
Missy trots up to him like an over-pampered lost puppy, “Bucky-wucky, there you are! Aww, I missed you.” She nuzzles into his neck as his grimace deepens, and Sam tries not to spit out his beer, covering up his laughter as a cough attack.
Making a disgusted face, Missy reluctantly pulls herself from Bucky’s chest, “Ohmigod, could you like, do that somewhere else, please? It’s super gross and super annoying. Thanks.”
Sam and Steve both stare at her for a second, unamused and, frankly, appalled. Steve cuts in before Sam can put her in her place, “Yeah, sure thing. Buck, we’ll be in the kitchen when you’re, uh, done here.” He gives Bucky a tight smile and pulls Sam with him, who doesn’t stop glaring at Missy until his eyeline to her is broken,
Pleased with herself, Missy pops her foot up, pointing her toes, and places a light, manicured hand on Bucky’s chest, “So, where have you been all week, Mr. Busy? I brought that awful new girl to your suite earlier this week, and you weren’t even there to see my cute little tour guide outfit.”
She pouts, and Bucky swallows the bile rising in his throat, “Yeah I, uh, I was out, y’know. Had to help Steve prepare for his speech next week.” He chugs his entire cup, not wanting to elaborate on his lie, then immediately bends over to refill it. The perks of standing near the booze.
Just as Bucky stands back up, his cup disappears from his hand, and he watches Missy dump it into some random passerby’s drink. “Ah, ah, ah,” she tuts, tapping the end of Bucky’s nose with her finger, “too many carbs and you won’t be able to fit into those tight, sexy jeans anymore. Can’t have that.”
She winks at him, smacks his ass, then waves at a friend she spots across the room, “Oh, hey!”
Turning back to Bucky, she kisses him hard on the lips, then she pulls back and purrs, “Don’t do anything too naughty while I’m gone.” She turns back around so fast that her hair whips Bucky across the face, and as she walks away, Bucky hears her holler in a shrill, high-pitched voice, “Ohmigod, bitch, what is up?! What the fuck are you wearing?!”
He’s left staring after her, his mouth downturned in distaste, as Steve and Sam make their way back over to him.
“Man, she’s a keeper,” Sam jeers, earning a simmering glower from Bucky.
Steve elbows him and chimes in, “I get why you started dating her, I mean she’s real nice to look at, but. Dude.” Bucky’s gaze is pulled to him, and Steve gives him a knowing look.
He sighs, “We never dated. She just. Decided that we were in her head, I guess. We hooked up once, and now she’s harder to get rid of than flies on shit.”
After a beat of the three of them taking long swigs of their drinks, Bucky’s newly replenished, Sam finally offers, “You know what might get her to take a hint? You actually dating someone else.” He not-so-subtly gestures his head in your direction. “Take it from somebody who knows,” he grimaces, clearly remembering something deeply unpleasant.
Bucky turns sheepish, talking into his cup as he brings it to his face, “Shut up, okay? Don’t rush me, I’ll get there.” He upends his drink again, drinking it dry, and leans over to get yet another fill from the keg.
—
Being the new kid sucks. Royally. No matter what age you are. You’d think it’d get better with age, but no. It’s the exact same. Actually, it may be worse, because as you stand with your back against the wall of your own living room, you can feel the judgment radiating from each pair of eyes that passes by. You sigh, taking a drink from your cup, then leaning your head back, observing the crowd.
You’re entranced by a guy who takes the center of the room hostage with his god awful dance moves when two ginger heads of hair block your vision.
“Hi,” one of them says, “I’m Wanda.” She gives you a little wave and a small smile, tilting her head.
The other one introduces herself as well, “I’m Natasha. You’re Bucky’s new roommate, right?”
You give them a crooked smile, “What, am I that obvious?”
“In a school this small? Yeah, kind of,” Natasha answers, looking you up and down.
“We just thought you looked like you could use a friend,” Wanda offers, giving Natasha a disapproving look.
She just rolls her eyes in response, turning to you and saying, “We also wanted to know if you’ve had the absolute pleasure of meeting Missy yet.” Natasha raises an eyebrow and gives you a tight-lipped smirk, cocking her hip.
“What, the tour guide? Yeah, I’ve met her. She’s, um,” you start, searching for the right words.
“A heinous bitch,” Natasha finishes for you, earning her a light smack on the arm from Wanda.
“Be nice! Bucky likes her,” Wanda admonishes, though the second half of her comment settles a pit in your stomach.
“He does?” you ask, hoping your disappointment isn’t too heavily lacing your voice.
Natasha scoffs, “Yeah, as much as you can like a boa constrictor slowly strangling you to death.”
That earns her another light smack, “Nat!”
“What? I’m just being honest, you said I should try that more often.”
“I didn’t mean like that —”
“Hey, guys,” you cut into their squabble, “I appreciate the check-in.” You give them light smiles, and they settle down a bit. “What do you say we drink to forget we even know her?”
Both of them laugh and raise their cups to yours, “Deal!”
“Let’s fuckin’ partayyyyyyyy!” Natasha hollers, earning a cheer from the crowd.
—
Over the next few hours, the partiers in the dorm room get louder and louder, more intoxicated by the minute. Between Flip Cup, Beer Pong, Drunk Jenga, and King’s Cup, no one is safe from making an ass of themselves. It's glorious.
At some point, the couch was moved out of the way and the music was cranked, the bass shaking the picture frames set on the built-in bookshelves in the living room. One of them falls to the floor and cracks, but someone just picks it up and yells something incoherent, throwing it back down the ground and shattering it again. You chuckle, thinking the school decor needed a little sprucing up. Plus, that framed picture of the dean had been creeping you out. You could swear the eyes had been following you all week.
“Here’s your shotttttttt, gorgeous!”
You turn around, rolling your eyes at Nat’s sing-song tone, “I thought you said all the cups were gone!”
“Found this mug up in the cabinets in the kitchen. You aren’t getting off that easy!” Natasha winks at you, walking over to you and handing you a well-loved ceramic coffee mug glazed in a bright blue. It reminds you of Bucky’s eyes.
“Well, at least not yet,” Natasha purrs, winking and clawing at you like a kitten, and you giggle at her drunken teasing. Then, with a grand flourish of her hand, she points at you, “Drink!”
You look back down at the mug in your hands, thinking about Bucky. It’s just the booze, you tell yourself, everyone is hot if you drink enough. Over the edge of the cup, you can see Natasha’s foot tapping. Sighing, you smile up at her, raising your mug in cheers, and then you down whatever was in it.
It burns as it runs down your throat, sending a shiver through you. You feel the alcohol seep out of your nostrils as you breathe out, “Holy shit, Nat, what was in that?!”
“Absinthe,” she says nonchalantly. When she spots the concern knitting your brows, she puts an encouraging hand on your arm, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Plus, it should help with the sad puppy dog look that’s been plastered on your face ever since you saw Missy give Buck a peck on the cheek an hour ago.
You frown at that, “I am not a sad puppy dog.”
“Right, right, sure,” Natasha says back, taking the mug from your hands. “I’m just gonna take that from you — Bucky will literally kill me if it gets broken.” She places it gingerly on the table beside you, being dramatically careful with it.
“Why, is it special or something?” you ask, eager to learn anything about your hot new roommate.
“All I know is that he drinks out of it every morning,” she pauses, thinking. “Huh. I’m pretty sure it was clean when I gave it to you.”
“Nat!” you exclaim. “Gross, dude!” You stick your tongue out dramatically, swiping at it with your hands in a comical attempt to clean it.
“What’d she do now, flash somebody again?” His voice is deep as it floats over your shoulder. Natasha has a smug look on her face as her eyes flick from you to Bucky, standing behind you.
“No one would call that gross, Barnes, and you know it,” she sasses, sticking her tongue out at him while simultaneously reminding you to pull yours back in. You snap your jaw shut and try frantically to get your drunk brain to stay cool and not make a fool of yourself.
“Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t call that gross,” you babble, watching Natasha’s eyebrows raise as she tilts her head, her smirk growing a little bit wider.
Bucky’s unsure voice wraps around you again, though it sounds like he’s closer this time, “Should I leave you two alone, then?”
You whip around with a quick, “No!” and your hands immediately land on his chest; you hadn’t realized how close to you he actually was.
Pulling your hands back as if his chest was white-hot to the touch, you collect yourself, “No, no, uhm, join us! Come drink— we’re playing Categories. Every time you fuck up, you take a shot.”
“Sounds like a game made for me, I’m in,” Bucky smiles warmly at you and you’re almost one hundred percent certain you’re melting into a puddle on the floor. Your knees wobble, then betray you, buckling, but Bucky catches you by the elbow before you can hit the ground. “Whoa, hey there, you alright?”
Your cheeks promptly heat, “Yes, yeah I’m fine. Yep. Who’s turn is it?” Hoping to draw attention away from the embarrassment taking over your face, you look around the group you, Wanda, and Natasha have attracted.
“Mine, I think!” Wanda giggles and hiccups, swaying as she leans down to grab her cup. Several others follow unsteadily in suit. “Hmmmm… my category iiiiiiisssssssss…” her eyes land on you, and she smiles, “cereals. You can do that, right?” Her looking out for you touches your heart, and you shake your head yes, though it makes you a little dizzy when you stop.
“Great! Okay, I'll start. Fruity Pebbles!”
“Cocoa Puffs,” Sam lists.
“Raisin Bran,” Steve answers.
“Dude, seriously?” Sam asks, looking at Steve.
“What? It’s good for a healthy diet!”
“Oh my god, will you let me answer, please?” Natasha asks. “Captain Crunch.”
“Bucky’s Charm,” you answer, a little slurred.
The group looks at you, half of them confused, the other half grinning widely. It takes you a second or two for your eyes to grow wide, “Lucky Charms! I meant… I meant Lucky Charms.”
No one around you says anything, but now everyone is grinning at you. “Oh my god,” you slap a palm to your forehead, too embarrassed to look at anyone. “Someone else go, for the love of god, please.”
Still no one says anything, so, without making eye contact with anyone, you call out, “I have to pee!” and you rush off, locking yourself in the bathroom.
Leaning against the counter, you stare yourself down in the mirror. “Get it together, you’re embarrassing me,” you tell yourself, leaning in close to wipe away more smudges from your eyeliner and your mascara, reapplying your lipstick to cover where it’s worn away.
After what you feel is too short a time, someone knocks on the door.
"Fuck," you whisper, then call out, "occupied! Just a second!"
The voice that comes through the door twists your stomach all over again. "You okay in there?" Bucky asks, rapping on the door a few more times.
Groaning, you know the jig is up. You open the door, slowly, and look up at him, "Uh, hey. I'm fine, yeah, if you don't take my pride into account.” Unable to help yourself, you roll your eyes again as you feel your cheeks heat, dropping your face into your hand. You tip your head back up when you feel one of his hands lightly grab your wrist to pull your hand away from your face.
Chuckling, Bucky says, “You don’t need to be embarrassed. It was cute, what you said.”
A pregnant pause seats itself between the two of you before he speaks again, “So, you think I’m charming?” The smirk that settles on his face compels you to punch him in the arm. He just laughs louder and grabs the spot you hit, “Ow!”
A coy smile finds its way onto your lips and you’re about to respond when a shrill squeal nearly blows out your hearing.
“Bucky! Ohmigod, I found you!” Missy comes traipsing over, standing directly in front of you and shoving you back with her ass, making you stumble. You laugh indignantly, amazed that she had the gall. “I’ve been hunting for you everywhere! Have you been hiding from me or something?” She taps the tip of his nose again, missing once or twice thanks to the alcohol now in her system. You give Bucky a quick two finger salute and dip out, eager to be anywhere but around those two right now.
Wading through the crowd of people, you head back to the table covered in different options of liquor and beer, grabbing an empty solo cup and resigning to just going and rinsing it off before making yourself a cocktail. These rich kids sure know how to party. You fill your cup with a mixture of something that you vaguely hope you don’t regret later, and you scan the room. You spot the wide French doors that lead out onto the balcony of your dorm, and you worm your way over to it.
Cracking the doors open, you get an immediate breeze, cool as it fills your lungs. This is exactly what you needed. You’re about to shut the doors behind you when Natasha and Wanda appear, slithering through the crack in the doors before closing them themselves.
The sounds of the rambunctious college students inside are immediately quieted, the stillness now filled only with the lazy shaking of tree leaves and the odd coo of an owl here and there.
“So, we saw Bucky follow you when you ran from the game,” Wanda breaks the silence, raising an eyebrow at you.”
“Very smooth, by the way,” Natasha teases, quickly reprimanded with a shush by Wanda. Nat just takes a smug sip of her drink in response.
“Did he, um, go to find you?” Wanda asks delicately, making you smile at how much care she’s taking to get to the gossip she actually wants to hear.
Natasha is slightly less tactful, “Did you two fuck in the bathroom?”
“Natasha!” Wanda exclaims.
“What? I’m not here to beat around the bush, unlike you,” she scoffs, turning her full attention to you.
“Oh my god, no — no. We didn’t fuck in the bathroom, Nat,” you answer, giggling, taking another swig of your mystery concoction. It scrunches your nose, but it’s actually not half bad.
“Yeah, seriously,” Wanda agrees, taking a sip of her own drink.
“Okay, alright,” you laugh again, “you know what, we didn’t even get to talk that much because Missy showed up okay? Threw herself at him like he was the last man on Earth.”
“Ugh, vomit,” Nat responds.
You let silence sit with you for a bit as you all nearly finish your drinks. Curiosity overtakes you and you have to ask, “Does he really like her?”
“She would say yes,” Natasha says.
“He would say no,” Wanda adds, rolling her eyes into her cup.
“That’s — that’s incredibly unhelpful, thanks.”
“There’s one thing you need to learn about Missy, new kid,” Natasha starts, standing up straight and putting a hand on her hip. “She is like a plague, okay —I’m not joking, stop laughing! She slithers her way into guys’ lives and plants her fuckin’ roots. She did this a couple years ago to Sam, you remember that, Wan?”
“Oh my god,” she responds, exasperated, “she would not leave that poor boy alone! He thought up every excuse in the book to get away from her, and she would not take the hint. It’s like she thinks she’s entitled to every single boy or something, like all of them want to be with her. At least she thinks that until she gets bored or embarrassed, then she sinks her fangs into someone else.” Wanda holds two fingers up to her mouth like fangs and hisses, making you cackle.
Finishing off your drink, you sigh and ask, “So, you’re saying I just have to wait till she moves on?”
Nat’s eyes sparkle as she talks to you, “Why, do you like him?”
You purse your lips and bring your cup to them, face dropping when you realize it’s empty.
Wanda chimes in, her head turned towards the dorm, “Looks like you might not have to wait for long.”
Just as you follow her eye line, the doors open and quickly close, and suddenly, there’s Bucky. He only realizes the three of you are there when he takes a second to breathe.
“Oh, hey,” he exhales, addressing all three of you, though his eyes are trained solely on you.
Slinking their way around him, Natasha and Wanda move toward the opening Bucky just came through.
“We’re, uh,” Natasha catches your gaze, “we’re gonna go get you a refill, ‘kay?” She winks at you, and they’re gone.
Bucky moves towards you, sidestepping and leaning against the railing, looking out over the campus. You mimic him, turning around and resting your elbows against the stone banister, staring out in the same direction.
“Sorry about earlier,” Bucky finally says after a long time of gazing out over the treetops. “Missy is —”
You cut him off, not wanting to talk about her, “Yeah, no, I get it, you’re dating. It’s fine, it’s whatever.” You attempt to take another sip of your drink, again realize it’s empty, and set it down frustratedly next to you.
He looks at you hard for a beat, then says, “We’re not dating.”
You just snort in response, “Right, yeah, her dangling herself off you every chance she can really gets that message across.”
“I’m serious,” Bucky runs a hand through his hair frustratedly, “I don’t know what her deal is, but one day, she just decided —” He sighs, drops his hand, and continues, “She acts like I’m hers, but I’m not. And I don’t want to be.”
You’re looking at him now, though his eyes are focused somewhere off in the distance, “Is there someone else you’d rather it be, then?”
His strong jaw cuts into the night sky, the muscles flexing as he clenches his teeth, the rings on his hand glinting in the light spilling through the window panes of the balcony doors. Reaching over, unthinking and still tipsy, you grab his hand, playing with his rings and gazing at them. The two of you stay like this for a while as you spin the jewelry around and around his fingers. At some point, you look up, realizing he hadn’t answered you, and find his bright eyes focused on you.
“Yeah, there is,” he replies simply.
Without another word, he pulls his hand from yours and reaches it up, tracing along your jawline beneath your hair, cupping the side of your face as his other hand does the same. Bucky pulls you to him, close, and just as your lips are about to meet, the doors crash open.
“Bucky-wucky!” her shrill voice pierces the night, and then she gasps. “What are you doing?!” Missy demands, placing both hands on her hips and tapping her toes, waiting for a response.
Neither of you had stopped moving though, ignorant to the world around you, and as your lips meet, a wave crashes over you.
You pull him close to you, arms wrapping around his neck, his hands instantly moving to your waist as his lips press against you harder. His tongue snakes its way into your mouth, and you hang onto him tighter, bringing your hips forward to meet him. His hands respond again, one claiming the small of your back while the other travels downward, gripping you through your pleather skirt.
“Hello?!” Her voice is frantic and laced with anger. She huffs as the two of you continue to ignore her. Clearing her throat, she makes a show of her irritation by hollering over her shoulder to the crowd slowly forming behind her, “Well, fine! You’re not good enough for me anyway! I hope you and that ugly tramp are happy together, because we’re through. Do you hear me, Bucky Barnes? We’re THROUGH.”
With that, Missy turns her nose up, flips her hair, and stomps back inside, though not before tripping over a precariously placed foot, sending her flying forward. In an attempt to save herself, Missy whirls herself around to try to break her fall, but it doesn’t save her from the cold of the ice bucket of drinks her ass lands in anyway. She tugs herself up two or three times before she’s finally able to hoist herself up on her feet, with no help offered from anyone else. She’s met with a swell of laughter as she lets out a frustrated noise and stomps away.
Hidden from prying eyes, Wanda gives Natasha a little high five and giggles.
You and Bucky, however, are completely unphased, still attached to each other, clinging tightly as though you could be ripped apart at any moment. You run your nails up the back of his scalp, taking handfuls of his hair and tugging, eliciting a moan from him that travels through your veins and makes you shudder.
“Alright, alright, folks, nothing to see here,” Natasha calls out, attempting to herd the crowd away to give you some privacy. When no one moves, she screams out, “Hey, FUCK OFF.” She gets a few dirty looks as the students disperse around the room again, but she nods her head, satisfied.
Turning back to the two of you and spotting you on your back on the balcony with Bucky straddling you, she quickly moves to either side of the doors and releases the strings holding tasseled curtains back and out of the way of the windows. As they swing closed, the two of you are swathed in darkness, the last thing Natasha is able to see being Bucky leaning down over you, biting your neck and sucking, and making you moan back at him as you wrap your legs up around his waist.
—
Natasha strides over to where Sam, Wanda, and Steve are congregating and stealing peeks at the balcony doors.
“My boy finally did it, I’m so proud,” Sam wipes away a fake tear and sniffs dramatically, then takes a swig of his beer.
“I’m surprised Barnes had the balls to do it, if I’m honest,” Natasha jokes as she pours herself a new drink.
Wanda lets out a little sigh, tilting her head, “I think it’s sweet that they finally got together. I think they’re really cute as a couple.”
Natasha reaches over and clinks their cups together, “Amen to that. And the fact that we never have to be around that horrible, stupid, bitch of a woman—”
“Missy!” Steve calls out, bewildered and awkward, as she pushes her way into their conversation. “I’m surprised you’re still here, I thought you left.”
She looks over at him, batting her eyes, “No, no,” she flashes Steve a million-watt smile, “I couldn’t leave just yet, not without saying goodbye first.” Still moving in, she weasels her way next to Steve, dragging a long, perfectly polished fingernail down the center of his chest between his pecs.
“Okay, bye,” Natasha grumbles nastily into her cup, earning her a sharp look from Missy.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” she sneers, flipping her hair around and placing herself directly in front of Steve, who’s pressing himself as far into the wall behind him as he can to get away from her. “I was talking to this big hunk of a sex god standing in front of me.” All Steve can manage is a stiff, insincere smile.
Wanda turns her head away, uncomfortable, as Natasha keeps her face buried in her drink, and Sam does his best not to laugh out loud as he watches Steve’s reactions.
Trying to ease her away from him, Steve takes hold of one of her shoulders and gently pushes her back, saying, “That’s real nice of you, but I’m sure you’re just torn up about the whole Bucky thing, I’ll bet you just wanna go back to your dorm room and—”
She cuts him off with a scoff, “Oh, please, that dork? Ugh, no, that’s like, so yesterday—”
Natasha interrupts again under her breath, “It was literally less than an hour ago.”
“— and I’m completely over it,” Missy finishes, glaring at Nat, who smirks into her cup. “Anyway, I’ve got my eye on someone new.” The hand that had been trailing down his chest makes its way around to Steve’s ass and gives it a hard pinch, making him jump and reach back to rub the now sensitive spot.
“Plus,” she adds, “I thought you might want this.” She holds up a tiny, folded piece of paper, and without waiting, sticks her hand in the front pocket of Steve’s jeans, leaving the paper there and patting its place when she pulls her hand back out. “Don’t miss me too much, ‘kay?” she winks at him and blows him a kiss as she swings her hips and strolls out the door.
The four of them just stare after her for a beat before Wanda asks, “Should we lock the door?”
The rest of them burst out laughing, minus Steve, who looks like he’s just found out he has a malignant tumor.
“Ah, cheer up, Stevie,” Natasha says, throwing her arm up around a slouching Steve’s shoulders, “think of this as an opportunity to work on your evasion tactics!”
Steve just sighs and holds out his cup, signaling a desperate need for a refill. Sam chuckles and obliges, helping him out as Steve just stares despondently at the floor.
Handing him back his cup, Sam remarks, “Hey, it’s basically a rite of passage at this point. Don’t worry about it.”
Steve looks up, makes eye contact with Sam, and, without saying a word, upends his full drink, wiping his mouth clean when he’s finished.
Sam grins, “That’s the spirit.”
“Oh my god,” Wanda shouts, startling the group. She looks around at them excitedly, “I love this song! Come dance with me, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease pretty pleaseeeee?”
Natasha and Sam move forward almost immediately, Sam with an excited, “Hell yeah!” while Natasha stops herself and turns around to face an unmoving Steve.
“Come on, you grumpy old man,” Natasha coos, holding her hand out to him gingerly as though she might startle him away, “have some fun. There’s not much you can do about Missy now.”
Steve sighs, putting a good-natured smile on, and takes her hand, following Natasha to the center of the room.
—
Together, the four of them dance the night away into the wee hours of the morning, not spotting either you nor Bucky separated from each other for the rest of the party, though they all only saw you both once on the way to your locked bedroom. They also could have sworn Bucky’s pants were on backwards as the two of you scurried by. The three of them watched as you reached your door, dug the key out of your bra, and disappeared inside, tugging Bucky in by the collar after you. They each took a shot in your honor, drinking out of the coffee mug you’d left on the table inside that was glazed the perfect blue to match Bucky’s eyes.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Speak a Different Tongue is up, chapters 1 - 3
Harry/Voldemort
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Or...
Harry finds himself locked up in a house with Voldemort. The only way they'll ever get out of there is if they learn to work together. Yeah, that might be easier said than done.
A/N: A few warnings are needed here. I wrote the first two chapters of this story back in 2006, before Deathly Hallows was even released. Not soon after I suffered from a bit of a fandom burnout and this story remained unfinished until now. I’ve always loved the plot of this story and I always regretted not finishing it. Just as I was taking inventory of my current WIPs I remembered this one and decided to reread it and see if something sparked in my mind.
And what do you know, something did. Because there is a 16 year gap between the first two chapters and the rest, there will probably be differences in writing style. There’s not much I can do about that, alas. I’ve also rewritten the very start of the first chapter, to make it more in line with canon as we know it now, but everything else of chapter 1 and 2 is 16 year old vintage writing.
I’m going to do my very best to finish this story and it shouldn’t turn into an epic WIP. But I cannot guarantee any updates because my mind is a fickle thing.
Summary: The Jones brothers are polar opposites. Liam's the safe and honorable one, straight-laced and straight as an arrow. The good son.
Killian's the dangerous one, the bad boy with tats, leather jackets, a motorcycle and a questionable past.
The only things they have in common are panty-melting sea-blue eyes, the flat they share in Storybrooke and a rare blood type.
Oh, and apparently their taste in women.
Or rather, one woman.
Feisty.
Blonde.
Gorgeous.
Green-eyed Goddess.
Killian saw her first, but she chose his brother—the nice guy over the playboy. And even though she’s dating his brother, it doesn't make him want her any less. If that's not bad enough, she moves in with them and he has to pretend he's not completely in love with her. His life could not get any worse…
Until Liam dies in a tragic motorcycle accident.
Leaving each of them with one half of a broken heart.
Now Killian and Emma are left helping each other pick up the pieces.
Just as they're beginning to learn how to live in their new reality, another riptide pulls them further into the deep end when she finds out she's pregnant with Liam's baby.
Notes: So I made this post on Tumblr the other day, and then this fic happened. If you haven't seen the tags, please read them before starting this story or becoming invested because it’s very angsty. First of all, this starts out as Swan Jewel? I don't know what their ship name is or if there is an official name, but yes, Liam and Emma are in a relationship in the beginning, and I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. If you're not comfortable with that, I highly encourage you to hit the back button.
Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for looking it over!
This story was inspired by Baby Mine by Kennedy Fox, and I loved the book so much and thought it was very much underrated. I’ve wanted to write a fic like this for a long time now because it’s one of my favorite tropes, but after I read that book, I just had to write my own take. Also, I made this post about a Baby Yodarita drink last year when it was trending and since the beginning of this story starts one year prior, 2019 and since Killian is a bartender, it was a perfect way to include the prompt.
The title comes from the lyrics of the song, Lay By Me by Ruben. The particular line goes like this:
"I hope you know through the rising tide
That I'll be here and you can lay by my side"
If you've never heard it, I recommend giving it a listen. It's an amazing song and very fitting for this story.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFJbLzEtoZw
P.S. In case you're unable to read the shoulder tattoo in the picture above and are wondering what it says—
"There is no happiness without tears
No life without death
And no true love without heartbreak"
Rated: Explicit for smut (including sexual fantasies, masturbation, implied and detailed sex, etc.) and language (lots of F-bombs).
Also available on: AO3 FF.N
Chapter 1
“Late again?” Liam chides when Ruby waltzes into work as if everything is completely normal. As if she’s not an hour late for her shift.
For the third time that week.
She gives him an apologetic smile, but Killian knows she’s not actually sorry.
He’s just wondering who she was with this time.
“Won't happen again, boss.”
“Damn right it won’t. This is your third warning. Next time, there will be a write-up,” he admonishes.
Frustration creases her forehead. “Geez, would you just chill? My car broke down.”
Liam crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. “So, you mean to tell me your car has broken down three times this week?” he asks, holding up three fingers. “And on either of these occasions, you couldn’t pick up the phone and give me a heads up? Did your phone break, too?”
She flashes him a look as though the answer to his question is obvious. “I told you my car’s a piece of junk. And I tried to call, but no one answered.”
Killian fights off a laugh, knowing for a fact Ruby is bluffing. At least about calling tonight, since the phone hadn’t rung in the past hour. But he could easily check to see if she’d called on the other two days on the bar phone’s caller i.d. to find out for sure if he really wanted to.
“So get a new car. Don’t you make enough from your tips and the hourly wage I pay you?”
“I make enough from my tips,” she replies with a sarcastic smirk, “but I have more important things to buy.”
Liam rolls his eyes. “Like what? More six-inch heels, low-cut tops and short skirts?”
Ruby lets out an exasperated sigh. “How do you think I get good tips—by dressing like a Catholic schoolgirl?” She twists her lips and presses the back of her long, red-painted fingernail to her chin, pondering her own words for a second. “On second thought, that actually might bring in even more tips. Besides, you should be paying for my work clothes. Maybe then I could afford a new car.”
Liam scoffs. “You want me to pay for your outfits?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
Ruby's eyes widen, as though she’s shocked he declined her request. “Why not? Can’t you claim them as a work expense?”
He nods. “Alright, fine. But if I’m paying for your work attire, then I’m choosing what you wear. Sound good to you?” he asks, knowing damn well she’ll never go for it.
Unsurprisingly, she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I ain’t wearing no damn polo shirt and black slacks. I like my low-cut tops and short skirts, thank you very much.”
Liam sighs and cups his forehead in his hand to indicate she’s giving him a headache as he turns around and walks toward his office. “Just get to work, Ruby.”
She wraps her apron around her waist and mimics his words in a mocking tone, “Just get to work, Ruby.”
“I heard that!” Liam hollers.
“I could be already serving customers if it weren’t for my pain in the ass boss riding me every two goddamn seconds!” she shouts, hoping he heard that too.
Killian chuckles to himself as he rings up a customer for his drinks and hands him the change.
“That dude seriously needs to get laid,” Ruby huffs. “Maybe then he’d back off a little.”
“Ha! I doubt it,” Killian comments before taking another drink order.
Ruby heads to the dining area to wait on customers. She knows Killian’s not wrong to doubt Liam’s ability to show a little mercy. He’s worked for his brother for two years, longer than anyone has ever been able to stand working for him, and he’s never once seen Liam be lenient, not even to his own brother. He runs a tight ship, and Killian doesn’t see that ever changing. Liam has owned this bar for five years and takes his job very seriously.
Killian’s just glad he only has to work here for another six months. Or at least that’s the plan. He’s about to graduate from Storybrooke University and get his degree in engineering. As much as he enjoys working for his brother, or rather listening to his coworkers complain about his brother behind Liam’s back, he doesn’t plan on spending his entire life making drinks.
Liam emerges from his office an hour later and announces he has to take off for a while to run some errands. Killian’s confused because this is Liam’s night to manage the bar. He dedicates the majority of his other time performing administrative tasks during the week.
“What errands do you have to run on a Friday night?” Killian asks, his words laced with suspicion.
“Just some errands I promised someone I’d take care of. You’re in charge while I’m gone.” He pulls on his jacket and leaves Killian behind the bar with a confused expression on his face, wondering what his brother is up to.
Killian brushes off the thought, deciding to further question him later.
Liam heads out the door, but not before scolding Ruby for sitting down at a table full of rowdy men, chatting (and not about the menu). She may be into women, but she flirts with customers regardless of their gender for the tips.
Ruby curses under her breath and gets up, moving to her next table to jot down orders.
~*~
Emma sighs as Mary Margaret grabs her hand and pulls her into The Captain's Rum. Or more like, drags her in kicking and screaming. She doesn’t wish to be at this bar any more than she wanted to be at the last two. But her sister-in-law insists on the outlandish idea Emma’s going to find Mr. Perfect tonight. Or somehow get over her asshole of an ex-boyfriend after one night of drinking.
And even though it's been two months since she left Neal and his thieving and cheating ass, and as much as she wants to get over him, Emma knows it’s not gonna happen for a while. At least not tonight.
And yet, here she is.
One night of drinking can’t hurt, she supposes. One night of forgetting everything. Of numbing her pain. Or so she keeps telling herself, but that could be the alcohol she’s already imbibed at the other two bars speaking.
“So, how’s it going tonight, Rubes?” Mary Margaret asks the cocktail server once they’re seated at a booth.
Apparently, they know each other.
“Well, no one's tried to manhandle me yet, so it's a start.” The tall brunette with red streaks in her hair leans over the table and murmurs, “Not a great start, but it's a start.”
Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and laughs as she gestures at Emma. “Rubes, this is my sister-in-law, Emma. She just moved here from New York.”
Looking at Emma, Ruby grins and sticks out her hand. “Hi! Nice to meet you!”
Emma gives her a polite smile and shakes her hand. “Likewise.”
When Ruby brings the chips and cheese Mary Margaret ordered, she places them on the table along with two empty plates. Before arriving here, Mary Margaret decided they would put some food in their bellies before they added more alcohol so they wouldn't get too drunk too fast and have to head home early. Well, that was Mary Margaret’s idea at least. Emma would much rather be home in the comfort of her bedroom watching Netflix. Or rather, her brother’s and sister-in-law's guestroom they so graciously let her sleep in until she gets her own place.
“Enjoy, ladies.”
“Sure will,” Mary Margaret beams as Ruby leaves their table. She sips on some water as she scans the bar. Probably for potential suitors she can hook her sister-in-law up with, Emma surmises. “What about him? He's cute,” Mary Margaret remarks, her eyes trained on someone behind her.
Emma looks over her shoulder and arches a brow. “He’s cute if you’re sixteen. He looks way too young.”
“Well, he’s drinking, so he must be at least twenty-one,” Mary Margaret points out.
“He looks sixteen, and sorry, I don’t date children.”
“Emma, he’s not a child, probably a college student. And you act like you’re so old just because you already graduated. You’re twenty-two,” Mary Margaret points out like she’s jealous and wishes to be so young again. But she's only a few years older—the same age as David.
Emma groans. “No, thanks.” Her last boyfriend was immature enough as it was, and he was ten years her senior. “So, tell me, how are you and my brother getting along?” Emma asks, attempting to change the subject and get her sister-in-law to avert her attention from the college boys across the room. “Sick of each other yet?”
Mary Margaret whips her head around and scowls. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?”
Emma laughs and raises her hands in defense. “Because I knew it was the only thing that would get your attention.”
Guilt and apology flicker in Mary Margaret’s eyes. “Sorry, Emma.” She lays her palms on the table. “David and I are just worried about you, that’s all.”
Emma sighs, frustration creasing her forehead. “I’m fine, I promise. Neal was an ass, and honestly, him cheating on me was a good thing. I needed the wake-up call, okay? I was blinded by love. But now that we're over, I can move on with my life. That’s why I let you talk me into bar hopping.”
A slow, hopeful smile spreads across her lips. “I know, and I’m so happy you got out of that relationship, Emma. David and I both are.”
Emma laughs. “I know. When I landed on your door stoop, we both had to stop him from driving all the way to New York to kick Neal's ass.”
Mary Margaret nods. “True. He’s very protective of you.”
Emma rolls her eyes. “I know. It’s both a blessing and a curse.” She takes a sip of water as she scans the bar. It’s the first time she’s been to The Captain's Rum, and everyone is so unfamiliar to her. New York is a huge place, especially compared to Storybrooke, but in this bar, it feels like she‘s back in New York. She swears everyone in Storybrooke is here.
Ruby returns to their table to sit and chat. And steal some of their chips, double-dipping them in the cheese. Emma fights off the urge to laugh at this as her eyes wander past Ruby’s shoulder.
Huge mistake.
The group at the bar counter disperses, revealing the most gorgeous sight she's ever seen.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
She loses a breath when she sees what she can only describe as a fine specimen.
Good Lord.
Handsome features and such a delicious smile to accompany his perfect face as he chats with a male patron at the bar, she finds herself licking her lips.
“What about him?” Emma manages when she’s able to find the words in her throat.
Mary Margaret’s eyes light up before she even looks to see who Emma is staring so unabashedly at. “Who?!” She and Ruby both turn their heads, their eyes following the path of Emma’s gaze until they land on the target.
“You mean the bartender?” Mary Margaret asks, though, to Emma’s surprise, she doesn’t seem very excited; more like disappointed.
Emma tears her gaze away from the bartender, as much as she doesn’t want to. But she couldn’t breathe when she looked at him and she needed to come up for air. “Yeah, why not?”
“Why not what?” Ruby asks as she looks at Emma, curiosity flashing in her big hazel eyes. “Because if you’re asking ‘why not jump his bones,’ then I can’t think of one good reason.”
“Ruby, don’t encourage her,” Mary Margaret chides with a glare.
Ruby frowns, confusion etched in her features. “Why not?”
“Because… Killian is a player. Emma just broke up with her player of a boyfriend a couple of months ago. She doesn't need another one in her life.”
“Um, excuse me, I’m right here,” Emma groans wryly. “And I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”
“She’s not wrong though,” Ruby remarks. “He is a player. But a fucking hot player. Between the two of us, we’ve conquered all the women of Storybrooke.”
Emma lifts a brow. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“Yep. Probably even some of the same women,” she winks, her words bearing no shame or remorse.
“Ruby, would you stop? Besides, neither of you have conquered me,” Mary Margaret points out with air quotes.
Ruby rolls her eyes. “Of course not. Prince Charming had already parked his car in your garage long ago.” She reverts her eyes to Emma. “If you’re looking for a relationship, he’s definitely not for you…” she leans over toward Emma, speaking softly, “but if you’re looking for a hookup to get over that cheating ex of yours, then he’s absolutely perfect for that. He’ll give you an orgasm sooooo hard, you’ll forget all about that scumbag. Then he’ll do it over and over again until he knows you won’t be able to walk for weeks.” Ruby grins wide. “Hell, you’ll forget your own fucking name for weeks.”
Emma gulps, having to recover from the images Ruby implanted in her mind of the man on the other side of the bar. Once she recovers, she furrows her brows at the conclusions she’s drawn from Ruby’s graphic depictions of what a night with the handsome, dark-haired bartender would be like. “How would you know? Have you two—”
Ruby laughs as though Emma just said the funniest thing she’s ever heard in her life. “Oh Gaaaaawwwwd, no! I don’t swing that way, honey,” she says, rising and waving off Emma’s words with a flick of her hand. “But I’ve seen the number Killian’s done on his conquests. People talk, especially the drunk, horny females who enter the bar. Plus, as I said, he’s my competition, so I have to know what he's working with… if you know what I mean,” she says with a wink.
“Yeah, I got it,” Emma groans as Ruby saunters away. Why do all the hot guys have to be players?
It’s just her luck.
Emma turns to catch another look at him.
God, he’s gorgeous.
Dark, wild hair, stubble on his chin and cheeks, and a fantastic body based on what she can see from her vantage point.
“Emma! Don’t even think about it! That man’s trouble and you know David would never approve,” Mary Margaret explains, pulling Emma from her trance.
She turns her head, glaring at her sister-in-law. “David is not my father. And besides, I’m a grown-ass woman! He can’t tell me who I can or cannot date.”
Mary Margaret gives her a motherly look. “I know, sweetie, but this man doesn’t date women, he fucks them and then sends them packing. David only wants to protect you from guys like him.”
“I don’t need his protection, okay? Or yours. I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself.” Emma stands from her seat, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the alcohol still brewing in her system, or because her sister-law has expressed disapproval from both her and David, making this man seem like a forbidden, sinful dessert she’s dying to get a taste of, even though she’ll pay for it later. But right now she doesn't give a fuck.
She sucks in a breath and strides across the bar, ignoring Mary Margaret’s pleas and warnings.
Her eyes are fixed on him like a magnet. He’s wearing a black v-neck that fits him like a glove and shows off a provocative amount of chest hair, his tight, firm muscles bulging as he wipes down the bar counter. His muscles aren’t inhumanly large, just big enough for her to imagine him picking her up and easily carrying her to his bedroom like she weighs nothing. Emma can feel her panties grow wet just from watching him work.
But even though she doesn’t wish to be told who to be with, she knows she should heed her sister-in-law’s warnings.
What would one night of fun hurt, though? She’s spent too much time holed up in her New York apartment, wallowing in self-pity and heartache after Neal hurt her. She hasn’t been with anyone since then. And maybe she’s not looking to dive into a serious relationship right now. Or ever. Maybe she just wants to blow off some steam. And this man looks like he can handle such a task. She’s more than willing to find out.
Emma approaches the bar and stands in front of him, placing her hands on the counter.
“What can I get you, lass?”
Well, fuck me sideways.
He has a British accent too?
She knows she should run for her life, but before she can talk herself out of it, he looks up from his task, and she feels like her feet are glued to the floor.
Ho-ly hell.
He’s even more gorgeous up close.
His arms are inked with tattoos she so badly wants to trace with her fingers, and his striking blue eyes sparkle as he stares at her, his smile showing off a set of pearly white teeth.
Well shit.
She couldn’t run away if she wanted to.
~*~
Killian had been running back and forth behind the bar for hours, ringing up bar patrons, making drinks and engaging in small talk. It’s a typical Friday night at The Captain’s Rum; the place is normally busy on the weekends, especially since the bar is only a stone’s throw away from the university, and tonight is no exception. It’s crowded and loud, couples are dancing, and the women are scantily clad in either tiny dresses or short tops and skirts. As he’s grabbing beers and making cocktails, the bar continues to fill and grow louder.
He hands off drinks to a couple before moving on to the next customer.
“Hey Jones, can I get two Blue Ribbons?” his good mate, Robin, calls over the blaring music.
Killian chuckles and grabs the desired beers, popping off the caps before handing them over. “Taking it easy tonight?” he asks, leaning against the counter and gripping the edge of it with both hands.
“Aye. Regina doesn’t like the hard stuff. She’s more of a wine person.”
“Ah, I see.” Killian nods; he can definitely see that about Regina. He doesn't want to say this to one of his best mates, but the lass can be a little stuck up and quite bossy at times. She makes Robin happy though, so he keeps his mouth shut.
He chats with him for a few minutes, finally getting a few minutes of reprieve. As Robin heads back to his girlfriend, Killian takes the opportunity to wipe down the bar top. But before he’s finished, someone approaches the counter. His eyes are still trained on his task, but he can’t miss the long blonde hair, pink lace and fantastic cleavage, seeing as the view is directly in front of him. “What can I get you, lass?” he asks, throwing on his most charming grin as he lifts his head.
His smile is cemented on his face the second he looks up.
Killian’s accustomed to seeing pretty women entering his brother’s bar and parading around in clothes that barely cover their essential parts.
Yet nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for the woman standing in front of him on the other side of the bar counter.
No, not woman.
Goddess.
Emerald green eyes, soft pink lips curved into a shy smile, smooth creamy skin, long golden hair cascading over her shoulders.
Good.
God.
She’s breathtaking.
Stunning.
“What would you recommend?” she asks in a teasing tone.
Fuck.
Her voice is that of an angel’s. Pure and sweet and innocent.
She looks like everything he doesn’t deserve but wants every... fucking... part of.
“Uh… I um…” he stutters, scratching nervously behind his ear. He can’t form a cohesive sentence as he looks into those hypnotizing eyes. He wants to get lost in them, drown in them. “What are you… what are you in the mood for, love?” he finally musters, adding another one of his signature grins. “I can make you anything your heart desires.” What he wants to say is, “I can give you anything your heart desires,” but even that may not be true. As gorgeous as she is, he’s afraid he wouldn’t be the man she deserves. He’s never been the guy women like to take home to their parents, anyway. He’s the guy chicks like to have around for a good time before they eventually settle into a serious relationship with Mr. Perfect. He’s definitely no Mr. Perfect, more like a Good Luck Chuck, but at the moment, he feels like he could be fucking Superman for this woman. And he's only exchanged a few words with her so far.
She arches a brow and it’s literally the most adorable and sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed in his life. “Anything?” He senses a challenge in her tone.
“Try me,” he encourages.
She bites her bottom lip in thought.
He lied. Now that’s the most adorable and sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed.
“What if I said I wanted a Baby Yodarita?”
He arches a brow, very much intrigued. “A Baby Yodarita? Never heard of it.”
She laughs and the sound is music to his ears. “That's because I made up the name. But I figure it would be a green drink that looks like baby Yoda.”
“So, I take it you’re a Star Wars fan?”
“Are you a bartender?”
Just as he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, since he’s behind the bar serving drinks, he catches her drift and flashes a smirk.
Could this woman be any hotter? And yes, as he’s asking this question in his head, he’s picturing Chandler Bing and the way he would say it, emphasizing the word be. Gods, he hates that he knows that about Friends. He hates that he actually likes that show.
“You don't really have to be a Star Wars fan to be a baby Yoda fan though. He's so cute, he's trending on the internet, haven't you seen?”
He chuckles. “Aye, who hasn't?”
She plants her hand on her hip, donning a sultry smirk. “So, are you up for the task, or not?”
He licks his lips and leans over the bar counter, his eyes locked with hers. He wants to ask her if she fell from heaven. Or if he just died and went to heaven. But he has a feeling cheesy lines wouldn't work on a woman like her. “I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific as to what task you’re referring to, love.” But who the fuck is he kidding? There is nothing he could do for her he would consider a task.
Only a pleasure.
Blush paints her cheeks and she leans over, meeting him halfway until her face is mere inches from his. “I have a few in mind… but how ‘bout that drink, first?”
Bloody. Fuck-ing. Hell.
Her voice is a mixture of sweet and seductive. He doesn’t know how she manages to pull off a combination like that. His eyes drop to her lips and he’s seriously considering kissing the holy fuck out of her over the bar counter, audience be damned. He almost groans just thinking about her soft, luscious looking lips pressed against his, but he swallows the sound before it leaves his throat.
He lifts his eyes to hers. “Sit tight, sweetheart.”
“Okay,” she says with a smile and takes a seat on a barstool. “Oh, and a Cosmo for my sister-in-law.”
“Coming right up.” It takes every ounce of strength within him to pull away, but somehow he does.
He has to take slow, deep breaths to peel his mind from the fantasies he’s already having of him and the blonde temptress watching him intently as he prepares her drink.
~*~
Emma snorts. She honestly didn’t think he would actually take her seriously. She was only kidding around. But he took her very seriously and eagerly accepted her challenge. And he did an amazing job.
She stares at the green drink in amusement, impressed, to say the least. He brought it to her in a margarita glass with two lime wedges sticking out like ears. The stem is wrapped in a napkin tied with twine and clearly made to look like Baby Yoda’s coat. And there's a cocktail stick tucked into the twine like a sword.
“Well? How did I do?” he asks, eagerly seeking her answer.
“It's so cute,” she comments honestly. “It looks great, but does it taste as good as it looks?” As she asks that question, she’s looking up into his gorgeous eyes. And she can’t deny she’s wondering the same about him.
Does he taste as good as he looks?
Before she brings the glass to her lips, he puts up a finger to stop her.
“Hold on.” He grabs a toothpick and stabs two cherries, one on each end, before sticking it into the drink, giving the baby Yoda a pair of eyes. “For the finishing touch,” he smirks.
After she stops laughing, she takes a hesitant drink. Once she takes the first sip, her face sours and she blinks a few times as she swallows. “Wow, that’s strong.” She arches her brow, pinning him with an accusatory stare. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
He chuckles. “Aye, isn't that the intention?”
She nods and grins. “This will certainly do the trick.” She rises from the stool and reaches into her back pocket, pulling out her phone case wallet, which holds her phone and money. “How much?” she asks, pulling out some cash.
He waves off her offer. “The drinks are on me,” he says with a wink.
“Are you sure? I don't wanna get you in trouble.”
“Trust me, I won't get in trouble.”
Taking his word for it, she tucks the cash into her wallet. “Thanks for the drinks, Killian.”
He arches a sultry brow, making her heart skip a beat. “So, you’ve heard of me, but I have yet to learn your name?”
She laughs and points at the name embroidered into his shirt. “Yours is right there.”
“Oh, that,” he chuckles, a light blush tinting his cheeks as he peers down and brushes his fingers over the letters. “My boss insists we have our names displayed on our shirts.”
“Well, your boss sounds like a pain in the ass.”
“He is, but I only have to work here for another six months. I’m graduating from SBU in the Spring.”
She nods as a group of people approach the counter beside her. She glances over at them and shifts her gaze back to him, wishing he had more time to chat, but she knows he has to work. “It's Emma,” she makes sure to tell him before the counter becomes too overcrowded. “My name,” she clarifies, in case that wasn't obvious.
“It’s nice to meet you, Emma,” he says sweetly, reaching over to shake her hand. When she slips her palm into his, she can feel the sparks from his touch, but instead of shaking her hand, he brings it to his lips and kisses the back of it.
Oh, God.
This man’s lips on her skin feel like heaven and sin. She has to clench her thighs to stop the throbbing she feels between her legs.
Fuck.
She feels the loss when she pulls her hand away and sees the loss written all over his face. “Well, I should um… I should get back to my sister-in-law,” she stammers after learning how to form words again.
He scratches behind his ear and opens his mouth to speak before closing it again like he’s nervous about something. “Of course, love.”
Emma swallows thickly and lingers a bit, patiently waiting for him to say what’s on his mind.
He must sense she's waiting for him because as she grabs the drinks and starts to back away from the counter, his voice stops her. “Emma?”
Good Lord, she loves the way her name slides off his tongue.
She cocks a brow, hoping he's about to ask for her number. Praying he does. “Yes?”
“I um… can you come back here before you leave? Say in an hour when it slows down a bit? I’d love to chat with you some more,” he says sincerely.
Emma purses her lips like she has to mull over his question. The offer is extremely tempting. But she has something else in mind other than talking. Something involving his hands all over her body and her legs wrapped around his hips as he's plunging into her.
And you know what? Fuck it.
She’s sure whatever he has in mind is exactly what she has in mind. Or at least, close to it. “Sure.”
His eyes widen in excitement and surprise, as though he wasn't actually expecting her to say yes. “Really?”
She flashes him her sexiest grin. “Yeah, why not? I’ll see you in an hour.”
“See you then, love. Enjoy your drink. May the booze be with you.”
She snorts and backs away from the counter, holding up her glass in salute before taking a sip. Their eyes are still locked before she turns around.
As she walks away, she cranes her neck to see him still watching her, even as he's serving other customers. She winks at him and has the pleasure of witnessing that adorable pink blush coloring his cheeks and the smirk on his lips before she faces forward and heads back to Mary Margaret.
She’s not looking forward to the lecture her sister-in-law is about to give her, but honestly, she doesn't care. She's looking forward to returning to the hot bartender, hoping to go back to his bedroom. Or the restroom. Either will do, really. As long as she gets to have him.
After Mary Margaret is done chewing Emma out and reminding her of what a player Killian is, and after she finally realizes Emma is going to do what she wants, regardless of what anyone says, they are able to have some fun.
Ruby keeps the drinks coming, and soon they’re tipsy enough to get up and dance among the crowd of gyrating bodies already on the dance floor. Emma glances over at the counter every now and then, and every other time, she catches Killian staring at her, sending shivers down her spine. And every time he tosses her one of his cheeky smiles, her stomach flutters with butterflies.
Emma's thankful Mary Margaret is plastered enough to let loose and not give her any shit because she has no idea what Mary Margaret would do if Emma told her she's going back to talk to Killian. Though she has a feeling if Mary Margaret were sober, she'd do anything in her power to make sure Emma stayed away from him.
When the time finally comes, they order an Uber, which takes much longer than expected. She helps Mary Margaret into the backseat and tells her she's staying for a bit longer and will catch another Uber when she's ready to leave. She doesn't dare mention Killian's name, or that she plans on leaving with him, for fear Mary Margaret will blabber to her brother. Because then he'll come marching into the bar on his white horse to find his sister with the bartender and embarrass the hell out of her.
Mary Margaret's too drunk and in no shape to talk her out of anything, so Emma’s able to escape, knowing her brother will take care of his wife when she gets home.
Emma quickly shoots David a text to let him know his wife had a few too many drinks and is on her way home in an Uber and that Emma decided to stay a little longer but will be home soon. Which is a lie.
She hopes.
Before the Uber drives away, Emma slips her phone into her pocket before heading back into the bar. She's fifteen minutes late, but it's not like Killian can go anywhere. He’s the bartender.
Once inside, she takes a deep breath and tucks some hair behind her ears, a smile playing along her lips as she makes her way to the bar counter. She has no idea what exactly will happen once she reaches him, but with a face as gorgeous as his, she’s pretty sure she would let him do anything he wanted to.
She’s also pretty sure he could help Emma get over her ex. As they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And that’s exactly what she plans on doing.
As Emma nears the counter and spots Killian, the beaming smile on her face immediately falls flat.
And her heart sinks.
A busty blonde is standing at the bar, her hand running up and down Killian’s arm, her fingers tracing his tattoos. The woman is sitting on a barstool at the opposite side of the counter in a low-cut top that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and a skirt so short and tight it looks like it's been painted on. Killian’s standing in front of her, so his back is to Emma as he gives his full attention to the other blonde. It's almost time for last call, so it's now much quieter in the bar, and she's close enough to be able to hear their conversation.
“What can I get you, love?”
“A Tequila.”
“Tequilas are trouble,” he says matter-of-factly.
She moves in closer, biting her smile. “So am I,” she taunts.
“I’m fully aware,” he replies with a chuckle. He tries to move, probably to make her Tequila, but she grabs his arm, forcing him to stay. Though, forcing is a bit of an overstatement; Killian doesn't seem to be putting up much of a fight. “Would you like a snack, too?”
Mischief dances in her eyes as she licks her lips, ogling him like he’s the snack. “I’m looking at it, honey.”
Emma feels like she's going to be sick.
The woman leans in and bites his ear and then pulls away slightly. “Last weekend was incredible. Can’t stop thinking about having my legs wrapped around you,” she giggles.
Jealousy stabs Emma’s gut and disappointment shoots through her like a lightning bolt, bringing her back to reality.
Mary Margaret and Ruby were totally right.
He’s a player.
Unable to listen to them for another second, Emma spins on her heels and dashes out the door so fast, she almost tramples over some guys heading in at the last minute.
She should’ve listened to the warnings, but she was too blinded by the attraction she felt for Killian.
God, she’s a fucking idiot.
Why does she always fall for the dangerous guys? The ones who are bad for her? Why can’t she just find a nice guy for once? Someone safe. Someone who won’t stomp on her heart and discard it like trash without batting an eye.
She pushes open the door, tears stinging her eyes as she runs outside into the bitter, chilly night, hoping the Uber driver hasn’t taken off yet. But it's wishful thinking because she can't think of a reason why he wouldn't have left by now.
“Ooof.”
The air rushes from her lungs as she slams into a tall, solid mass.
Hands are gripping her arms to keep her from falling as apologies leave her lips. “Sorry.” She looks up at the man towering over her, Emma's eyes connecting with soft blue ones, which are full of apology.
He flashes a warm smile, his lips framed by a light brown scruff.
“I’m the one who should be sorry, lass. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
Shit.
He has an accent too?
What’s with all the accents in this town? She’s noticed a lot of the locals here weren’t actually born here. Or the States. She didn’t realize how much she liked men with foreign accents until tonight.
This man continues to apologize, but he doesn’t sound very sorry. At least not for crashing into her. “I was distracted,” he says with a smirk, giving Emma the impression she was what he was distracted by.
Emma tears herself from the trance she’s in and glances at the side of the road, where the Uber once was. “Shit,” she curses under her breath.
“Are you okay?” he asks in genuine concern.
“Yeah, it’s just… my ride has already left. And I’m too drunk to drive home,” she sighs.
Before the man can respond, his phone chimes from his jacket. “Excuse me,” he says apologetically, pulling out the device. He studies whatever’s on the screen with a worried expression, then looks up at her, his mouth slightly agape.
“Everything okay?” she asks with an arched brow, starting to shiver as a frigid wind sweeps around her.
“Um, yeah.” He glances at his phone again before lifting his gaze. “You wouldn’t happen to be Emma, would you?”
She freezes and just stares at him, not knowing how to answer that. Or rather, why she should answer that.
What the hell?
She's never seen this man before in her life, so how does he know her name?
Her heart pounds and she wants to run, but she's afraid she’s not sober enough for that at the moment. “How do you know my name?”
He appears to be hesitant as he holds up his phone, showing her his screen.
Emma takes it in her hands so she can get a better look.
Her eyes widen when she sees a text from a Nolan.
Nolan, as in her brother? Who else with the last name, Nolan, lives with a Mary Margaret and an Emma?
Nolan: I just received a text from Emma. She sent Mary Margaret home in an Uber and is at your bar. Can you make sure she gets home all right?
Her blood sizzles as she rereads the message. Then she reads the texts before it, a couple in particular sticking out like sore thumbs.
Nolan: So… I have a huge favor to ask.
Me: Sure, what’s up, mate?
Nolan: The wife and sister are going to the Rabbit Hole tonight. Emma just moved here from New York after a terrible break-up and Mary Margaret is determined to hook her up with someone.
Nolan: Think you have time to get away from work and keep an eye on my sister, make sure she doesn’t find any trouble?
What the actual fuck?
Why is her brother having this man spy on her?
Emma turns around and pulls back the hand still holding the phone, about to toss the damn thing.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t shoot the messenger, love,” he pleads. “I need my phone.”
The endearment makes her shiver. Killian had called her love, too.
She spins around to glare at the stranger. “David’s using you to spy on me?” she demands firmly.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t want to, lass, I promise, but I would’ve felt terrible if I said no and then, later on, found out something bad happened to you. I promise, I was only helping a friend and looking out for you.”
Emma sighs and hands his phone back, knowing he’s telling the truth. She saw his responses to David’s texts and gathered he didn’t wish to put his nose where it didn’t belong or to stir up any trouble. “David always has been good at persuading people,” she grumbles.
“Aye, especially when it comes to protecting the ones he loves,” he winks.
“Even so, he has no business spying on me!” she states louder than intended.
“I wholeheartedly agree,” he states adamantly, making sure to express how much he was against this whole idea, to begin with.
Emma crosses her arms over her chest, wondering how she never saw him at the Rabbit Hole when she was there. “So, you spied on me at the Rabbit Hole?”
He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t get the chance to. By the time I got there, you and Mary Margaret were already gone.”
Emma shakes her head and rolls her eyes at the thought of her own brother asking someone to spy on her. But she’s not surprised. “Brothers are so annoying,” she grumbles.
He chuckles, and the deep, hearty sound warms her heart a little, despite the chill in the air. “Agreed.”
She arches her brow, as though to ask him to expand on why.
“I have one of those, too. So I get it.”
Emma’s features soften, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Older or younger?”
“Younger. He can be quite the ponce sometimes, but at the end of the day, I’d lay down my life for him.”
“I usually feel the same about David… and then he goes and pulls something like this,” Emma remarks bitterly.
“I take it he does this a lot?”
“He did when we were younger. But then I moved to New York and he came here, so we didn’t see each other very much.”
“Ah, I see.”
Another gust of wind makes her shiver and has him removing his jacket and offering it to her. Even though she’s already wearing one.
“May I?”
She cocks a brow. “Won’t you be cold?”
He shrugs. “I rarely get cold.”
She gives him a soft nod. He looks like he’d be the type of man who knows how to stay warm, and therefore knows how to keep a woman warm. He has those big, strong arms and broad shoulders, and he’s very tall. She could picture herself being buried in his warmth, but maybe because she's currently freezing her ass off. “Thanks,” she murmurs when he goes behind her and drapes the jacket over her shoulders.
“It’s my pleasure, love.” When he’s standing in front of her again, he sticks out his hand. “The name’s Liam.”
Emma smiles and slips her palm in his.
She was right. He is warm. Very warm. “I think David’s mentioned your name a few times.”
“Probably not as much as he talks about you. In fact, I feel like I already know you,” he chuckles as they break the handshake.
“Hopefully, he had good things to say?” She almost groans at the idea of David spewing a bunch of embarrassing stories about her from when she was a kid.
“Aye. Very good things… well, mostly,” he admits. “But who doesn’t have at least a complaint or two about their siblings?”
She nods in agreement. “True. I complain about him all the time.”
He grins big and wide. “I don’t doubt that.” When his smile fades a little, he scratches his head as he looks at her, hesitant to form the next words he wants to say. “Well, uh… seeing as it’s,” he checks his watch, “almost two o’clock and not getting any warmer out here, how about I give you a ride home?”
Emma twists her lips in thought. Normally she wouldn’t even think twice about rejecting a ride from a stranger, but there’s something about this guy that tells her he’s not a serial killer or rapist. There’s something pure about him, a vast contrast to the bartender inside. That guy screamed danger and sin, but this man standing before her gives off completely different vibes. He has a warm personality, which is very refreshing, and he has honest eyes. Besides, she may not be able to stand her brother and his antics sometimes, but he's always had good taste in friends. And if David trusts Liam enough to keep tabs on his sister, then he must be trustworthy.
So with a feeble smile, she finally answers. “Okay.”
Tagging people who have shown interest. Let me know if you would like to be added. @itsfabianadocarmo @resident-of-storybrooke @onceuponaprincessworld @viajandosinalas @teamhook @captainswan-shipper88 @jamif @katielovesstarcrossedlovers @uhthreeyuh @lfh1226-linda @babyyouremyqueen @sthonour @julesep3026 @fairytalewhispersinmyheart @andiirivera @wefoundloveunderthelight @wickedsw4n @eleveneitherway @eherron14 @ouatpost @transparentclodsludgeweasel
summary: soonami studios forces you and keys mckey into a shared apartment as a temporary housing arrangement. at first, it's just surviving each other - the arguments, the competition, the constant tension of being around someone who gets under your skin too easily. but the longer it goes on, the harder it becomes to ignore how naturally your lives start folding into each other. and once someone becomes part of your everyday life, losing them starts feeling a lot more dangerous.
warnings: strong language, marijuana use, enemies to roommates, workplace rivals, forced proximity, keys being jealous of reader, accidental concern, chaos, shirtless Keys
an: tysm for all of the love on the first chapter!! i hope you love this one mwah
The room is still mostly dark, pale morning light barely pushing through the blinds across from the bed. For a second you just lie there staring at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself you’re not actually awake yet. Your body still aches from hauling half your life out of that motel yesterday, and the stiff mattress definitely isn’t helping. Somewhere outside the apartment, a car horn blares. You groan quietly into your pillow, the chaotic city awake before you. Something you’re definitely going to have to get used to. You force yourself upright after another minute, hoodie twisted messily awkwardly around you from sleeping in it. Your sleepy eyes scan the clothes that are half unpacked, chargers that are tangled across the desk, one shoe somehow sitting near the bathroom door for reasons you can’t explain. You were never the messy type, sure sometimes things would get disorganized but nothing was ever this chaotic for you, so this was driving you a bit insane.
You grab your phone off the nightstand to check the time.
7:12 AM.
If you go back to sleep now, you already know you’ll wake up late and humiliate yourself on your second day. So instead, you drag yourself out of bed and shuffle toward the kitchen half awake, rubbing one eye while the apartment is still quiet. At first, it almost feels like you live alone, and god you wish you did. You walk into the kitchen and remember exactly why you don’t. No groceries, no coffee, no food.
You stare into the empty fridge anyway, hoping food will magically appear.
“Jesus Christ,” you mutter.
“Yeah. I checked already.”
His voice makes you physically jump. Keys is leaning against the hallway entrance like he’s been standing there long enough to witness your disappointment in real time. Which you’re sure he was happy by. Glasses on, hair messier than yesterday somehow, black sweats hanging low on his hips and a dark t-shirt that looks wrinkled enough to suggest he slept in it.
“You scared the shit out of me,” you say, pressing a hand briefly against your chest dramatically before shutting the fridge harder than necessary.
“Food isn’t gonna magically appear y’know,” he says dryly as he walks past you toward the cabinets.
“I had hope,” you defend.
“That was your first mistake,” he says.
You narrow your eyes at him immediately. “Do you ever stop talking like that?”
Keys glances over his shoulder slightly. “Like what?”
“Like a condescending asshole,” you answer as you lean against the counter.
Instead of replying, he opens a cabinet.“Okay,” he says after a second, shutting it. “This is actually worse than I thought.”
You cross your arms over your chest. “You didn’t buy groceries, Mr.I-had-somewhere-to-be-after-work?”
He turns toward you slowly, eyebrows lifting behind his glasses like he genuinely can’t believe you just asked that. “Why the fuck would I buy groceries?” he asks. “I got here at like eleven,” he says, grabbing the bottle of water from the counter.
“And?”
“And I went to sleep,” he replies before taking a sip.
You roll your eyes. “Whatever. I’m showering before I pass out from malnutrition.”
You stand there half asleep letting the water hit your shoulders. The muffled sound of cabinet doors opening in the kitchen, grunting coming from Keys’ bratty mouth, footsteps moving across the hardwood floors, Keys dropping something followed immediately by a quiet “shit” from somewhere outside the bathroom door. The water’s barely warm, but it’s enough to wake you up slowly while steam fogs the mirror and curls around the ceiling. You probably should’ve showered after your shift last night, but you just needed a good night sleep.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
You physically jump. “What the fuck?” you yell over the water immediately, whipping the glass door with your hand to see if you can see anything, even though the door is locked.
“Hurry up!” Keys shouts through the door.
You stare toward the bathroom entrance in disbelief. “Oh my god, relax!”
“You’ve been in there forever.”
“It’s literally been ten minutes!”
“It’s been twenty-five!”
The banging on the door continues.
You shut your eyes tightly. “Keys, I swear to god—”
“I still have to get ready too!”
“You’re a man!” you yell back. You roll your eyes hard enough it physically hurts before rinsing conditioner out of your hair and the body wash off of your body faster. You try ignoring him after that, it lasts maybe thirty seconds.
More knocks continue.
“Keys!”
“What?!”
“STOP DOING THAT.”
“You’re taking forever.”
“You’re being insane.”
“This is our first morning living together and you’re already holding the bathroom hostage!”
You blink. “You make it sound like we’re fucking married!”
“I’d rather die.”
“Can you?” you joke under your breath.
Another knock hits the door, then another, then somehow louder ones, leading you to snap. You shut the water off aggressively before wrapping a towel around yourself as fast as possible and storming toward the bathroom door dripping wet and furious.
You yank it open just enough for your head and shoulder to show through the gap. “What is WRONG with you?” you hiss.
Keys is standing there mid-knock with his fist still half raised, and then he freezes. His eyes flick up automatically before darting away almost just as fast, which honestly surprises you considering he’s spent the last few minutes trying to break the bathroom door down.
“You were banging on the door like the building was on fire,” you continue, glaring at him. “Are you incapable of acting normal for even one second?”
Keys clears his throat awkwardly before finally lowering his hand. “I need to piss and get ready.”
“You need to check yourself in.”
Keys rubs the back of his neck briefly, still not really looking directly at you anymore. “You done yelling at me?” he asks finally.
“No.”
“Cool.”
You narrow your eyes immediately. “You’re actually the most irritating person I’ve ever met.”
Keys stares at you for a second longer like he’s debating whether arguing with you is worth the energy this early in the morning. His hair’s still messy from sleep, glasses slightly crooked on his face, one hand braced against the hallway wall while the other rubs tiredly over his jaw.
Then he exhales sharply through his nose.“Can I use the bathroom now?” he asks flatly.
You blink at him once before answering just as flatly. “No.”
You grin sweetly and shut the door the rest of the way in his face.
The second it closes, another knock rattles the wood, and maybe even the whole city of Boston.
Twenty minutes later, the bathroom counter looks like a small explosion and Keys’ worst nightmare. Makeup bags half unzipped, hair products scattered everywhere, one hoop earring missing in action already. Steam still clings faintly to the mirror while music plays softly from your phone beside the sink. You finish your makeup a few minutes later — soft liner, glowy skin, lip gloss. Cute enough to feel put together without looking like you tried too hard, even though you absolutely did.
You grab your outfit off the edge of the sink and change quickly, tugging the dark jeans up your legs before buttoning the white blouse. After comes the jewelry — rings, layered necklaces, earrings after finally finding the missing hoop sitting somehow how on the interesting colored bathroom rug.
When you finally step out into the hallway, Keys is already dressed. He glances up automatically when he hears you, then pauses for like half a second too long.
“So,” you say slowly, grabbing your bag off the couch, “did the bathroom survive your incredibly urgent crisis?”
Keys blinks once before looking away again toward his phone. “Barely, you’re lucky I took a shower last night.”
“You know,” you continue casually, “for someone who was acting like he was moments away from death, you sure took your time getting ready.”
“I get ready fast,” he says simply.
“Yeah. I can tell.”
“You look expensive again.”
You stare at him immediately. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” he replies, grabbing his backpack off the counter. “You just do.”
“That is genuinely one of the weirdest things anyone’s ever said to me.”
“And yet you understood exactly what I meant.”
You open your mouth, then close it again because annoyingly enough. He was somewhat right, but you weren’t gonna give him that satisfaction. Because the minute Keys Mckey won any argument, you already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Keys notices your silence immediately, and the corner of his mouth twitches slightly like he just won something, but he fucking didn’t.
You point at him instantly. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That weird little smug nerdy bitch face.”
“I don’t have a weird little smug nerdy bitch face.”
“You absolutely have a weird little smug nerdy bitch face.”
He grabs his keys off the counter. “You’re very judgmental before eight in the morning.”
“And you’re still talking.”
“You’ve mentioned.”
The apartment gets quiet for another second while both of you gather your stuff near the front door. The weird domestic normalcy of it makes something in your chest feel oddly off balance, like this shouldn’t already feel routine. Keys opens the door first, stepping aside just enough for you to walk through.
You pause briefly. “…thank you,” you say suspiciously.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“And there he is.”
You roll your eyes as you walk past him into the hallway, already hearing the apartment door lock behind you. The elevator ride downstairs is quiet for exactly twelve seconds before Keys opens his smart ass mouth.
“You know,” Keys says casually beside you as you both walk down the hallway, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweater, “I think it’s interesting you called me insane this morning when you’re the one who almost started a hostage negotiation over the bathroom.”
You stare at him immediately. “You were banging on the door like a cop.”
“You were in there forever.”
“I was showering.”
“I don’t wanna know what you were doing in there.”
You scoff loudly as the elevator dings open.“Oh my god,” you mutter while stepping inside. “I was taking a damn shower, bro- just shut up I don’t wanna hear another word come out of your mouth.”
“And yet,” he says easily beside you, “you keep talking to me.”
“That’s because unfortunately we live together now.”
“Temporary tragedy.”
You snort before you can stop yourself. The second the sound leaves you, Keys glances over.
You point toward him dramatically. “Don’t get comfortable. That wasn’t for you.”
“Sure, California.”
“I hate that nickname.”
“I know.”
The streets outside are busier this morning than yesterday. People flooding sidewalks with coffees in hand, crosswalk signals beeping endlessly while traffic fills the intersections. Soonami Studios sits only a few blocks away, the giant glass building catching pale morning light across the windows. Somehow, despite the fact that you met less than twenty-four hours ago, you and Keys already fall into step beside each other naturally.
“You walk really fast,” Keys says after a minute.
“You walk really slow.”
“No, I walk normal. You move like someone’s chasing you.”
You scan the people around you as you and Keys walk. People on their phones, some sitting down at bus stops, some to the side outside of the storefront having conversations. “Oh my god Keys stop chasing me-.”
Keys’ eyes widen instantly from the stunt you just pulled. He speeds up to you, shushing you as if you were going to get him in trouble. “Are you out of your mind?”
You roll your eyes dramatically, you can’t help but let out a small laugh. “You said I moved like someone was chasing me, made it a reality I guess.”
Keys shakes his head in disbelief, his jaw beginning to clench. By the time you both walk into the office building lobby, the studio’s already chaotic and alive with movement. Developers drifting between departments, monitors glowing through glass meeting rooms, coworkers carrying coffees like life support systems.
Kenzie the receptionist downstairs spots both of you immediately. “Oh,” she says slowly, visibly amused already. “You two survived the first night.”
You and Keys answer at the exact same time.
“Barely.”
“We’re filing complaints.”
“You know,” she says, still smiling, “married couples usually fight less.”
Both of you turn immediately. “We are NOT married.”
Keys stupidly adds, “Thank fucking god.”
Kenzie is trying so hard not to laugh now that she physically turns away pretending to organize papers.
The elevator door ding echos throughout the first floor, moments before the double doors slide opposing ways, opening.
You point at Keys while stepping inside. “You’re the worst person I’ve met in this city.”
Keys steps in after you calmly. “Statistically impossible.”
“Emotionally accurate.”
“See?” he says as the doors slide shut. “That one was actually funny.”
You cross your arms immediately. “Don’t compliment me. It feels manipulative.”
By the time you both reach your section of the office, a few people are already there typing away quietly while monitors glow across the room. Parker’s standing near one of the desks talking to another developer when he notices both of you walking in together.
His eyes flick between you once, then he sneaks in a quick smile. You never want to see him do that ever again.
“Well,” Parker says as he walks over, coffee in hand. “You two made it to day two.”
“Barely,” you answer immediately.
“At this point,” Keys adds, dropping into his chair, “I think surviving the apartment should qualify as overtime.”
Parker laughs. “You’ll adjust,” he says easily before setting a folder down onto your desk. “Both of you are helping with interface cleanup today. Same project.”
You and Keys look at each other immediately.
“There’s overlap between backend and visual flow,” he explains. “You’re both good at different things. Figure it out.”
Then he walks away before either of you can argue.
You slowly look toward Keys, he slowly looks towards you. “This feels targeted,” you mutter.
“Extremely,” he agrees.
You sit down heavily in your chair before opening the folder, filled with what you’d expect. Mockups, user flow issues, interface bugs. Honestly? Not horrible.
“Oh absolutely not,” you say immediately.
Keys looks over from beside you. “What?”
You turn the paper toward him. “Who approved this color palette?”
He squints slightly. “It looks fine.”
You stare at him in horror. “Fine?” you repeat.
Keys leans back slightly in his chair. “You care too much about aesthetics.”
“And you don’t care enough.”
“That’s because users prioritize usability.”
“And users also don’t want to look at ugly shit.”
One of the nearby coworkers glances over briefly before immediately pretending not to listen.
“So this is how today’s gonna go?” he asks.
You smile sweetly. “Probably.”
Keys stares at the screen for another second before dragging his chair slightly closer to yours. He taps the side of your monitor. “Okay, look. The layout itself isn’t bad,” he says reluctantly. “The spacing’s just off.”
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Did you just agree with me?”
“Don’t make it a thing.”
For the next twenty minutes, the arguing somehow turns productive. Which feels wayyy more concerning than the arguing itself. You adjust layouts while Keys fixes backend issues beside you, both of you interrupting each other constantly. At one point your hand reaches toward the mouse at the exact same time his does, causing you both to freeze, then immediately pull back like touching each other would result in instant death.
“You go,” Keys says finally.
You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Why are you being nice?”
“I’m not. You just look attached to the mouse.”
“I hate you.”
“You’ve mentioned.”
A few desks away, one of the developers snorts quietly trying not to laugh. You don’t even notice Parker walking back over until his coffee cup lands softly against your desk. You and Keys look up at the same time, Parker smiles then glances between your screens once.
“…Jesus,” he mutters.
You blink. “Is something wrong?”
“This is the fastest anyone’s fixed this project all week.”
You glance toward Keys instinctively.
“She’s being aggressively controlling about the visuals,” Keys says flatly.
“And he has the design instincts of a tax accountant,” you reply immediately.
Parker looks between both of you again then smiles in realization. “There it is,” he says.
“There what is?” you ask.
“You two stop trying to outdo each other for five seconds and suddenly everything works.”
You and Keys answer instantly. “We are not working well together.”
Parker looks deeply unconvinced. “Mhm,” he says, clearly not listening. “Anyway, keep going.”
You stare at your monitor while Keys stares at his. “…I don’t like when he says things like that,” you mutter eventually.
“Agreed.”
“It feels manipulative.”
“Extremely.”
You nod once then point toward the screen again. “That icon still looks ugly.”
Keys exhales through his nose tiredly. “You’re annoying as fuck.”
Keys opens his mouth to argue again before stopping abruptly when Parker reappears beside your desks. “You two always this loud?” he asks casually.
“Yes,” both of you answer immediately.
Parker snorts quietly before setting another file onto Keys’ desk. “New task.”
Keys picks it up first, scanning over the pages, his eyebrows life slightly.
“What’s up?” you ask immediately.
Parker looks at you. “Need someone to reorganize the asset management system before the end of the day.”
Keys nods once already reaching for his keyboard. “Okay, I’m your guy-”
Parker’s eyes land directly on you, cutting Keys off from speaking. “And I want you handling the interface cleanup solo now.”
You blink. “Me?”
“You’re faster.”
Keys goes still beside you for half a second too long before leaning back in his chair again.
“You finish early,” he continues casually, “you can head home. I know you’re both still settling into the apartment situation.”
You straighten slightly in your chair. “Seriously?”
“You already got more done in an hour than the last team managed all afternoon yesterday.”
You try very hard not to look too pleased with yourself. “Thank you,” you say, already reaching for the folder
Beside you, Keys clicks something onto his screen harder than necessary. Parker finally walks off again after that, disappearing toward another section of the office. Awkward silence is left between you and Keys for a second before you break it.
“Well,” you say carefully, turning slightly toward him, “that was humiliating for you.”
Keys doesn’t even look away from his monitor. “You’re talking a lot.”
“I like talking.”
“You should stop.”
“Why should I listen to you?” you say with attitude.
“You know,” he says calmly, “I think living together is already damaging my psychological health.”
You grin slightly before turning your attention back toward your monitor. “Good. Build character.”
For the next few hours, the office fades into the background while you work. You lock into the project completely, fixing layouts, reorganizing menus, cleaning transitions. Every time Parker walks past your desk, he pauses a little longer. At one point, another designer actually stops behind your chair, including Emilie — the manager of the design department.
Around three in the afternoon, you were able to finish. You stare at your screen for a second almost suspiciously, waiting for another issue to appear, another bug, another broken transition hiding somewhere in the interface. You lean back slowly in your chair, stretching your arms above your head with a quiet groan while the office buzzes around you. A second later, Parker stops beside your desk again, eyes scanning your monitor.
“…holy shit,” he mutters.
You grin immediately. “Good holy shit or bad holy shit?”
“Very good holy shit.”
Parker points toward your screen. “This is exactly what I wanted. Cleaner layout, faster flow, less clutter.” He looks genuinely impressed now. “You did all this yourself?”
You nod once, trying not to look too smug about it.
Across from you, Keys spins slightly in his chair toward Parker. “I helped earlier.”
“You complained earlier,” you correct immediately.
“I contributed emotionally.”
“You actively lowered morale.”
Parker laughs again before shaking his head slightly. “Alright, alright. Either way, good work.” Then he looks directly at you. “You can head out early if you want.”
You blink once. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Go enjoy having a life before this place destroys you.”
You glance toward Keys automatically which was a mistake, he’s already looking at you. He’s not looking at you with anger, more annoyance.
You immediately smile brighter out of pure spite. “Aww,” you say sweetly while shutting your laptop. “Thank you, Parker.”
Keys narrows his eyes slightly. “You’re laying it on thick now.”
“I earned it.”
“You’re insufferable when praised.”
“You noticed?”
“Unfortunately.”
You stand up slowly, grabbing your bag off the side of your chair while nearby coworkers glance over. “Damn. Day two and she already beat that McKeys guy.”
Keys points at the guy immediately without even looking away from his screen. “You shut the fuck up.”
You physically bite back a laugh. “Oh my god,” you say while sliding your bag onto your shoulder. “You’re actually upset and making more enemies to work.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You’re typing aggressively.”
“I always type aggressively.”
Keys glares at his keyboard like it betrayed him personally. Parker shakes his head slightly before walking away again. You linger near your desk for another second longer than necessary. Part of you wants to keep bothering him, which is probably a bad sign. Put what’s so bad about playing with fire.
“So,” you say casually, leaning slightly against the divider between your cubicles, “what’s your plan for the rest of the day?”
Keys keeps typing. “Working.”
“Ew.”
“Some of us weren’t granted special princess privileges.”
You gasp dramatically. “Are you jealous?”
“No,” he says immediately.
You narrow your eyes.
“…you are.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You’re pouting.”
“I do not pout.”
“You absolutely pout.”
Keys finally looks over at you then, visibly irritated now. “Can you leave? Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
You grin slowly, “Oh my god,” you say softly. “You’re mad mad.”
“I’m deleting your project.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I absolutely would.”
“You need me.”
“That’s disgusting. Don’t say things like that.”
You laugh again before finally starting toward the elevators. “Bye, Keys!”
The elevator ride down feels weirdly quiet without Keys next to you talking shit every thirty seconds. You lean against the back wall of the elevator while checking your phone, scrolling aimlessly through notifications while the numbers tick lower floor by floor. Your reflection stares back at you in the metal doors, hair still somehow holding up, lip gloss mostly intact, necklaces catching the soft fluorescent light overhead. The second the elevator dings doors open, the city noise hits you immediately. You step outside adjusting your bag higher onto your shoulder before pulling your phone out again.
You stop outside a small corner store a few blocks from the studio, staring through the windows for a second before sighing dramatically and heading inside. Twenty minutes later, you’re walking back out with groceries, the basic needs. The plastic bags dig painfully into your fingers while you walk back toward the apartment building. By the time you finally unlock the apartment door, your arms ache. You kick the door shut behind you dramatically, relief you’re back at home.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter while dropping the grocery bags onto the counter.
You immediately turn the TV on for background noise while unpacking groceries slowly into the mostly empty cabinets. It still feels weird seeing actual food in the kitchen now instead of just one bottle of water and mutual resentment. You’re halfway through organizing snacks when your phone buzzes against the counter.
At some point over the last few hours, the room stopped looking like a storage unit and started looking like your actual bedroom.
The dresser is filled with your clothes, clothes are hanging in the closet - color coded of course -, makeup is organized across the desk, your jewelry tray sits beside the bed, necklaces untangled for once in their lives, chargers are plugged in, the comforter you brought from home is spread across the mattress instead of the stiff white one the apartment came with.
You pause in the middle of the room, hands on your hips as you look around.
Honestly? For someone who spent the entire day working and then hauled groceries and half her belongings across the city afterward, you’ve gotten a ridiculous amount done.
You pull open the second drawer of your night stand next to your bed slowly, digging underneath a bunch of little trinkets you threw in there in a rush before your fingers find what you’re looking for. “Thank god.”
A small grin pulls at your mouth. Some people kept emergency cash in a drawer around their house, you kept emergency weed.
You pull the stash out and set it on the bed before grabbing your rolling tray from another box, it takes a few minutes to gather everything together. Lighter, grinder, papers. The familiar routine of your nightly smoke sessions settles some of the leftover nerves still bouncing around your chest. You unscrew the lid from the jar and immediately relax a little at the familiar smell. “God, finally.”
You grind everything up absentmindedly, tapping the grinder against the tray before dumping it out carefully. You roll the small piece of cardstock automatically, pinching it between your fingers before setting it at one end of the paper. You sprinkle everything carefully down the center. You stare at it too hard, remove some because you feel like it’s too much, add some back, remove some, add some back. You hold the paper between your thumbs, distributing everything evenly before beginning the familiar back-and-forth motion. You tuck the paper carefully before you roll upward, you give the edge of it a lick then you seal it.
“And that’s how you roll a joint.” you hold it up, praising it.
You twist the end of the container closed before setting it carefully on the tray. You stand and stretch slightly before grabbing your lighter off the nightstand and slipping your phone into your pocket. You slide open the hallway window before carefully climbing onto the fire escape that’s attached to your apartment. The metal groans softly beneath your weight, cool air immediately brushes against your skin. You settle onto the platform, pulling one knee toward your chest while the city stretches out below you.
You place the joint between your lips, shielding the flame with one hand while the lighter sparks. The end of the joint glows orange, you take a slow hit before exhaling toward the night sky.
Then the apartment door slams, causing your body to jump.
Your eyes close immediately. “…go away.” you whisper.
Heavy, careless footsteps move through the apartment. You grin to yourself, looks like someone’s having a bad day.
A few seconds later the window beside you slides open, you glance over at it. Keys appears looking genuinely irritated with the entire world. He had changed his clothes, his hair messy, flowing in the wind.
The second he notices you sitting there, his expression somehow gets worse. “What the fuck are you doing?”
You slowly look down at the joint in your hand, your eyes go back to him, then back to the joint, then back to him. “…smoking?”
His jaw tightens, he clenches his nose from the strong smell, “I can see that, why?”
You blink, “What do you mean why?”
“Why would are you doing that?”
You stare at him for a second, “Oh my god.”
“What?” he shrugs.
“You’ve never smoked before.” you point at him, in disbelief.
His eyebrows immediately pull together, “Yes I have.”
Lying straight out of his ass.
“…no you haven’t.”
“I literally just said I have.”
You point the joint at him dramatically, “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Keys folds his arms, “Why would I lie about that?”
You shrug then take a hit of the joint, blowing it away from him, “Because you’re weirdly competitive.”
“I’m not competitive.”
You immediately laugh, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“What?”
“You don’t even hear yourself.”
Keys rolls his eyes, “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Okay.” You sit up straighter against the brick wall. “What strain was it, that you smoked?”
His face immediately goes blank.
You smile, “Oh no.”
“It was…” He gestures vaguely. “Weed.”
You burst out laughing, “Weed?”
“Why do you even like that stuff?”
“And why are you even talking to me right now?”
He rolls his eyes, “I came out here because I needed air.”
You glance around the view of the city dramatically, “Well. Congratulations.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
Keys leans against the window frame. “I didn’t know you were out here.”
Keys watches you as you take another hit. Your eyes catch his, causing him to immediately look away. Something about it makes him uncomfortable. The sight is so ridiculous that you start laughing.
“What?” he asks full of attitude.
“Nothing.”
“You laughed.”
You hold the joint out toward him, offering. “Here.”
Keys physically recoils, “What the fuck?”
You laugh harder. “Relax, it’s clean.”
“No.”
“Relax.”
“No.”
“It’s one hit.”
“No.”
You wave it slightly, “Come on, you’ve had a terrible day.”
His eyes narrow, “My day was fine.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“And you’re sitting on a fire escape getting high by yourself.”
“Actually,” you say, glancing toward the kitchen, “I was about to make dinner.”
Keys looks unimpressed, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“The food’s gonna taste incredible.”
Keys stares at the joint for so long that you start wondering if he’s actually considering it.
You take another hit as he watches you.
Finally, he lets out a long breath through his nose, “Fine.”
You nearly choke at his words, “Fine?”
“One hit.”
The fact that Keys McKey, the same fucking man who spent the last ten minutes acting like smoking weed was the end of the world was even considering this feels impossible.
A grin immediately pulls at your mouth, “No way.”
“One hit,” he repeats.
“Keys.”
“One.”
You sit up straighter against the brick wall,“You are absolutely not about to smoke with me.”
“I’m not smoking with you.” His hand extends expectantly - reaching for the joint, “I’m proving a point.”
You laugh, “That’s somehow worse.” You pass the joint to him.
You hold the joint out before he can change his mind. He takes it from your hand, unsure of how to even hold the damn thing.
“This is stupid.”
“You volunteered.”
“I did not.”
“Uh you kinda did.”
Keys rolls his eyes as he brings the joint to his lips. His lips hug the end of the joint, his eye squinting as he slowly inhales the joint between his fingers. Maybe the tiniest hit you’ve ever seen. Keys pulls the joint away from his mouth, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Almost like he’s already preparing an I told you so.
Then he coughs sharp enough to make his eyebrows pull together immediately.
You start laughing, "Oh my god."
Keys waves you off, clearly trying to recover before you can make fun of him. Unfortunately, the movement only makes things worse. Another cough escapes him, then another, basically a cough attack. The coughing comes hard enough that he has to bend forward slightly, one hand coming up to cover his mouth while the other reaches blindly for the fire escape railing beside him. His shoulders shake with every cough, glasses slipping farther down his nose as he struggles to catch a proper breath between them.
Meanwhile, you're laughing so hard tears are already collecting in your eyes, "Keys."
Another cough cuts him off before he can even attempt to say something.
"Keys!"
He points at you accusingly, or at least tries to. The gesture barely lasts a second before another coughing fit takes over completely. His face is already turning red. His glasses have nearly fallen off. His eyes are watering so badly he can barely keep them open. Every time it looks like he's finally getting control of his breathing, another coughing fit hits him out of nowhere and sends him right back to square one.
The knot of concern in your stomach appears before you even realize it.
"Okay."
Another cough comes out of Keys mouth.
"Keys?"
He immediately waves you off like he's fine, to just ignore it. Keys tries taking a breath, which turns into another violent coughing fit.
"Oh." You lower the joint, "Oh shit."
"I can't fucking breathe." Keys says, struggling.
The second the words leave his mouth, you get up. Your body scrambles through the open window so fast you nearly trip over the big frame. The apartment and everything blurs around you as you rush toward the kitchen, immediately regretting every joke you’ve made in the last five minutes.
“Keys, don’t die!” You say, knowing he won’t.
“I’m not—” A coughing fit cuts him off from outside, “Trying to.”
“That’s exactly what somebody dying would say.”
You a cup that was sitting next to the sink under the faucet so quickly water splashes over your hand and onto the counter. By the time you get back to the fire escape, Keys is still leaning against the brick wall looking like he’s trying to catch his breath.
You immediately shove the water into his hands, "Drink."
As Keys drinks the water, you just sit there while he catches his breath, the worst of the coughing finally starting to fade. Slowly, his breathing evens out and the tension leaves his shoulders one inhale at a time.
After another moment, you glance over, “Better?”
Keys keeps staring straight ahead for a second before dragging a hand down his face, “…maybe…thanks.”
The words catch you off guard enough that you blink, “Aw, you just thanked me?”
Keys groans immediately, “I take it back.”
“There he is.”
He rolls his eyes and leans his head back against the brick wall again. The city lights catch briefly on his glasses before he pushes them up his nose. For a minute, neither of you says anything until the corner of his mouth twitches.
“You looked really worried.”
You immediately scoff, “I was not worried.”
“You ran.”
“I did not run.”
“You sprinted.”
You narrow your eyes. “Because if you died on our first day as roommates, I’d have a lot paperwork to fill out.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“I’m practical.”
“No, you’re mean.”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?”
“Barely.”
You stand up before he can keep rambling his mouth, brushing off the back of your shorts. You grab the nearly finished joint from where you’d set it beside you and head toward the window.
The apartment feels a lot warmer after the cool night air outside. Your music is still playing softly from your room, and the overhead light above the stove casts a yellow glow across the kitchen. You head straight for the fridge and pull it open - taking out the heavy cream, chicken, parmesan and garlic.
You tie your hair up without really thinking about it, grabbing a claw clip off the counter and twisting everything out of your face. The oversized Spider-Man shirt slips slightly off one shoulder while you fill a pot with water and set it on the stove. Cooking has always been one of those things that settles your brain, something about having a clear list of steps.
You toss in the pasta and stir it absentmindedly before turning your attention to the chicken. Salt, pepper, garlic pepper, paprika. Gordon Ramsey hates to see you coming!
“Something smells—”
His eyes move from the chicken to the pasta, then to the pan of sauce simmering on the stove.
“…okay,” he says after a second.
You immediately point the wooden spoon at him. “No.”
His eyebrows lift, “I didn’t even say anything,” he says, sounding genuinely offended.
“You were about to.”
“I was not.”
“You absolutely were.”
“I was literally going to compliment the food,” he says.
You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “I don’t believe you.”
You go back to stirring the sauce, pretending not to pay attention to what he’s doing. Behind you, you hear Keys moving around the living room. The sound of a box opening. A curse muttered under his breath when a cable gets tangled. The scrape of the TV stand shifting slightly across the floor.
You glance over your shoulder once.
His backpack is dumped beside the couch, and he’s crouched in front of the television with approximately six different cords spread around him. For someone who works with technology for a living, he somehow looks deeply annoyed by all of it.
You smirk to yourself and turn back to the stove.
A few minutes later, the television flickers to life and the familiar PlayStation startup sound fills the apartment.
You drain the pasta into the sink while the sounds of a game menu begin drifting from the living room. Curiosity gets the best of you, causing you to glance over. “…Seriously?”
You expected him to play something related to whatever weird developer hobby he has.
“…are you playing Call of Duty?”
Keys doesn’t look away from the screen “Maybe.”
You shake your head and turn your attention back to the stove before the conversation can continue. The pasta gets tossed into the sauce, then the chicken follows a minute later, mixed through until everything’s coated. Steam curls up from the pan, carrying the smell of garlic and parmesan through the apartment.
You grab a plate from one of the cabinets and start serving yourself. The weed is beginning to settle in properly now. Not enough that you’re completely gone, but enough that everything feels a little softer around the edges.
Behind you, Keys mutters something aggressively at the television.
“HOW?”
You don’t even turn around, “Skill issue.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“You don’t have to.”
Keys lets out an offended noise somewhere behind you. By the time you’ve got everything balanced in your hands, you’ve already decided you’re not eating out here, you can only handle Keys in little doses - if you can even handle him at all.
You pick up your plate and start heading toward your room.
“Where are you going?” Keys asks without looking away from the television.
“My room.”
“Why?”
You stop in the doorway and look at him like he’s stupid, “Because I like peace.”
The gunfire coming from his television immediately undermines whatever argument he was about to make. You disappear into your room before he can say anything else, shutting the door with your food behind you. You climb onto the bed, settling against the headboard with your plate balanced carefully on your lap.
Outside your room, you can still hear the television and Keys swearing.
God, shut up.
Reaching over, you grab your laptop from the nightstand and flip it open. The screen glows against the dim lighting of your room while you balance the plate carefully on your lap. A few clicks later, the familiar opening of New Girl fills the room.
You’d seen every episode at least three times already, but that’s kind of the point. You can zone out, eat your food, and let Jess Day solve whatever ridiculous problem she’s gotten herself into. And pray that instead of Keys living with you it was Schmidt.
The first joke barely lands before you’re already smiling, the weeds definitely hitting now.
Another muffled, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” from the living room.
“Deserved.” you mouth, taking another bite.
You sink farther into your pillows, pull your blanket over your legs, and press play on the next episode while Keys continues losing his mind somewhere in the living room.
You barely make it through half an episode of New Girl before there’s a knock on your door.
You don’t even look up from your laptop, “Go away.”
knock knock
You close your eyes, “Keys, I’m busy.”
knock knock
You pause your show and stare at the door, “What?”
“…can I ask you something?”
“No.”
“Please.”
You set your plate down on the nightstand, “What do you want?”
The doorknob turns before you can stop him, the door slowly cracking open. His head peaks inside, scanning his eyes around the room then turning to you.
The second you actually look at him, you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
He’s high high.
His hair somehow looks messier than it did earlier, like he’s run his hands through it fifteen times in the last ten minutes trying to figure out why his brain feels weird. His glasses sit slightly crooked on his nose. His cheeks are a little pink from the coughing fit and his eyes, his eyes are completely glassy and bloodshot red. Each time he blinks it gets slower and slower.
“You look ridiculous,” you say, putting your hand over your mouth to refrain you from laughing.
“I look normal.”
“You absolutely do not.”
“I do.”
“Okay,” you say slowly. “So what did you actually come in here to ask me?”
Key blinks a few times, trying to catch up with this thoughts.
“Oh,” his eyebrows pull together, “Right.”
You immediately point at him. “See? You forgot again.”
“I didn’t forget.”
“You absolutely forgot.”
“I remembered just now.”
“That’s not helping your case.”
Instead of arguing with you, he shifts his weight against the doorframe and looks at you with too much seriousness that would’ve been intimidating if his eyes weren’t completely gone.
“…is it supposed to feel like this?”
The question makes you laugh immediately, especially in the tone that he said it in.
His face falls, “That’s not helpful.”
“What does that even mean?” you ask through a grin.
Keys gestures vaguely, like you’re supposed to know what he’s talking about. Which technically you do, you just want to hear him say it.
“Like…” He pauses. “Everything feels weird.”
“Wow.”
“Stop.”
“No, keep going.”
He runs a hand through his already destroyed hair, “The hallway felt longer.”
“The hallway?”
“It did.”
“The living room is right there.”
“It felt longer.”
You bury your face in a pillow, “Oh my god.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because you took one hit.”
“It was a very powerful hit.”
“It was not.”
Keys points at you dramatically, “See? That’s easy for you to say because you’re used to being like this.”
You stare at him, “Being like what?”
He gestures again, “This.”
“This isn’t helping.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You’re all…” He squints. “…calm.”
“It’ll go by, you’re supposed to not freak yourself out. Just enjoy the high.” You shrug.
Keys gives an uncertain nod, as if he wasn’t satisfied with the answer that you gave him. He looks around your room some more, analyzing it. You look down, fiddling with your thumbs.
“So.. can you get out now?”
“I’m just asking questions.”
Keys narrows his eyes, you narrow yours right back at him. Like he’s not getting the hint. Eventually he backs out into the hallway.
“This is hostile.”
“Goodnight, Keys.”
He quietly shuts the door on his way out.
You settle back against your headboard with a satisfied sigh and glance at your laptop again. New Girl is still playing quietly in the corner of the screen, but your attention span is completely gone at this point. Pasta is almost finished and the weed is still doing, but you don’t have the attention span to keep watching something.
Five minutes later you’re sitting cross-legged on your bed playing Dress to Impress like your life depends on it. And that’s what you keep doing for the next 25 minutes.
Eventually your empty plate is sitting beside you and your character has been robbed of first place three separate times by people who clearly don’t understand fashion or who are just voting five stars to only their friends.
You finally drag yourself off the bed with a dramatic groan. You carry your plate toward the kitchen, already preparing yourself for whatever weird thing Keys is doing now. The second you walk around the corner, you stop.
“…what the fuck?”
Keys looks up from the stovetop, with pasta sauce all over his mouth and quite literally all over the counter. The giant bowl you cooked dinner in is sitting in front of him.
“Is that my cooking spoon?”
Keys slowly looks down at the giant wooden spoon in his hand, then back at you. “…maybe.”
You make a horrified noise, “Keys.”
“What?”
“Why are you eating directly out of the bowl?”
He looks genuinely confused, “Because there was pasta in it.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It kinda does.”
You set your plate down in the sink and walk closer. The closer you get, the worse it becomes. The man is absolutely demolishing your garlic chicken pasta, but you’re honestly surprised he’s even eating something you cooked.
You point at it, “How much of that did you eat?”
Keys follows your finger, looking into the bowl, “…I don’t know.”
“Oh my god.”
He glances up at you, then back at the pasta, then back to you. His eyes slightly narrow, “You made this?”
You stare, “Yes.”
“I thought you ordered it.”
“You watched me cook.”
“Shhhh…” He says, putting a finger to his mouth sloppily, then continues to eat the pasta.
You point to his shirt immediately, “Wait.”
Keys looks down at himself. “What?”
“Your shirt.”
He blinks, “My shirt?”
“You have sauce all over it, idiot.”
Keys looks down, wow he is a fucking mess. Right there across the front of his gray t-shirt is a streak of garlic cream sauce he apparently managed to get on himself without noticing.
“Oh.”
You wait for him to grab a napkin, or look around for a towel. Instead, Keys just grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head, like it was the easiest solution.
Your brain immediately short-circuits. Enough that your eyes immediately drop to the toned stomach that definitely wasn’t there five seconds ago. Enough that the sleeves hiding his arms all day suddenly make a lot more sense. Enough that you instantly understand why Eve called him cute within the first hour of meeting him.
Oh that’s annoying.
Keys tosses the shirt onto the counter and reaches for another bite of pasta, completely unaware and still talking.
“…I still think somebody stole some of this.”
You stare, not as his face - unfortunately.
You immediately look away, “Put your shirt back on.”
Keys pauses, he looks down at himself then looks back at you. “…why?”
Nothing but straight attitude comes out of this guys mouth.
You hate him.
You grab a dish towel off the counter and throw it directly at his chest.
“Put. A shirt. On.”
Keys catches it automatically, staring at the towel.
“…you know this isn’t a shirt, right?”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s a towel.”
“I am aware.”
He looks between the towel and you, his eyes narrow in suspicion. “You looked away.”
You freeze, “No I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You totally did.”
You point at him, “You’re high off your ass.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“Keys.”
“You looked away.”
He sounds way too pleased with himself.
Somehow the weed has made him more annoying.
Keys leans against the counter, completely shirtless and entirely too comfortable about it.
Then the corner of his mouth twitches, “Oh.”
Your stomach drops, “What?”
A grin starts pulling at his mouth, “You don’t like what you see?”
You both start staring at each other, but Keys looks entirely too proud of himself which makes you laugh.
“You took one hit of weed and suddenly think you’re God’s gift to women.”
His grin gets bigger, “You didn’t answer the question.”
You look around, scanning the kitchen to find something. Your eyes land on the potholder next to you. Something light, but something to shut him up. You immediately grab the potholder throw it at his head.
Keys catches it with one hand, “Interesting.”
“What is?”
“You got defensive.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I think the weed is making you hallucinate.”
“I think you’re avoiding the question.”
You stare at him - his stupid grin - then you stare at the pasta bowl.
“You ate my dinner.”
His smile disappears instantly, “…that’s a good point.”
“Thank you.”
“You know, I forgot about that.”
“I know.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
You fold your arms, “Put your shirt back on, McKey.”
Keys looks down at himself, then back at you.
“…can I finish the pasta first?”
You make a noise that sounds suspiciously like a scream. Keys finally grabs the rest of the bowl and starts heading back toward the living room.
Halfway back to the couch he stops walking, his body slowly turns around facing you. He points at you then back to the bowl, “You make good pasta, California.”
For a second, you think that might actually be the closest thing to a compliment you’ve gotten out of him all day.
“…don’t let it go to your head.” he adds.
You point toward the hallway, “Goodnight, Keys.”
“Goodnight, California.”
“Stop calling me that.”
You finish cleaning up the kitchen before shutting off the lights one by one. By the time you make it back to your room, your laptop is still open on your bed, Roblox waiting patiently where you left it. You crawl underneath the blankets and pull the comforter up to your chin. Outside your room, you can still hear the television faintly through the wall.
Tomorrow you’ll probably argue with him before nine in the morning. Tomorrow he’ll almost definitely find a new way to annoy you. Tomorrow you’ll have to spend a full day with him at work.
The Jones brothers are polar opposites. Liam's the safe and honorable one, straight-laced and straight as an arrow. The good son.
Killian's the dangerous one, the bad boy with tats, leather jackets, a motorcycle, and a questionable past.
The only things they have in common are panty-melting sea-blue eyes, the flat they share in Storybrooke and a rare blood type.
Oh, and apparently their taste in women.
Or rather, one woman.
Feisty.
Blonde.
Gorgeous.
Green-eyed Goddess.
Killian saw her first, but she chose his brother-the nice guy over the playboy. And even though she's dating his brother, it doesn't make him want her any less. If that's not bad enough, she moves in with them and he has to pretend he's not completely in love with her. His life could not get any worse...
Until Liam dies in a motorcycle accident.
Leaving each of them with one half of a broken heart.
Now Killian and Emma are left helping each other pick up the pieces.
Just as they're beginning to learn how to live in their new reality, another riptide pulls them further in the deep end when she finds out she's pregnant with Liam's baby.
A/N: So I made this post the other day, and then this fic happened. If you haven't seen it, please read the summary before starting this story or becoming invested because it’s very angsty. First of all, this starts out as Swan Jewel? I don't know what their ship name is or if there is an official name, but yes, Liam and Emma are in a relationship in the beginning. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, so read the summary first because this excerpt doesn't hint at a Liam and Emma relationship or what will happen. It just takes place further into the chapter and I didn’t want to give too much away.
This story was inspired by Baby Mine by Kennedy Fox and I loved the book so much and thought it was very much underrated. I’ve wanted to write a fic like this for a long time now because it’s one of my favorite tropes, but after I read that book, I just had to write my own take. Also, I made this post about a Baby Yodarita drink last year when it was trending and since the beginning of this story starts one year prior, 2019 and since Killian is a bartender, it was a perfect way to include the prompt.
“Hey Jones, can I get two Blue Ribbons?” his good mate calls over the blaring music.
Killian chuckles and grabs the desired beers, popping off the caps before handing them over. “Taking it easy tonight?” he asks, leaning against the counter and gripping the edge with both hands.
“Aye. Regina doesn’t like the hard stuff. She’s more of a wine person.”
“Ah, I see.” Killian nods; he can definitely see that about Regina. He doesn’t want to say this to one of his best mates, but the lass can be a little stuck up and quite bossy at times. She makes Robin happy though, so he keeps his mouth shut.
He chats with him for a few minutes, finally getting a few minutes of reprieve. As Robin heads back to his girlfriend, Killian takes the opportunity to wipe down the bar top. But before he’s finished, someone approaches the counter. His eyes are still trained on his task, but he can’t miss the long blonde hair and fantastic cleavage, seeing as the view is directly in front of him. “What can I get you?” he asks, throwing on his most charming grin as he lifts his head.
His smile is cemented on his face the second he looks up and sees her face.
Killian’s accustomed to seeing pretty women entering his brother’s bar and parading around in clothes that barely cover their essential parts.
Yet nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for the woman standing in front of him on the other side of the bar counter.
No, not woman.
Goddess.
Emerald green eyes, soft pink lips curved into a shy smile, smooth creamy skin, long golden hair cascading over her shoulders.
Good.
God.
She’s breathtaking.
Stunning.
“What would you recommend?” she asks in a teasing tone.
Fuck.
Her voice is that of an angel’s. Pure and sweet and innocent.
She looks like everything he doesn’t deserve but wants every fucking part of.
“Uh… I um…” he stutters, scratching nervously behind his ear. He can’t form a cohesive sentence as he looks into those hypnotizing eyes. He wants to get lost in them. “What are you… what are you in the mood for, love?” he finally musters, adding another one of his signature grins. “I can make you anything your heart desires.” What he wants to say is, “I can give you anything your heart desires,” but even that may not be true. As gorgeous as she is, he’s afraid he wouldn’t be the man she deserves. He’s never been the guy women like to take home to their parents, anyway. He’s the guy chicks like to have around for a good time before they eventually settle into a serious relationship with Mr. Perfect. He’s definitely no Mr. Perfect, more like a Good Luck Chuck, but at the moment, he feels like he could be fucking Superman for this woman. And he's only exchanged a few words with her so far.
She arches a brow, and it’s literally the most adorable and sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed in his life. “Anything?”
He senses a challenge in her tone. “Try me,” he encourages.
She bites her bottom lip in thought.
He lied. Now that’s the most adorable and sexist thing he’s ever witnessed.
“What if I said I wanted a Baby Yodarita?”
He arches a brow, very much intrigued. “A Baby Yodarita? Never heard of it.”
She laughs, and the sound is music to his ears. “That's because I made up the name. But I figured it would be a green drink that looks like baby Yoda.”
“So, I take it you’re a Star Wars fan?”
“Are you a bartender?”
Just as he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, since he’s behind the bar serving drinks, he catches her drift and flashes a smirk.
Could this woman be any hotter? And yes, as he’s asking this question in his head, he’s picturing Chandler Bing and the way he would say it, emphasizing the word, be. Gods, he hates that he knows that about Friends. He hates that he actually likes that show.
“You don't really have to be a Star Wars fan to be a baby Yoda fan, though. He's so cute, he's trending on the internet, haven't you seen?”
He chuckles. “Aye, who hasn't?”
She plants her hand on her hip, donning a sultry smirk. “So, are you up for the task, or not?”
He licks his lips and leans over the bar counter, his eyes locked with hers. He wants to ask her if she fell from heaven. Or if he died and went to heaven. But he has a feeling cheesy lines wouldn't work on a woman like her. “I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific as to what task you’re referring to.” But who the fuck is he kidding? There is nothing he could do for her he would consider a task.
Only a pleasure.
Blush paints her cheeks and she leans over, meeting him halfway until her face is mere inches from his. “I have a few in mind… but how ‘bout that drink, first?”
Bloody. Fuck-ing. Hell.
Her voice is a mixture of sweet and seductive. He doesn’t know how she manages to pull off a combination like that. His eyes drop to her lips and he’s seriously considering kissing the holy fuck out of her over the bar counter, audience be damned. He almost groans just thinking about her soft, luscious looking lips pressed against his, but he swallows the sound before it leaves his throat.
He lifts his eyes to hers. “Sit tight, sweetheart.”
“Okay,” she says with a smile and takes a seat on a barstool. “Oh, and a Cosmo for my sister-in-law.”
“Coming right up.” It takes every ounce of strength within him to pull away, but somehow he does.
He has to take slow, deep breaths to peel his mind from the fantasies he’s already having of him and the blonde temptress watching him intently as he prepares her drink.
