Hehe, it’s like you knew it was your prompt coming *g* Hope you like it, honey!! <3
has 4 problems and she tries to regain some semblance of control by listing
them in her head on the way home in the precise order in which they developed.
She moved. That on its own is neither a problem, nor unusual. It is not her
apartment or the building or the landlord. It is her damn next-door neighbour.
Her extremely good-looking, well-build, accent-wielding, guitar-strumming,
jogging-in-a-very-fit-white-shirt-every-morning-but-Sunday neighbour. And,
frankly, wanting to jump a man like that meant one thing and one thing only –
she is not losing her sight or hearing.
The problem is that for the last 3 months
Emma Swan has been having absolutely ridiculous, the-hell-I’m-not-14-and-he-is-not-in-a-band,
stupid, stupid fantasies about one Killian Jones writing her a love song and
freaking serenading her. And that just won’t do.
She has terrible luck. It is a standing issue in her life to be honest but it
never seizes to amaze her just how bad her luck can get.
“No, no, no. You cannot do this to me!”
Emma stared at the text in absolute horror. A
text. Her babysitter was letting her know she ‘just won’t be able to make it
today’ with a fucking text. She should’ve stopped using
that agency when they sent that one girl who came over with 5, she counted them
– 5, history books under her arm and
tried to make Henry pancakes for dinner. Try being the operating word.
“I was going to say ‘Good morning’ but now I
think I will stick to just ‘Morning’.”
The deep, accented voice only makes her groan
again and Emma turns around to see Killian Jones, a very sweaty and flushed
Killian Jones with a ridiculously bright pair of headphones hanging on his
neck, raise his arms in an attempt to placate her.
“You can just head to Horrible, God awful, I’m
“Oh,” his mix of amusement and concern would be
quite entertaining, if Emma was in the mood to be entertained. “Any way I can
attempt a dashing rescue of your morning?”
“Unless you happened to score a babysitter last
night, who hasn’t left your apartment yet and is free for the day, I’d say no.”
He actually, genuinely, honest to God, blushes
at that, chuckling somewhat uneasily and Emma is stuck between her
now-unavoidable amusement and feeling slightly bad for making him feel that
uncomfortable. But how the hell was she supposed to know? He certainly looked
“You need somebody to watch your boy?” Killian asks
after clearing his throat for the third time.
“Yes,” she admit, slightly on guard but then
again he wouldn’t-
“I can do that.”
Or he would.