"You're my jerk barista who purposely screws up my name when I order my caffeine fix AU"
This was prompt given to me over on tumblr that I adored far too much and have now decided to turn into a multichapter woops. I don't think it'll be too long, but I'm terribly indecisive so let's see where this goes. Leave me a review with your thoughts!
chapter one
She stares at the cup in her hand, long and hard - the edges of the letters beginning to blur, and she wonders if the guy behind the counter is just plain deaf. This is the seventh time he's gotten her name wrong, the fifth time she's kept her frustration about it at bay, because even she knows how ridiculous it would be to barrel through the campus coffee shop, fist a hand into the collar of his freshly pressed button up and force him to spell out her name correctly.
But that doesn't mean she's ruled out the option just yet.
She guesses all her foster care workers must have been on to something with the whole prone to violent tendencies thing.
It's only been a bit over two weeks since she's started here, still hauling around files and papers in an uncoordinated manner while she attempts to map out the university campus in her head. When she'd been offered the job to teach Psychology at Misthaven University, she'd jumped at the chance, ready and willing for a fresh start.
She finds the building beautiful, designed in Victorian styled architecture and blanketed with a lingering scent of old books; the overzealous and extremely friendly staff is an aspect she's attempting to settle into, but she's managed to garner a few close acquaintances already; her students, of varying ages and differing backgrounds, all seem to have an enthusiasm to learn.
Yes, so far everything has been smoothing out perfectly.
Except the pain in the ass of a barista she has managed to encounter for the last five days straight.
The first time she'd walked into the campus coffee shop (a quaint thing with mostly wooden surfaces and picturesque landscape paintings of the oceans on the walls coupled with glass doors, soft music and the rich aroma of coffee beans and fresh bread), it had been her first day and she'd been teetering on the edge of indecision, wondering if she'd made the right choice by moving here. He'd shot her a grin - she'd quickly chalked up the flutter of her stomach to the anxiety pooling up insider her - and handed her the espresso she'd ordered without a single word, a neatly curled up "You'll do stunningly" written on its cardboard sleeve.
She hadn't even looked back while rushing out of the coffee shop, too taken aback by his ability to read her stressed state. And if she'd smiled all through her first class of her new job because of it, well, that was her business.
The last few days, however, he had proved to be more irritating than anything else. She doesn't know why it bothers her so much; perhaps it's the years of being unrecognised in between group homes and families unwilling to adopt her, or perhaps it's the need for recognition from him. (She demolishes the latter thought immediately.)
But it isn't just his inability to acknowledge the simple four letter name, it's also his unabashed flirting - an infuriating Irish lilt to his voice that he purposely deepens when doing so - and lopsided smirks that make her blood curl.
Today he'd thrown her a wink as she'd picked up her cup - the jerk knows her name but refuses to get it right because he's just that annoying.
(He takes to calling her love or darling or sweetheart - if she's lucky, Professor, and on the odd morning,Swan.)
(Not that she's paying attention.)
She huffs out a breath, resigning herself to her shared office - she has an hour before her first class begins and she's not going to spend it thinking about one Killian Jones and his irritatingly clear blue eyes.
"So what is it this time?" Ruby's perched atop Graham's desk with a book in her hand and a grin on her face when Emma enters the office.
"My bet's on Emily," Graham chimes in from his place on the desk chair. Emma narrows her eyes at them, scoffs when she notices the pair biting their cheeks in an attempt to refrain from laughing.
They're both Anthropology professors, and consequently have been dating since Graham started teaching at Misthaven two years ago. Even though it's only been two weeks, she's formed a close bond with both of them, which is why she doesn't find it too unsettling when they tease her about Killian. Besides, it's not like they're right, so it doesn't matter anyway.
She sighs as she slumps down on her desk and takes a long sip of her coffee. She looks back to Ruby's eyebrows raised in anticipation. Another sigh, "You're close Humbert, it's Emilia."
That's all it takes for them to burst out into laughter - Emma drops her head back to face the ceiling and mumbles an incoherent prayer to any deity that's willing to listen to give her strength to deal with the both of them and their roaring, animal-like laughter.
"You know," Ruby hums and walks over to pick up Emma's cup and examine it after she's overcome her stroke of laughter, "it's like preschool. The whole pulling on your pigtails to tell you they like you."
"She's right, Emma," Graham's smirk is lined with acknowledgment and a sense of knowing that Emma doesn't want to examine. "Killian is the type of guy to do such a thing."
She all but slams her stack of papers on her desk, releasing a heavy breath. "We are not discussing this, I have work to finish before my class starts."
She's more than relieved that they understand her blatant dismissal and leave her alone for the next hour.
The thing about Emma Swan is that he's never seen anyone quite like her. Glowing blonde hair, piercing green eyes, a fire laced into every action directly juxtaposed with a gentleness sewed into her very being.
Or, maybe that's just the romantic English major in him spouting nonsense.
He does know for sure that he likes pushing her buttons, likes the way she rolls her eyes when he swipes his tongue across his lower lip, likes how even though he's only seen her a handful of times, he knows what to expect from her.
The indignant huff she releases whenever she reads the name he scribbles on her coffee cup sleeve is something he's started to look forward to. (It was Emilia yesterday, Eleanor before that, and an Evangelinesomewhere in between; he's on the verge of bookmarking that "Names that begin with E" site he's opened all too frequently on his phone in the past two weeks.)
He's glad that there's only one coffee shop on campus, resigning her to the fate of seeing him nearly every day. She could always get her morning fix from any store off campus, but it's not as convenient, and, well, he's a hopeful man.
The coffee shop was his brother's idea, a business venture that started off as a joke but transformed into something else entirely. And from a small-time book editor in Ireland, he'd ended up co-owning and runningCup O' Jones. (Sometimes he still cringes at the name, but it is theirs, and it is good so it doesn't matter too much.) They'd had it for close to five years now, and Liam had only recently expanded the business to other campuses, leaving Misthaven's cafe in Killian's hands while he divided his time between three different states in order to make sure the setup and initial running started up without a hitch.
For a long time, his brother was all he had but once he'd started working at Misthaven, he'd become close mates with some of the professors (it helps that some of them, like Professor Humbert, are from his side of the pond) and other campus shop runners, even had a pleasant few run-ins with the dean, Regina Mills. Which is how he knew that there was meant to be a new professor of Psychology joining the faculty, but nothing, he's sure, had prepared him for Emma.
Just as he's settling a particularly frazzled third year's tab, cafe already filled for the evening as students settle to study or relax for the day, he spots her. She shoves through the front door, a grimace marring her features and he's overcome with the desire to wipe it away, to make her laugh. He realizes he's only ever heard her laugh once, a bubbly, beautiful thing, and even that wasn't directed towards him.
It's not like her to walk in any time but in the mornings, but he takes it as a brilliant gift from the Gods.
"Large espresso," her voice is tired and she pays him no mind.
He figures she doesn't even realize it's him serving her because when he says, "The usual, then," her head jolts up from where she's toying with her phone.
"Are you always here?" It's a whine, really, there's no other way he could describe it.
He chuckles, "I have to be, don't want to miss having a run in with you, now do I?"
She rolls her eyes. "Just get me my coffee."
He picks up a cup, scribbles her order on to it and hands it to Ariel, one of the students that work alongside him - Liam had hired a few new employees from the student body for the year before he'd left, telling Killian he didn't trust him to employ anyone but "lasses who flutter their eyelashes at his every word." His brother is, to put it lightly, a git.
"Long day?"
"Not in the mood for your idiocy, Jones."
He braces his forearms on the counter and leans towards her while she fishes out her wallet to pay him, frustration evident in her jerky movements. She seems out of place in between the serene atmosphere of the shop (the evenings always do have a more comfortable vibe) - her demeanor doing little to compliment the soft indie tune playing from the speakers (the music was his idea, but he lets his employees pick the mixes because it's much more fun that way) - but he can't help but want her there regardless. She's throwing it all off balance and he can't say he minds one bit.
He can see the creases across her forehead, a set scowl that's deeper than her usual thin-lipped expression or sarcastic smile. He wants to reach out and run his fingers across the frown lines until they disappear, wants to make her smile, to do anything in order to take away whatever pain is settling within her.
"I'd hardly call it idiocy, it's merely pleasant conversation."
"Our definitions of the word pleasant must vary greatly."
He can't help the laughter that escapes his lips, and she slowly raises her eyes to meet his. "I have to say, I'm a bit jealous."
She knits her eyebrows together in slight confusion and dear Gods, she's adorable.
"What I mean," he smiles, "is that I trusted it to be my job to get on your nerves, Professor. Whoever has managed to irk you will be receiving a talking to on my behalf on the propriety of keeping within their job description."
He swears he sees her lips twitch up for a few seconds in a genuine smile, until they're set back in a line. Well, he muses, at least it's better than the scowl.
"You can't claim monopoly on my sour moods, you know."
"Oh, love," he pushes back off the counter and lays his right hand across his heart dramatically, "a man can dream."
She twists her lips to the side and he can tell she's trying not to smile. He'll note that down as a point in his favour; it's about the little victories, after all. Her eyes dart between his and he feels his breath catch in his throat at how magnificently green they are. He's sure he'd be content standing here for all eternity, locking eyes with this siren of a woman, gentle music filling the silence between their intense gazes.
The moment between them is broken when Ariel coughs softly behind him. He turns hesitantly and walks back towards her, taking the cup she's holding out to him. He grabs a sleeve and reaches for the Sharpie in his back pocket, uncapping it with his teeth. He can feel her eyes on the back of his head as he scribbles out a small "Emma, trust me to be your backup when you beat up whoever has put you in a poor mood. You probably won't require my assistance, but just in case you do;" He pauses slightly before throwing caution to the wind and scribbling down his number below his paragraph.
He grabs a double chocolate chip muffin off the rack and places it in a bag before putting down both items on the counter in front of her.
"On the house," he winks at her and waves her off before she can pass him the notes in her hand. She eyes him warily for a few beats and it causes him to grin and shake his head slightly. "Come now, Swan, take them. You're holding up the line."
She swivels her head back and when she finds two students standing behind her, a hint of red crawls on to the apples of her cheeks and he's sure it'll be the death of him. She gives him a small nod and before he knows it, she's already trudging across the path outside the shop. He thinks he sees her smiling, but he can't be all too sure.
It isn't until he closes down for the night that he checks his phone, finding the usual end of the day report text from Liam. But what catches his attention is the other text waiting for him from an unknown number.
Interesting offer but I can take care of myself. Although, if you're willing to part with more of those muffins, I might reconsider reporting you in for harassment.
The text causes him to blink at the screen multiple times before he gets his wits about him and his face breaks out into a goofy grin. A spitfire is what she is, this Emma Swan. The little flicker of hope that tingles at the base of his stomach is a welcome addition to his current tirade of feelings.
She'll come around; it's all about the little victories, after all. And, he's nothing if not a patient man.