#i would LOVE to try lasagna with another type of sauce | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aellynera · 3 years

Text

Quite the Pickle (Llewyn Davis x gn!Reader)

QUITE THE PICKLE

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, @alwritey-aphrodite !! Tis I, your holiday elf and I humbly present this story to you. It was a pleasure writing for you and I hope you enjoy it and all your days in the coming year and merry and bright!! 💜🎄❄💜 (And also special thanks to @iflostreturntobudcooper for hosting another exchange. You rock, Clarke!)

Word Count: ~2800

Summary: You’re trying to make the holidays nice for Llewyn, and then he gets a wholly unexpected request from you.

Warnings: None in particular. GN Reader (I’m almost 100% sure, there are no pronouns or specific descriptions or anything), maybe some naughty words, a bit of sexual innuendo, but mostly just holiday fluff. I think I got all my typos but you never know.

It’s a full week before Christmas, and for once, all your decorating is done. You almost can’t believe it; you’re used to last minute panic. Usually you have so much work, and maybe some sleep and more work, until you realize it’s two days before, haul out your fake tree, and hastily throw some decorations up. You pretend the bits of glitter and tinsel that hitchhike around your apartment are intentional.

But not this year. This year, there’s no panic.

You’re in a new apartment, and somehow it’s more important to decorate properly. A nativity scene is perfectly arranged on the end table next to the couch, Holiday-appropriate candles and fake holly sprigs grace the coffee table and sparkly snowflakes hang in the window. You’ve even put mistletoe on the front door jamb, and even hung two stockings.

And the tree, the tree holds court from the corner, hundreds of twinkling lights embraced in its poky green branches, the scent of pine wafting around the room, the ornaments placed just so.

It’s perfect. It’s a veritable winter wonderland.

Llewyn told you to go wild, do whatever made your Grinchy little heart happy, then deftly dodged the marshmallow that sailed at his head. It’s your apartment, he said, you can do whatever you want. You only sort of teasingly told him that maybe he wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping in the middle of a tinsel factory explosion, but he told you if he was, he’d sleep in the bathtub. It earned him another marshmallow.

But deep down, you wanted to make it good for him in particular. You knew - well, thought, it’s not like you’d really asked him or he told you outright - that he hadn’t had a traditional kind of Christmas in quite some time, and you just wanted to make it nice.

Llewyn deserves nice things.

Now, standing back, looking at your handiwork, you feel proud. Proud, accomplished, and pleased.

But just as soon as the Christmas cheer sets it, it evaporates. The panic you swore wouldn’t happen this year crawls up your spine. You almost forgot. How could you forget?

You look at the clock and mumble a curse under your breath. Llewyn won’t be home for hours, and this can’t wait.

Phone in hand, you dial and lean back on the couch, drawing a long sip of wine.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The only reason Llewyn agreed to go to his sister’s house today is the lasagna. Well, maybe not the entire reason. More like a good ninety-eight percent of the reason. As much as he loves his nephew, there really isn’t an actual reason for him to sit through a middle-school holiday pageant, full of off-key carols and cheesy homemade costumes

But then Joy said the magic word, and he was helpless to resist. The call of meat and noodles and sauce was too powerful.

It also didn’t help that you’d overheard the whole conversation (Joy isn’t exactly a quiet type) and then begged Llewyn to bring back leftovers. He told you that you were bold to assume there would be any leftovers. You reached for the bag of marshmallows and raised an eyebrow, and if there was anything else in the world that Llewyn Davis was powerless to resist, it was you, especially when you made that face.

Like when you’d asked how he wanted to decorate the apartment for the holidays. He didn’t have an opinion, honestly. It didn’t even bother him if there wasn’t a tree. But the look on your face, the excitement and anticipation, and that cute little bounce you were doing on the balls of your feet…

Not that he might have a tiny little crush on you. You’re just being nice, letting him basically live with you so he doesn’t have to couch-surf the entire five boroughs.

So of course he finds himself in the middle of Queens, in his sister’s narrow kitchen, stuffed full of pasta and cheese and desperately trying to get the fifth-grade rendition of “Frosty the Snowman” out of his head.

He takes another sip of coffee. Joy is prattling on about something about the pageant, about Danny’s other upcoming school events, but he’s tuned her out in favor of watching the tiny white flakes that have started falling from the sky.

Joy stands at the sink, scrubbing the lasagna pan. “Anyway, I’m just saying, I think it would be good if you came to more of Danny’s things. We don’t get to spend enough time with you as it is-” Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she reaches for the receiver.

A few moments pass, Llewyn so focused on how the tiny flakes swirl and dance through the flat gray sky, that he jumps a bit in surprise when Joy thrusts the receiver at him. “It’s for you.”

Llewyn’s face scrunches in confusion for a second, but he realizes there’s only one person it could be. One person that knows he’s here. He takes both the receiver and another sip of coffee.

“Where’s the fire?” he asks, a small smile in his voice, taking another, larger sip from the mug.

“I need you to come hide the pickle!” your voice bursts from the other end of the line, and all the coffee bursts from Llewyn’s nose and mouth, covering both him and the kitchen table..

Joy’s screeching and mopping up the mess with the dish towel, and Llewyn presses the receiver to his ear a little harder in an attempt to hear you more clearly.

Because he’s pretty sure he’s not hearing you clearly.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The pickle!” you cry, sounding pretty desperate. “I need you to hide the pickle.”

Still coughing and sputtering as the remnants of the coffee burn his nostrils, he pulls the phone away from his ear and just stares at it for a second. Okay, so maybe he did hear you right.

“I’m sorry, is that…is that a euphemism?” he manages to croak out.

The disbelief in your own voice is not lost on him, but it’s not like he has any idea what’s going on right now. “What? A euph- no! Can you just come home, please? Pleeeeeease, Llewyn?”

If there’s a third thing in the world that Llewyn Davis is completely incapable of resisting, it’s the way you say“please” when you really, truly want something, and the little pout he knows is on your face while you do it.

He still doesn’t have the first clue what you’re talking about. He wants to ask a lot of questions, but the pleading tone in your voice makes him hold back. Honestly, he’s afraid that you might say something about hiding pickles again, and he’s not sure he’s equipped to handle that.

Making a lame excuse to Joy, her continued griping following him behind the now-closed front door, he finds himself back on the subway back to the Village, a Tupperware container in hand and a thousand scenarios in his head.

~*~*~*~*~*~

You’re pacing. You keep telling yourself to stop, sit down, and relax, but it’s just not working. The snow has started falling harder, and you’re growing more nervous by the second as you wait for Llewyn to get home. You know some of the subway line from the Village to his sister’s house actually runs above ground. So it’s probably making travel a little slow.

The thought doesn’t make you feel any better. Maybe pacing in the other direction will help.

It doesn’t.

Finally, finally, you hear the key scratch in the lock. Llewyn’s barely taken a step inside the apartment before you’re launching yourself and him and burying your face in his shoulder.

The force of your impact makes him take a step back, then he carefully wraps an arm around your back and looks around the room. Nothing seems to be wrong, but with the way you’re currently clinging to him (which is not at all distracting), he can’t be entirely sure.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Thank god you’re home,” You mumble into him. “I was starting to panic.”

“Oookay?” he says. He taps you on the head with the Tupperware. “I brought you lasagna.”

You pull back, looking at him with slightly shiny eyes and a wavering smile. “Um, thanks.”

Llewyn points up, remembering what he’d noticed on the way out the door earlier that day. “And there’s mistletoe.”

“There’s…” you look up. “Oh. Yeah. We can deal with that later.” You grab the leftovers and throw them in the fridge, his confused look following behind you. “Pickle first.”

“Honey, I’m…a little confused on this pickle thing? What pickle? What are you even talking about?”

Your brain tries to not get stuck on the term of endearment. You turn around with a small glass ornament, in the shape of a pickle, hanging from your index finger. “The Christmas Pickle.”

Llewyn blinks. “Oh, of course. The Christmas Pickle. How silly of me.” He takes off his coat and scarf and shakes out the snow, then turns back to you, running a hand through his slightly damp curls and down his neck. “Sweetheart, what the hell is a Christmas Pickle?”

So you sigh and flop down on the couch and start to explain. “It’s this…thing. It’s a Christmas tradition and no one really knows exactly how it started, but my family always did it. Well, my grandmother always did it for us grandkids. You hide the pickle in the tree, and whoever finds it first on Christmas morning gets good luck for the rest of the year, and sometimes a little extra present.”

Llewyn’s lips quirk up. “Ah. So that’s what hiding the pickle meant.”

You scrunch your nose at him. “What did you think it meant? You know what, never mind. Don’t answer that.”

Llewyn just shrugs.

“Anyway,” you continue as sternly as you can muster, “this was the pickle from her tree. It’s been a few years since we did the pickle thing, and I really want to do it again. I miss her, I miss the traditions we had. But I can’t hide the pickle myself!”

He tries to keep the laugh inside, but it comes out as a snort. Your venomous look puts him in check for approximately ten seconds before he has to let it out “I’m sorry,” he pants through a chuckle, “but is there…i mean, do you really have to keep saying…”

“I really hate you sometimes, Llewyn Davis.”

“No you don’t,” he grins.

Despite your best efforts, you grin back. Just a tiny bit. “No, I don’t.”

He leans back against the door jamb. “So, uh…why couldn’t you just ask Mrs. Peterson to do it? You know she’s always home.”

Your head shakes vigorously. “It has to be someone close to you, someone who you…um, like a family member. And you’re my family here. And it also has to be done the same time the other ornaments go on the tree, or it doesn’t count, and I just put them on today, so…” you finish quickly.

Llewyn knows how much your family traditions mean to you (you’ve shared stories, in the middle of the night over cups of tea and coffee, when neither of you could sleep), so he sticks out his hand.

“Nothing would please me more than hiding your pickle.”

The squeal that leaves your lips is some kind of decibel he’s not sure he’s ever experienced, and you throw your arms around him again. Before you know what you’re doing, your lips are pressed to his and you kiss him with all your worth.

And before he can really register what’s happening, he kisses you back.

You break apart a few minutes later, both of you breathless and warm and panting slightly. You clear your throat and step back, pointing up above your heads. “Mistletoe.”

Llewyn gives you a sly smile and sticks out his hand again. “Mmhmm.”

You hand him the pickle, turn around, and close your eyes. There’s some rustling in the branches and after a few minutes, there’s a tap on your shoulder. “Okay, done,” Llewyn announces.

You offer him a shy but bright smile. “Thank you.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but before he can, you duck out of the room. You’re not sure what just happened, but the air in the room feels different. You busy yourself with other things, trying your best to blame it all on the mistletoe.

~*~*~*~*~*~

You kissed him.

Llewyn hasn’t seen you much the past week, the holidays making work go crazy for you, and he’s picked up a couple extra gigs, but one thought kept popping into his mind whenever he had a minute to think.

You kissed him. And he’s pretty sure it wasn’t just the mistletoe.

Christmas morning rolls around and some small gifts are exchanged (you’d gotten him new gloves, which warmed his heart even more than he knew they would warm his hands), and now the coffee is made. He comes back into the room, prepared to hand you a mug, but he’s greeted with the lower half of your body sticking out of the tree, your top half obscured by pine needles and tinsel.

As your rear wiggles a little, he ponders his next move. There’s been…something going on between you two, for longer than he’s even realized. Too long, if he’s being honest. Late night talks, you giving him a key, leftovers from Joy’s (no one ever gets to take home leftovers from his sister’s house, not even him.) Even if you haven’t talked about it, that kiss under the mistletoe mid-pickle-crisis meant something. He decides to take a chance.

“Well, Merry Christmas to me,” he says, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.

The top tree branches wobble precariously as your whole body emerges. Your head whips around towards him and the smile that blooms across your cheeks is blinding.

“Found it!” you cry, victorious, holding up the pickle so he can see it.

Llewyn grins back, sitting on the couch and taking a sip of coffee. “So what was it again, that you get when you find it?”

“A year of good luck, or an extra gift.”

Llewyn nods slowly. “Right. I…I think maybe I could…give you both of those things?”

“Llewyn,” you sigh, “we said no gifts, and then we went and got each other gifts anyway. You can’t give me another gift! It’s too much!” You sit next to him and accept the proffered cup of caffeine.

“Well, I mean, I didn’t buy you anything else, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He bumps you with his shoulder and glances at you over the mug.

Your nose wrinkles in confusion. And then you notice that he’s holding up the mistletoe that was previously hanging above your front door.

“Oh.” Your eyes are wide as saucers.

“Oh,” he echoes, soft as a whisper.

Llewyn sets the coffee mug on the table and slowly, ever so slowly, raises his hand to cup your cheek. You lean into the touch and close your eyes, but you can still feel the smile that crosses his lips seconds before he presses them to yours.

It could be minutes or hours, or even days at this point, you’re not sure how long you sit there on the couch, lost in the feel of each other, pouring months of barely-disguised longing into each gentle kiss, but you finally need to pull apart to take a breath.

You rest your forehead on his. “Best gift.”

He hums quietly in response. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done…for everything you do, really. I can’t tell you the last time I had such a nice Christmas.”

“I can’t tell you how badly I’ve wanted to do that again since last week,” you admit with a shy grin. “But thank you, too, for putting up with my crazy pickle deal.”

Llewyn pulls back, just slightly, to look in your eyes. “I’d do anything for you. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas, Llewyn.”

He kisses you softly one more time, then pulls you in close to his side. Your head rests on his shoulder. You’re both quiet for a while, just soaking in the peace and the atmosphere and the feeling of joy that runs through your veins, even more warming than the coffee you’re drinking.

You feel Llewyn’s chest rumble slightly a second before he speaks. “If you can’t tell me how badly you wanted to kiss me again, you wanna show me?”

Your shoulders shake with him and you look up at him with a look of mock consideration. “Mmm, I think that could be arranged.”

“Would it help if I told you I’m willing to hide the pickle anytime you want?” The corners of his lips pull up every so slightly.

You arch a brow. “Lllewyn Davis, is that a euphemism?”

He slowly shakes his head as his grin widens. “No.”

Your giggles erupt as you smack him with a snowman throw pillow. Hey, all the marshmallows are in the kitchen.

Llewyn’s laugh blends with yours as you push him back on the couch and show him exactly how much you’ve wanted to kiss him, and he’s pretty sure he’s never liked pickles as much as he does at this very moment.

~the end~

Taglist: @acedameron @anetteaneta @autumnleaves1991-blog @be-the-spark-flyboy @damerondjarin @iflostreturntobudcooper @itspdameronthings @jitterbugs927 @leto-duke @littlebopper96 @one-hell-of-a-disappointment @rosemarysbaby13 @shakespeareanwannabe @spider-starry @thedukeofcaladan @waatermelon-sugaar @wasicskosgirl @woakiees @writefightandflightclub @yourbucky084

(wanna be on the taglist? let me know here)

#oscar holiday fic exchange #llewyn davis #llewyn davis x reader #llewyn davis x you #llewyn davis fanfic #inside llewyn davis fanfic #my writing #oscar isaac characters #alwritey-aphrodite

96 notes · View notes

im-only-joking · 4 years

Note

Can you do a Brock Boeser road trip from Edmonton to Vancouver fic?

I’ve been obsessed with Brock recently so yessss. Love a romantic roadtrip and i’m assuming you didnt mean like the sports type of roadie, so.... here we go .

No warnings just some fluff. “They-only-had-one-bed” trope because I love it.

Also this pic is *chef’s kiss*. Tumby.

Brock’s favorite thing to do was to take his Jeep on long drives with you, just stopping at little mom and pop diners and small hotels along the way.

For your birthday you had wanted to visit the big Canadian cities, and since Vancouver was home for you both, you started with Quebec and moved your way West.

Edmonton was your most recent spot, and you didn’t want it to end. Calgary was the last stop before home, and you’d been savoring your time with Brock.

The two of you were close friends since he’d began his career in B.C. and you’d moved out for college. But recently you’d been starting to have feelings for him, especially now that you’d been able to see him unguarded and free of media scrutiny, playing with his dogs and FaceTiming Easton, his nephew.

As you looked over to the driver’s seat, Brock caught your gaze and gave you a sweet, excited smile.

“The Saddledome is a pretty cool rink too,” Brock stated, muttering facts about the building as he turned into an Olive Garden parking lot.

“Olive Garden?“ you asked, grinning wryly.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like a good breadstick?” Brock teased. “Besides, this is probably the only decent restaurant open at this hour.

He was right, it was getting a little late, almost 11 pm, and your stomach gurgled at the thought of food.

You two hopped out of the car, getting a table fairly fast due to most people having eaten much earlier.

“So, what else do you need to see before we head home?“ Brock asked over a huge portion of definitely-not-diet-plan-friendly lasagna.

“I mean, you did make the Saddledome sound cool, so we can hit that,” you said, thinking. “And I would love to check out Calaway Park for some rides.”

“It’s a plan,” Brock smiled. There was marinara sauce on his chin and you unthinkingly wiped at it with your napkin. “Oh, thanks.”

There was a soft blush across Brock’s cheeks and you tucked your head down to hide your own flushed face.

With dinner over, Brock checked you two into the hotel you’d be staying at, only to find that the hotel was overbooked and messed up your room.

“I’m so sorry,” the concierge frowned. “Instead of two double beds, your room got changed to a single queen bed. I apologize, but our hotel is fully booked now, and I’m afraid I can’t change your room, but I can bring up a cot for you?”

Brock shrugged, glancing at you before stating, “We’re okay, thank you. The queen bed will be just fine.”

At the elevator bank you hissed, “You do know you’re a giant professional athlete, right? A queen bed barely fits just you, let alone another person.”

Brock laughed. “You’ll be fine. Besides if I snore you can just hog the sheets and we’ll be fair.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as the elevator arrived.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

The words stumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them and your hand flashed to cover your mouth once you had processed what you’d said.

“Yeah?” Brock asked softly, brushing his hand against the back of yours. The elevator dinged, signalling your floor, but neither of you moved as the doors opened.

“I didn’t- I mean yes, but-” you mumbled, trying to find your words.

Brock frowned. “But?”

“I mean it’s not like I meant to say it, like, right now of all times,” you sighed, biting your lip.

“But you do though? Love me?”

A large hand tilted your chin up to meet Brock’s gaze and you found yourself completely speechless again, only nodding in response to Brock’s question.

“Cause I’m pretty gone for you, too, ya know.”

You broke into a soft grin, leaning into the hand cupping your face.

“Good to hear,” you smiled, tipping your head up to meet his lips.

#brock boeser #hockey imagines

32 notes · View notes

emmakillianfan · 4 years

Text

A Christmas Story for You

To @whimsicallyenchantedrose for Christmas. While I haven’t had as much time for it as I had hoped, I hope you are having a wonderful Christmas and enjoy this little story that kind of got away from me. Merry Christmas and a very happy new year to you!

Due to illness and post graduate studies I’m a bit rusty on the fanfiction story writing, but I hope you enjoy it. I have loved the opportunity to be your secret santa. As I said from the beginning, I’m a big fan of your writing.

Getting to Know You at Christmas

Emma Swan hated to mingle at these social events her parents held each year as a welcome to the holiday season. Her mother easily socialized with people, remembering names and details of each person’s life in the coastal town of Storybrooke, Maine. Her father was just as gregarious, shaking hands and clapping older gentlemen on the back as the mused over details of long-ago exchanges and funny occurrences that she never quite could understand. She liked people, even had friends. But there was something missing for her from the conversations and laughter that seemed to lift over the swell of Christmas carols and the flashes of lights from the tree and cameras snapping shots of huddled groups of friends, family, and compatriots.

“Your mother is worried about you,” Ruby Lucas-Gale said with a knowing smile as Emma reached for another mini pizza and shoved it in whole. “You don’t look happy.”

Keeping her lips sealed, Emma shot her friend a plastered smile and shrug.

“You could at least move away from the bar. She’s going to think this is a re-do of last year’s party where you went to bed with a bottle of tequila under each arm after telling everyone that you were sleeping until the new year.”

“I should have kept that promise,” Emma groused, giving a slight wave when her mother looked at her pleadingly. “I could have avoided the Christmas Karaoke party at Victor’s, the cookie exchange at your grandmother’s, and let’s not forget the pot luck at Regina and Robin’s where I was shamed for bringing your grandmother’s frozen lasagna as my contribution. Not only had Regina made one, but I didn’t even realize it was still frozen.”

“You brought a pie too,” Ruby reminded her. “I don’t remember anyone noting that was store bought.”

“I ate it in the car working up the nerve to go inside because my mother set me up on a date. Who does that? Blind dates on Christmas?”

“She means well,” Ruby added consolingly, patting her hands down her red dress that seemed to creep up her toned thighs each time she moved. “And Graham was…”

Emma held up one hand in protest. “Don’t defend him. First he was your ex. He was nice but a little or more than a little too intense with his whole getting back to nature and communing with animals thing. My mother has horrible taste in men for me. For a woman who believes in fairy tales and calls my father her prince charming, I don’t think she would survive a day on Tinder.” It had been the long running commentary at the parties that somewhere in the crowd was there to be set up with Emma. Some who did not partake in the dancing or singing along around the piano would try to guess who it was going to be this year. Bets were currently on about a gawky man with a green tie who was currently chatting up Zelena Mills in the corner.

“Just remember she means well.” Linking arms with Emma, Ruby pulled her friend out onto the makeshift dance floor and began to sway her hips to the beat of a modern Christmas tune that Emma knew was by some current pop singer. “So I’m guessing your next date is in here somewhere. Where oh where could he be?”

“You are annoying,” Emma pouted, folding her arms over her chest yet still swaying a bit to the up-tempo beat. “I thought you had money that guy in the green tie.” He was the typical type her mother would love to see her date. She could hear the school teacher turned public servant now telling her how she just knew he was the kind of guy she would love to get to know.

“Possibility,” Ruby said, tapping her bright red lips in mock thoughtfulness. “What about Archie?” He’s been hanging around over in that corner in a conversation with Regina and Robin for a little bit now. Seems to look over here every once in a while.”

“Everyone is looking at you, Ruby,” Emma hissed in exasperation. You are showing more skin that is advisable with the temperature and you’re currently bumping and grinding to Christmas tunes.”

“Maybe he’s setting up some pre-marital counseling for them. Okay…one of the guys from the mines? Leroy?”

“That’s a tad incestuous since they are practically my uncles.” Emma scanned the crowd to see her father and mother in conversation over by the French doors leading out to the patio that had been sprayed with twinkle lights and that included a new audio system he had spent the day fiddling with as her younger brother tried out the microphones in his own rendition of some sort of heavy metal meets classic rock rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. He was just 14 and still at that awkward stage, suffering the embarrassment of parents who doted and friends who loved to point that out to him. Her own son idolized him though. “I’m thinking he’s a no show. My mom is in her plotting mode. Look at the way she’s talking to my dad.”

Sure enough her parents were furtively whispering, her mother holding up a hand to hide her mouth as though nobody would notice. It would be debated for years to come which of the two women noticed him first though. A slender, tall man with piercing blue eyes and sardonic smile seemed to rush up to her parents and hug them in turn. Even though Emma couldn’t make out the words, her father gave the man his double shoulder clap before spinning him about to the crowd and pointing out a few people.

“Maybe him,” Ruby said, lifting onto the balls of her feet even higher than her shoes allowed and balancing herself against Emma. “He’s a hottie.”

“Doubtful,” Emma noted, swinging her gaze across the room to the man in the green tie who was now eating a banana and doing nothing for his resemblance to a simian creature as Ruby had declared. “I don’t have that sort of luck. My mother doesn’t…” She never got to finish the sentence when she noted who had just entered the party and made a line straight toward greeting her parents. Neal…the once love of her life turned affection into weapons and her self confidence into a puddle of what if. She was better now, but the sight of him seemed to jangle her nerves in a way that made her doubt her recovery. They managed to co-parent their son with little trouble, but he wasn’t one she wanted to see socially. The fact he always had a date on his arm just added to her discomfort.

Ruby was one of the few people who understood. Twirling her in the direction of the mystery man who was now noshing on a few of the crisp veggies without bothering to dip them into the various sauces, Ruby leaned in and whispered loudly in Emma’s ear. “Don’t question it. Just go introduce yourself. It’ll be less awkward that way.”

Emma would forever question the logic in that, but for the moment felt her feet begin to move one after the other and in no time she was standing in front of him. His eyes were even more striking up close and she caught a whiff of his cologne that was a spicey scent that she would later blame for her mouth watering and her words feeling like they slid off her tongue without regard to custom or reason.

“Emma,” she said by way of invitation. Her smile was a little forced and her hand held out in mid air a beat too long as he shoved a celery stick in his mouth and raised his own in greeting. “I guess my parents probably told you that.”

“Your parents?” he repeated, the smiled he was giving her lifted higher on the right side of his face as did his right eyebrow. He seemed to be surprised by her, almost as if he was not expecting the conversation. That irritated her a bit.

She gave a wave over her shoulder to where they stood by the fireplace. “Mary Margaret and David. The Nolans. You were just talking to them.”

“Aye, David and my older brother went to school together back in the day. They invited me to…”

She brushed off his explanation. “No, I get it. It’s so them. They don’t think I have any skills in that area at all. Apparently, they have given up on finding someone local.” She shrugged and when he seemed he wasn’t going to answer, she reached across and grabbed a carrot stick. Placing it in her mouth she made a face and immediately removed it. “Rabbit food.”

“You do know how to flatter man, love. I’m not sure I would want to be just one of the multitudes.” His smile was wider as he watched her, his questions about her easy and slick as she tried to explain that her parents were young when she was born and waited nearly two decades before their miracle child was born. He seemed to know nothing about her, which was odd for a set up. Maybe he was just being polite.

“So you’re not from around here,” she asked when he paused to take a drink. Even over the rim of the cup his eyebrows raised again. “I’m the sheriff. I sort of notice things like accents. I do sort of like accents like yours. Different than other guys around here.”

“Boston by way of London,” Killian answered. “And you, love? Always a resident of this seafaring town?”

“Most all my life,” she admitted, leaving out a few pit stops along the way. “Mom probably told you that the best place to take me for a dinner date is Granny’s. She loves it there, plus Granny will spy on us and give her updates every few minutes. I’m more into this Italian place near the docks. Awesome seafood and pasta. And their lasagna isn’t frozen. It’s more date like, I think. You know, checked table clothes, drippy candles, wine, and all that.”

“A classic romantic?” he asked, clearly amused.

“Well, I mean if we have to go out, it makes sense to go someplace like that.” She held out her hand and gestured to his phone. “I’ll give you my number in case mom hasn’t already. A date is a date, but might as well get a good meal out of it.”

“By all means,” he said, handing her the latest device on the market. She noted that he did everything with his right hand, his left staying next to his side and covered in a black glove. She was about to mention it when she heard her father’s voice and laughter.

“You’ve met our Emma,” David said, joining the duo at the table and placing one hand under Emma’s elbow. “Our daughter can be a bit blunt. I hope she hasn’t insulted you or made you change your mind.”

“Dad,” Emma said, swatting him playfully.

“She’s been absolutely brilliant,” Killian answered, shoving his phone in his pocket. “By the way, love, name’s Killian Jones. I don’t believe I properly introduced myself.”

David nodded knowingly. “Killian is here to work with your mother on her bid for the mayor’s office. He’s a wiz when it comes to all things in local politics. Very highly recommended.”

“Work for mom?” Emma asked weakly, trying to ignore the not quite so humble smile that played about Killian’s mouth. “You mean he’s not…”

“Of course, Regina is taking time off to plan her wedding and then get settled into married life. She recommended Killian to run your mom’s campaign since Archie is considering and Mal has already announced. Anyway, it is good you met. Killian’s going to need to talk to you about your role in promoting our family. Maybe you can meet up at Granny’s later this week.” David glanced around the room and gripped his daughter’s arm harder. “I wanted to introduce you to someone I met when I was buying supplies for the farm. His name is Walsh.”

Emma stammered a bit, her face turning pink as Killian continued to hold that smile that showed both bemusement and cockiness. “Walsh…”

“Go ahead, love,” Killian said. “We’ll finish our conversation at this Granny’s or perhaps you might like the atmosphere.”

Emma was sure that her face was bright red as his eyebrows lifted up and down in a way that made her wonder just what lascivious thoughts were rolling around in that head of his. She felt those blue eyes on her as her father made another excuse and led her over to the man in the green tie who was smiling nervously at her and oblivious to her discomfort and not so secret looks over at Killian Jones.

She nodded appropriately and even asked a few questions about Walsh and his furniture design business. Her own rental was outfitted with castoffs and hand me downs that had seemed comfortable and worn at the time. He was telling her why it was important to have pieces that spoke of her uniqueness and character. At least that was what she heard on the occasions she bothered to listen and didn’t internalize the flinches and groans as her parents introduced Killian Jones to every person in the room. She wasn’t pleased to see most of the single women giggling and flashing him flirtatious smiles that he easily returned. There was no need to be jealous, but still the emotion was creeping up her spine as she watched him actually kiss Ruby’s hand like something out of a novel.

“I could show you sometime,” Walsh interrupted. She jumped at being caught unaware and repeated the words back to him in hopes of making some sense of the situation. “My shop. I have some really beautiful pieces I think you would like.”

“Well, if I am ever in the market,” she said, realizing that he was holding out a business card with his personal number written on the back. “Have you met August and his father Marco. They do some of the most beautiful woodwork you have ever seen. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

“We were right about the monkey guy,” Ruby said defeatedly, kicking off her shoes and reclining on the bed in Emma’s childhood bedroom. The room didn’t quite do justice to the angsty teen she had been, but still boasted teen idol posters of boy bands and even the dollhouse brought by Santa one year. “But that other guy was cute and quite the charmer. Even I was about to hit on him. I had such high hopes for your mother.”

Emma flinched as she unclipped her hair and left it to fall around her shoulders in soft waves. “Yeah, so he’s not my set up of the year. Yet I asked him out, sort of. I don’t know. I made a fool out of myself.”

“He didn’t seem too offended,” Ruby suggested. “I mean I was distracted once Dorothy agreed to dance but every time I looked in his direction he was looking in yours. And I might add that was pretty often.”

“Right, he was probably trying to figure out what was wrong with me.” Emma was about to bemoan her embarrassed state a little more when her phone dinged out one and then another text message. She reached over to grab it and groaned with the realization. It was Killian. Ruby immediately wanted to know what he had to say and proceeded to inspect the picture he sent just in case Emma was confused if he was the guy in the green tie or not.

“Emma, you might have had a rough start, but he’s hot. And he’s clearly interested. Why else would he text?” Passing the phone back, she shrugged. “And let’s face it, you and commitment aren’t that strong of allies. He’s from out of town. Mary Margaret said he travels all over to do these little campaigns. I’m seeing excellent fling material.”

The text was taunting her, a coy comment about Italian restaurants and then a reminder of who he was with the picture. “I should answer him. I mean it would be rude not to answer, right?”

“Your mother would say not to be rude to anyone, but I’m telling you there is no reason to be rude to that guy.” Ruby reached over and grabbed a 10 year old magazine from the table, clearly bored with the conversation. “But I mean it is up to you. Text him. Don’t text him. Your choice.” Ruby flipped the pages casually, bringing up what dresses Regina was going to want them to wear at her wedding. She insisted that red wouldn’t be that garish at a Christmas event. It wasn’t until Emma refused to correct her that Ruby even looked over cautiously. “You haven’t texted him?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Ruby propped herself onto one elbow. “It’s written all over your face.”

Emma shoved the phone back in her bag and let her head loll against the mattress as she sat cross legged on the floor. She rarely was in this room now, but somehow it felt comfortable and almost nostalgic to discuss dating and boys with her friend just down the hall from her parents. At least she wasn’t practicing writing his name with hers or anything like that. “I don’t get crushes.”

“You’re much too tough for that.”

Emma wasn’t exactly wrong about her aversion to crushes. She was in her twenties and already sheriff of the small coastal town. She wore practical boots or sneakers more than heels and her long hair had not seen princess curls in months. This event at her parents was the first time she’d worn a dress except to church. “If I did, and I’m not saying I do, what difference does it make. I’m a grown woman, mother of a 10 year old, and I have a career. I’m hardly going to make cootie catchers and see if his name comes up after saying some horrible rhyme.”

Ruby nodded thoughtfully and went back to the magazine. “Not to mention horribly ugly and boring. I don’t know how I put up with you.”

“You are going to pay for that one, Ruby,” Emma laughed, tossing a pillow and joining in as Ruby cackled with laughter. They were both laughing so hard that Emma barely heard the familiar chirp of her phone ringing. Holding up a hand to silence her friend, she shushed her and reached for it. She only hoped she sounded less winded than she felt as she said her own name and waited for the response.

“I hope I didn’t call to late,” a male English accent sounded on the other end. Even without seeing him in person, she could already picture that bemused smirk and light in his eyes. “I meant to check back with you, love, but time got away from me and then you were gone.”

“Oh um…good…I mean great…I mean you didn’t call too late,” Emma gestured wildly at her friend who was making choking signs in response to her word vomit. “But why did you call?”

“Well, love, you did give me your number,” he reminded her. “I tried texting, but didn’t get a response. I thought perhaps you were screening, but I had to give it a shot. I was hoping you might have a bit of time for me tomorrow – breakfast perhaps? I know you said you preferred that little Italian place, but I have never known such an establishment to be open very early. Perhaps that Granny’s, you spoke of? We could save the Italian place for our dinner date. I have been craving some ravioli lately.”

“Date?” Emma stammered, ignoring the way that Ruby looked ready to pounce. “I…”

“You did sort of ask me out and I must say it was a masterful way to do so. I would love to accompany you for dinner, Emma. But first we have a bit of business to discuss about your mother’s campaign. Breakfast then? 8 a.m.? Granny’s?”

“I’ll be there,” she answered dully as he spoke politely for a moment about thanking her for her time.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

Emma’s father had not gotten the memo that she was going out for breakfast, as he was flipping pancakes onto a large plate as she descended the stairs, handed her son his permission slip for the field trip, and dodged the family’s collie that seemed to be underfoot. Her mother showed no signs of worry as she sipped her morning coffee and reminded Emma to wear a scarf and hat as she consoled her husband that there were not too many pancakes and Emma wouldn’t have eaten them all anyway.

She pulled her yellow bug up in front of the diner, taking the last of the spots at 8:05 a.m. That was early for her and not a big worry that she was late for meeting with Killian. That was until she walked in, kicked a bit of the snow off her boots (the black ones with a heel that were in her old closet and could not be described as practical – don’t judge), and spied Killian at one of the booths talking to Tink. The bubbly blonde was petite and perfect, a face and voice like a cherub in a painting. Every year she had the solo at the church choir’s Christmas Eve performance and every year people wiped away tears at her beautiful rendition. She didn’t look very angelic as she perched on the edge of her seat and leaned forward to talk animatedly with Killian. Her smile flashing at him and even an occasional stroke of his arm with her hand to emphasize a point. Even in the 90 seconds she had been standing there kicking her boots and unwinding the mile long scarf from her mother, she had watched the waitress stop by and lean across the table to give Killian quite the view down her shirt.

Ruby must have noticed too, as she left her spot behind the counter and fluffed Emma’s hair with an encouraging nod and a teasing note that Emma was wearing lip gloss. Spinning her with one hand on her shoulder, Ruby sort of nudged her in the direction of the booth with a hissed reminder to smile.

“Killian,” Emma said, ignoring the pout from Tink, whose real name was Isabella but didn’t want to be confused with the town librarian, Belle, “sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, love,” he said, scooting out to stand as she arrived. “I was going over a few notes for the kick off and Tink here was catching me up on some of the ideocracies that make small town politics so fun.”

Emma flashed a quick smile at her childhood friend, watching her slink out of the booth and tell Killian she was in the town directory if he wanted to call. He did not follow her with his eyes as she sashayed toward the door, nor did he smirk like Emma wanted to do when Ruby called after Tink to tell her that she still owed for her morning tea. It wasn’t that she disliked Tink, but there was that feeling that made her feel ill when she saw her flirting with Killian.

He gestured for her to sit down a simple glance toward the counter sent the waitress scrambling to bring them menus and take their orders. Or maybe it was just his order, as he had to call her back to get Emma’s. Despite his seemingly healthy eating style the night before, he matched her order of a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon. Granny had even fancied it up with chocolate shavings.

His questions were easy at first, wanting to know about her childhood and then her job. While a few were personal, he did not seem to be prying. She even managed to ask him a few and he offered some answers of his own without objecting too loudly and then quickly getting them back on track. She learned of his naval experience that paid for his education and how he had become involved in the campaigns and politics of small cities and his love of the ocean and aged rum.

“So is your position as sheriff an elected one?” he asked, casually resting back in the vinyl seat across from her.

She was taking two sips to his one when she noticed the way he smiled as he watched her. Instinctively she raised her hand up to swipe at the whipped cream that might have gathered on her nose but found none. “What?” she asked in exasperation. “Did I make a mess?”

“No, I am simply enjoying watching you share your experiences as sheriff. Your passion for it shines on your face, love.”

She knew she was probably blushing and rolled her fork through the home fries as a distraction.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

For the next few days they saw each other often. There was the announcement of her mother’s candidacy where she helped place signage. She ran into him when she went to inspect a license of one of the vendors at the skating rink and ended up sharing a drink and conversation. While pondering which type of creamer to buy, he popped up out of no where and offered a suggestion. He was even there when the church choir had a rehearsal, claiming he was talking to some potential volunteers. He did apologize for that when the choir director called Emma out for missing two of her cues in a row because she was watching him, in the words of Regina, make doe eyes at her and silently flirt.

In the mean time, her mother had been talking up Walsh’s skills in design and potential as a date for Emma. There was now a gaping hole in the living room at the farm house where her mother was having him design a custom entertainment center. Her brother was already complaining that the television on the floor was not the greatest idea. Emma tried to explain Walsh wasn’t her type, but her mother wasn’t hearing it and was asking when she was seeing him again. Given that she had not saved his number and had mutually agreed with him that they weren’t really each other’s type it seemed unlikely. However, Mary Margaret was so cutely sure she had done well this year that Emma hadn’t the heart to tell her.

One morning over doughnuts at the station her mother read the speech Killian had written for her campaign and asked her daughter for feedback. Emma offered a few remarks as the woman adjusted the clutter on her father’s desk.

“I think he’s handsome,” her mother said at one point. “Kinda has that mysterious look to him.”

“Who?” Emma asked distractedly. “Dad?”

It was the pronoun game.

“No, I was talking about…” The phone ringing cut off what Emma was sure was a pep talk about Walsh. The conversation was left unfinished as Emma went to investigate the case of the missing trash can lids. Spoiler: some of the kids were using them for sledding.

It was a full two days later before she saw Killian again. Granted he had texted a few times and called her “by accident” when he claimed he had meant to call her mother to discuss strategy. He was humming a tune and scrolling through his tablet when she and her son, Henry, spotted him inside the library. Apparently, he had set up shop in the corner and had everything but a receptionist there to greet visitors. Her son, who had heard his name a few times from his grandparents, pointed him out in a totally obvious way that made Emma want to crawl under the table. Somehow she managed to take a few steps closer and do more than the wave she originally planned.

“Nice office,” she said of the table he had commandeered. “Quiet I guess.”

“It has it’s perks,” he offered. “I was heading over to talk to your father. He said he would be at the station this afternoon. I take it you are not?”

“Short break to get my son home before I go back to face the files on my desk.” She knew her son was already done checking out his three books and would be joining them any second. She only hoped he would not blurt out an inappropriate question. She was about to send up a silent prayer when she noted that the glove Killian normally wore on his left hand was off and a synthetic material prosthetic was in its place. Before she could say anything, he looked down at the hand as though surprised by it and shrugged.

“Naval accident, an accident.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize,” she said not sure what else to say about it. It was clearly an old injury and hardly one she had a blame in causing.

“Tis an old pain,” he told her. “Most days I don’t really think of it.”

She nodded, glancing at her son who was still in conversation with Belle. “Does that mean you are getting more comfortable with me?” She instantly regretted saying that, as it came off a little weak.

“You do seem to put me at ease, love.” He winked at her and leaned a little to the left as her son ran up beside her. “You, lad, must be Henry. Your grandparents tell me you are quite the author.”

Henry nodded enthusiastically and continued the conversation for a few more beats, nearly forgetting his mother was there. Even a comment from another patron, Will, that Killian was clearly trying to get to the mother through the son, went unnoticed by all but Emma who stood taller and tried to let it slide. Killian was quite the conversationalist, observantly noting that Henry was holding a book on piracy along the New England states. That really got them going until Emma reminded Henry that she needed to drop him off at home to meet the tutor and get back to work.

That was how she ended up with Killian sitting in her living room and then the two of them walking side by side back to the station to interview her father. He opened doors for her, asked her less probing questions, and complimented the way she handled one of the boys known for getting into trouble with a stern look and warning. She was starting to feel natural about it all when he stopped short at the wreath decorated double doors and scratched behind his ear.

“I was wondering, love,” he said, shifting his eyes to the door and back to her again. “Rather I was hoping you might…well, bloody hell, I was hoping to ask you on that date. I gather you weren’t aware of who I was or why I was here when you sort of asked me.”

“I thought you were the guy my parents set me up with this year. It wasn’t my finest moment.”

He smiled nervously, his lips tight and his eyes again darting to the doors. She realized he was looking to see if her father was lurking. “It was rather adorable actually and I was thinking…”

She closed her eyes as he searched for the words, something she was sure he rarely did in his life. He always seemed to know the perfect thing to say and the perfect way to say it. “Killian, you don’t have to…”

“And if I want to?”

“Then maybe we could meet up tomorrow evening? Or wait no…tomorrow is the winter carnival for the kids at the orphanage and I am hosting the movie portion. Maybe Thursday…no Henry’s got his soccer game. I would say Friday but I’ve got choir practice and Saturday is mom’s campaign rally.” She truly looked sorry about her schedule as she shifted from one foot to the other.

“Busy lass,” he muttered. “I suppose we’ll have to consider another time. Or by chance are you free this evening?”

Biting down on her lip, she closed her eyes briefly. “I want to say yes, but my father is in there and I’d rather not mention this to him. And given that my son is likely to either eat potato chips and chocolate milk for dinner, stay up past bedtime for video games or inappropriate movies, or worst yet burn the place down in an attempt to see what he can melt in the oven, I’m thinking I need a back up babysitting plan that doesn’t include my parents.”

“Rather not hear the I told you so? Or are you hoping to keep me your little secret?”

“My parents are a little on the enthusiastic side when it comes to my love life.” She tilted her head back for a moment and then made eye contact again. “I have a plan, but you have to swear to me that we won’t be going to Granny’s or any place else they would be spotted.”

He assured her that paper napkins weren’t on the menu. “I have no issue with being circumspect, love. Trust me, I can plan an evening for us.”

If she didn’t trust him, she didn’t show it as he ushered her inside and greeted David. His cheeks were a little red from the cold and she knew hers were too. However, David never seemed to notice their conversation outside. She saw him pulling out his notes when she spoke up and asked David if Henry could perhaps have dinner with them. She managed to ask nonchalantly, simply a scheduling glitch.

“Any particular reason,” David asked, barely hiding his smile.

“I’m going out,” she answered vaguely, crossing her denim clad legs and pulling a stack of files into her lap. “Did you see Leroy’s file? I need to check about his court date.”

“Haven’t seen it. Anyone I know?” He was trying to watch her in the reflection of his computer screen, sneaking a few knowing looks at Killian who was flipping casually through his notebook.

“Oh you know,” she said, pausing to look at a document, “that guy from your party.” She didn’t want to lie to her dad, but she could tell he was not going to let up. It was one thing to have her father believe it was Walsh but another to flat out tell him that.

Killian seemed to understand, interrupting the awkwardness with a cheeky smile. “Since Emma appears to be on a deadline and you’ll be entertaining the lad this evening, it sounds like we need to get through these questions to prepare your wife’s talking points. Let’s start with the most obvious. You have a role that is second in command here at the station and in the community. How does that work with you effectively reporting to your own daughter?”

Emma let out a little sigh and as her father droned on about how proud he was of her, she shot Killian a grateful look. Her father seemed to take pride in both his work and how well she did her job, showing him pictures of celebrations after tough cases were solved and the commendations she had gotten from the governor. Most grown children worry that they aren’t successful enough or are somehow a disappointment to their parents. Emma didn’t have that worry when David Nolan talked about her.

He was still talking about how well Emma had worked with Regina who was stepping down to concentrate on her new life when Emma slipped out to change. Neither he nor Killian seemed to notice that she almost spoke up twice to tell Killian that maybe tonight wasn’t the best timing. Then she reminded herself of Ruby’s advice. He was a nice and more than good looking man. He didn’t even live here. So what if she went out with him. It was just fun.

She repeated that to herself as she went to her car to head home and change. That is until the realization hit that she didn’t really have anything to wear. A trip to one clothing store in town would rouse suspicion and the tailor was a friend of her mother’s. There was only one place to go.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

“No leather, no spiked heels, no red, no plunging necklines, and I would preferably like to sit down without flashing everyone in town,” Emma said as Ruby dove into the bowels of her closet up above Granny’s. The woman had squealed, hugged Emma, and asked if certain parts had been shaved or waxed. Emma assured her that was not an issue and that she just needed something that didn’t have the capacity for her shoulder or hip holster. Ruby had of course said she had just the thing.

With no sign of her wardrobe addition, Emma looked at her phone and two unread texts.

Killian: Your father is in search of your old scouting badges. I feel like we should have code words. Perhaps not. Meet me at the docks at 7?

She answered quickly, not wanting Ruby to interfere with the response that would probably be inappropriate. A quick see you then and an internally debated smiley emoji would have to suffice. The next message was from her mother.

Mom: David says you have a date. Very exciting. When you come by to pick Henry up, I want to hear all about it. I’ll wait up.

Her mother was going to be an issue. She loved the eternal optimist that was her mother, a woman who had more than her fair share of darkness, including losing two parents early in life, but rose above it to see the good in people. Wasn’t that what Emma was doing. She was seeing the good in Killian despite the voices inside that said this was a bad idea. Well, she could rationalize it that way. Her mother truly wanted a happily ever after for her daughter, something even Emma couldn’t disagree with in scheme of things. The fact that her mother even believed in such things was pretty amazing.

Ruby emerged with a black dress that looked more like a set of random strips all stitched together. Beneath it was a red dress that flared out and looked more appropriate for dancing. And beneath that was a soft mauve frock with a full skirt and wrapped bodice. She knew that was the one she wanted to wear, but knowing Ruby she had to at least try the others. Half an hour later she was wearing the lighter colored dress, matching nude heels, and her hair was what her friend called casually curled.

She was standing with her arms crossed for warmth at the docks at 7:01 when Killian emerged from one of the sailboats with a single red rose in his hands. “Apparently,” he said, steadily walking the gang plank despite the swell of the waves that had her not quite sure if she was standing still or not, “it is nearly impossible to procure just a rose this time of year. You almost ended up with a pot of poinsettias.”

“It’s beautiful,” she remarked. “You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

He assured her that it was no trouble and that she was beautiful herself. Below deck he had a small table set with real dishes and flatware, a bottle of wine and containers of pastas and sauces from the Italian restaurant she had mentioned. The only thing, he mused, was that he could not do the candles since such items were not really safe on a boat.

“Confession time,” he said, clinking his glass with hers. “I borrowed the boat. I don’t have one here in Storybrooke.”

“I knew that,” she admitted. “It’s my uncle Leroy’s boat.”

“Short man, scruffy looking, kind of grumpy?”

“Always grumpy, yes. It’s nice of you though. Not too many prying eyes.”

He took a sip and pondered that for a moment. “I take it that you would prefer to keep things clandestine just in case. I am also guessing that you gave the information to your friend Ruby just in case I turn out to be a murderer.”

“I can take care of myself.” She squared her shoulders off.

“Aye, I believe you can, love.”

The rest of the meal passed with pleasant conversation and only a few awkward pauses that were usually filled before it got to be too much. Killian had even brought along a set of speakers to stream music allowing them to dance. It was a tough that even Emma thought was sweet as his arms were around her in a way that she admitted fit. She wasn’t sure how much life was left in his phone or when the clouds that had been building all day would open up with snow, but time seemed to stand still as they swayed. Her eyes closed and her head resting against his right shoulder. He lifted their entwined hands and softly kissed hers. She was glad her eyes were closed and her head nestled against his chest.

She could feel his breathing change and his hold feeling tense. Her name came out as a whisper from him. She lifted her head and found his eyes searching hers. “Emma? I would very much like to kiss you.”

“I’m not sure you can handle that,” she teased in just as soft of a voice. Yet she closed the space between them and let him close the rest. Their lips touching softly at first and then with more passion. Her hands gripped at his shirt, pulling him toward her and his hand hovered at her hair before threading through it with a sort of awe she had never experienced.

They might have stayed like that for a while had the siren of her dad’s cruiser not shattered the cold and quiet night. Maybe they should have stayed below deck, ignored her father’s presence on the docks. However, that plan faded as his footsteps grew closer and she knew, just knew that someone had spotted them on Leroy’s boat and reported it. Resigned to the fate that her father was about to find out who her date was with and probably have an opinion about it, she took a step back and turned to climb up into the cold. While he said nothing, Killian placed his own jacket, a worn leather one, over her shoulders. It was a gentlemanly gesture and one that shouldn’t surprise her.

“Dad?” she asked, holding one hand over her eyes to shield it from the giant flakes falling silently from the sky. “Did something…”

Her father looked startled and even a little embarrassed to see her there. His breathing was normalizing when Killian emerged too, which sent his eyes wide and his gasp of surprise sharpening. “I didn’t realize…”

“Everything okay, mate?” Killian asked. His dark colored shirt and black vest offered little warmth against the plummeting temperatures. However, he did not indicate it by shivering or otherwise complaining.

“Sure…I mean I was just answering a call about someone attempting to break in cars when I saw Emma’s bug. Someone said they thought they saw the suspect run this way and…”

Emma gave her father a nod, taking a deep breath to switch back into her role as sheriff. “Any description?”

Her father’s eyes drifted to where Killian’s hand was covering hers and giving it a slight squeeze of reassurance. They narrowed and his voice faltered as he answered, “light colored hair, red sweatshirt, about 5’9”, thin.”

“Sounds like a juvenile,” Emma assessed. “I’m assuming we don’t have any camera visuals. Last time we investigated over here the cameras were malfunctioning and I haven’t noticed…”

“Emma,” her father said, his boots shuffling a little on the worn planks of the dock that were beginning to be covered in snow. “You don’t have to…I mean…You’re on a date…I guess you are.”

“Well, yeah,” she said, glancing at Killian who seemed to be enjoying the moment. Suddenly she felt the urge to clear up the misconceptions she had caused. “I didn’t mean to…” She cleared her throat. “I know you probably thought I meant I was seeing that Walsh guy.”

“Your mother’s buying an entertainment center from him,” David answered with confusion. “It’s not my business who…but where is Walsh?” He did manage to lower the flashlight and seem less ominous there on the docks, but still had his hand on his hip and was rocking backwards as he waited for explanations.

“I’m not really sure. I haven’t exactly seen him since the party.” Emma glanced at Killian who was standing closer to her than she realized. That wasn’t exactly unpleasant as a prospect. “Killian and I…”

“You and Killian,” he father parroted with the confusion that it hadn’t dawned on him. “You and Killian what?”

Killian gave her hand another squeeze and took a step forward as though offering himself as tribute. “Aye, mate. I do fancy your daughter and she and I have been spending time together.”

Blinking back at them, David appeared to running through the occasions he had seen them together and attempting to digest this information. “So the conversation about intentions toward Emma should be delivered to you and not Walsh?” It was too dark to know for sure, but Emma thought he looked a little disappointed.

She reminded him that there was a potential thief on the loose and he assured her he had it under control and to go back to her date. Killian just sort of shrugged and offered his analysis that it wasn’t that much of a secret after all. They talked a bit longer, took a slow walk toward her car, and both hopped in with him saying he would walk to Granny’s after she was safely at her parents with her son.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, speeding up the wipers against the snow. “I can drop you off. No need for you to freeze.”

He looked toward her in the dark car and gave her a soft smile. “Your father is bound to have told your mother about our date, love. I know you had hoped to keep it secret. I only wanted to offer my services should you want them to fend off her disappointment and concern.” He jumped when she placed her hand over his prosthetic.

“I didn’t mean for it to be a secret. I guess I just don’t want to disappoint them with another failed attempt at matchmaking. My mother has to be ready to give up by now.”

“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “she might have to give up anyway. If we were to date, surely she would not attempt to replace me each year.” Her hand jerked away fast, something he noticed. “I hoped you might want…”

She sighed, turning her car off the coastal road to the one that led toward town. “Killian, I am the one who originally asked you out. Even if that was a misunderstanding. I had fun. I enjoy spending time with you. But…”

“But?”

“But we live in two different cities. The special election is going to be over next month. What kind of relationship can we have when you’ll be off on your next job and I’ll still be here? I’m not 18 and free to wander around after you. I have a job, parents, a son, and responsibilities.”

“We could…”

“Killian, I like you. I like spending time with you, but I’m not interested in starting a go no where or long distance relationship. I want more than a pen pal. Think about it. You do too.” The driveway of the farmhouse was coming into sight and then disappeared as she passed it. “I’ll take you back to Granny’s. No sense in talking to my mother about this. We’ll just say it was a one time thing.”

“As you wish.” His voice was quiet, deep, and almost wistful.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

As the holidays grew nearer, Emma’s parents and Killian went into campaign overdrive. There were photoshoots of the whole family on the farm. Her mother even managed to sneak in a few candid shots of Emma and Killian. Speaking of Mary Margaret, she was only mildly disappointed at Emma’s secret that she was not seeing Walsh. That was quickly erased as she said she had considered setting her daughter up with Killian, but was quickly dissuaded when her internal voice said her daughter would object. Nobody corrected her on it.

For his part, Killian worked hard and would try to sneak in time with Emma. They shared a few lunches, walked around the farm discussing a few strategies, and shopped together for a present for her parents. He sat with them on Christmas Eve when Emma performed with the choir for mass, looking just as in awe and proud as her parents did. He even joined them for the evening meal on Christmas, leaving behind a gift for Emma rather than making a big deal of her opening it in front of everyone.

As the wreathes were removed and the snow seemed not as white, the election day finally drew close and Killian was even more of a fixture. He was constantly showing up with a new tactic and shoving his client in front of cameras to announce a proposed initiative. Everything from illiteracy to hunger would be addressed by Mary Margaret Nolan for mayor. When election day arrived, more than 60% of the voters chose her and he beamed proudly from the sidelines. Most people noticed the hug shared between Emma and Killian, but it seemed to be just part of the celebration. It went so long into the night that nobody really saw the two of them saying goodbye the next morning.

“I wish it was different,” she admitted, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps someday, love. After all, nothing stays the same.”

She watched as the Uber driver loaded his bags and Killian reluctantly slid into the backseat. Their eyes were locked and the unsaid words hung in the air. She wasn’t sure she even breathed again until she was pulling up in front of her parents’ house. Her father was flipping pancakes, but her mother was at the doorway even as she dragged up the steps of the front porch.

“I like him,” her mother said. “He’s a good man.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, accepting the hug and hurrying in before the next gust of wind. “I just…I don’t want this every time we see each other. I don’t want to miss him and have the constant feel like a clock is counting down the hours.”

“I know, Emma. And that is very practical, but if you…”

Emma didn’t wait for her mom to finish the statement before greeting her father and asking about setting the table. It wouldn’t be the last time that her mother brought him up. She would over the next few months, mentioning seeing him at some event or another. Emma never asked, but her mother would always update her on his well being. It wasn’t that Emma didn’t know. He still called. He texted. When he was in the area he would invite her to dinner or to an event. She occasionally went but always told herself it was just casual. He never tried to kiss her again and she never sat herself too close to him, despite Ruby’s advice to do so.

A book he had mentioned to her once said of the protagonist and her lover turned best friend, “they would continue to call and write until eventually they were just acquaintances and no longer a real part of each other’s lives.” That’s what Emma resigned herself to when he didn’t answer her text or voicemail inviting him to her parents’ annual party. He’d been pretty scarce for the past few weeks. Their conversations short and usually interrupted by something or someone. She once even heard a female voice in the background and wondered if he was seeing someone. That idea hurt more than she wanted to admit.

She wore red to her parents’ party, her hair hanging loose and the smile on her face tense and unyielding. She was sipping on champagne and watching as Regina and Robin twirled around the room still in bliss nearly a year after their wedding. Walsh was there too, dancing with Zelena and inking a new design deal with Marco. Neal had brought Tink as his date, which made Emma roll her eyes. And her parents were at their prime greeting and hugging all of those in attendance.

“Emma,” her mother called out when a few more guests were greeted. “Come here. I want you to say hello to someone.”

Ruby gave her a sympathetic look as Emma begrudgingly dragged her feet over to where her parents were standing. And there he stood, Killian in a freshly pressed suit with a wide smile on his face as she approached. Her mother was giddy as she mockingly introduced them. “Emma, you remember my old campaign manager, Killian, right? Well, he was in town getting settled because his new job at the governor’s office starts next month. I was thinking that he might be just the kind of guy you’d like to get to know.”

#csss #csss2020 #Captain Swan

22 notes · View notes

masieofthevalley · 4 years

Text

All I Really Want is You (Spideypool) - Chapter Thirteen

Find the Masterlist for this fic here! Read this fic on AO3! Check out my Ko-Fi if you would like a commission!

Summary: “Who are you, the big bad wolf?” She snarked. She mentally congratulated herself that her voice hadn’t betrayed the fluttering in her gut.

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?”

Peter Parker is an exhausted and overworked student in her senior year of college. Sleep-deprived and running on coffee and fumes, Peter really just wants to get through this semester. On a rare coffee run to ensure that she doesn't fall asleep on patrol or in her textbooks again, she quite literally stumbles upon Deadpool. Try as she might, she just can't stay away from him, and along the way, she finds herself in the middle of a nefarious plot between HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D.

A/N: Hello, everyone! Today’s chapter is Chapter Thirteen: Accidentally in Love. This chapter is named after the song Accidentally in Love by Counting Crows.

I tried to look up a page of phrases you should say to order in Italian, but it didn’t go very well, so I’m very sorry about that. I used Google Translate when Wade was speaking with Italian, so please forgive me for that!

As always, there is a playlist for this fic, and you can find it on YouTube and Spotify. Spotify won’t play in order unless you have Spotify Premium. You don’t need to listen to it in order, but each chapter has a specific song associated with it. There is also a song associated with the entire fic, which is She Looks So Perfect by 5 Seconds of Summer.

This chapter does include NSFW content, and it’s toward the end of the chapter!

If you liked this chapter, like, share, and reblog, and please leave comments! They make my day, and I will gladly respond. You can also head over to my AO3 and comment there, and I will also respond there! Enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen: Accidentally in Love

Chapter Summary: Peter and Wade’s date ends in a surprise visit to a skatepark, and Peter makes a startling revelation.

“Right this way, Bambi. Best seats in the house,” Wade proclaimed with a sweep of his arm, indicating that Peter should climb into the booth. They were at a tiny, hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant; Peter wasn’t sure how far away they were from Sister Margaret’s because she had been distracted during their walk by the chatter coming out of Wade’s mouth, but it couldn’t have been that far from the bar. There were two tiny windows on either side of the restaurant’s door, but they were blacked out, creating a suspicious-looking building, at least from the outside. Until the moment they had walked in the door, Peter was worried that Wade had taken them to the wrong place. But, no, they were in the smallest restaurant that Peter had ever been in, and it was very warm and smelled like garlic and parmesan cheese.

Peter climbed into the booth and put her coat down beside her. Compared to the frigid temperatures outside, the restaurant was a tropical paradise. Wade showed no sign of discomfort from the heat, however, as he sat down opposite her on the other side of the table. Peter noted that not only had he chosen the only table in a corner, but he had also sat on the side of the table that would grant him the view of the entire restaurant. She wondered if that was leftover ingrained training from his time in the Special Forces, or maybe it was a part of his mercenary training instead? Knowing the layout of a room seemed like an essential skill for someone with Wade’s job. Bad Peter, focus on Wade, not his job.

And like that, she was zeroing in on Wade, who was squirming around in his seat while looking at a handwritten menu made out of cardstock. Peter picked hers up, and after realizing that she couldn’t read any of it but the names of a few types of noodles since it was written in Italian, she quickly set it back down. Wade perked his head up, and his mask raised an eyebrow.

“Need some help there, Bambi?” Peter shook her head and played with one of the napkins that were on the table. Her cheeks still had yet to recover from their almost kiss back at Sister Margaret’s, and the heat in the restaurant was doing nothing to calm the redness in her face.

“Order anything you want, Baby Girl. Tonight’s on me,” Wade cheerfully announced, setting his menu down too.

“I have money, Wade. I can pay for me if not both of us,” Peter argued, frowning at him. Irritatingly, Wade just laughed in response.

“No can do, Baby Girl. If I let you pay, you’d be bankrupt into next year. You don’t know how much pasta I can put away yet, but you will pretty soon,” Wade chuckled, mimicking wiping a tear away from his eye lenses. Peter scowled; it seemed that Wade didn’t know exactly how much pasta she could put away either.

“I mean it, I just got paid. I’m good!” Peter promised, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Wade stopped laughing and tilted his head. Not for the first time, Peter wondered what he was thinking.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Honey, or offend you,” Wade said softly, one hand coming up and across the table to cup Peter’s cheek. She desperately wanted to lean into it, to feel his fingers tangle in her hair, but she also wanted to stand her ground.

“I’ve just got a lot of money laying around that I never spend, and I’d rather you spend your paycheck on things you actually need like groceries or something. And I eat a lot, Sweetheart, I’m afraid I’d put you out on the street,” Wade continued, his thumb running back and forth over Peter’s cheek. It was so close to her bottom lip, she could almost taste the leather.

“I know you make a lot of money, it’s just, I can take care of myself too,” Peter muttered, wholly distracted by Wade’s hand. He pulled it away, setting it down on the table between them, and Peter had to restrain herself from letting loose the most desperate whimper known to man. However, she must have done a horrible job at disguising her desires because Wade barked out a laugh.

“Fine, you brat, here, take it back,” Wade conceded quietly, settling his hand back on Peter’s cheek. Peter allowed herself one sigh, and she held onto Wade’s hand for a few seconds with her own before she put both of them down on the table. Sheepishly, she looked back up at Wade. The smile stretching his mask was blinding.

“I’m not denying you can take care of yourself, Peter,” Wade finally said, rapping the knuckles of his free hand on the table. “But I did pick the restaurant after all, and I’d just like to spoil you a little. Let me? Next time, you can pay, cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye!”

“M’not sure that’s how that goes,” Peter shook her head with a small smile before straightening as she realized what Wade had said. “Next time?”

“Well, if tonight goes well, which so far, it is,” Wade smirks with a pointed look at their clasped hands. Peter’s blush burned brighter. “I’d like there to be a ‘next time,’ Bambi.”

“Me too,” Peter confessed, her voice barely audible. Their quiet moment was interrupted by a waitress coming up to their table. They had been talking while they waited for at least half an hour, but the restaurant was completely full.

“Cosa vorrebbe ordinare?” she asked, leaning her hip against the table. Peter, now feeling self-conscious, hastily tried to let go of Wade’s hand, but his grip was steel tight, and he refused to let her go.

“Una grande ciotola di spaghetti per favore,” Wade said confidently, and Peter was pretty sure he butchered every word of that sentence. It sounded like Wade had just spoken directly from Google Translate. Like she agreed with Peter’s thoughts, the waitress rolled her eyes and turned to Peter, raising an eyebrow as she waited for him to speak.

“Grande lasagna,” Peter said with a straight face, knowing good, damn, and well that she sounded like an American tourist. It looked like the waitress was fighting a grin, but she just nodded with another roll of her eyes and left. She came back almost immediately with two cups of water and plopped those on the table.

“Where’d you learn Italian?” Peter asked Wade as she drained half of her glass, suddenly nervous that she was left alone with him again. What the fuck was wrong with her?

“Google Translate,” Wade deadpanned, and Peter nearly choked on her drink. She coughed a few times and took one more sip before putting her cup down.

“No wonder it sounded so bad,” Peter snarked. “I never said Italian was my specialty, you brat,” Wade squawked, “I took Spanish in high school, if you must know.”

“Oh, so what can you say in Spanish?” Peter played along, eyebrows raised in questioning.

“¿Donde esta la biblioteca?” Deadpool asked with a shit-eating grin on his mask. Peter burst into laughter, snatching her hand back so she could clutch at her stomach with both hands. Her face hurt from the smile stretched across her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed this much.

“Holy shit, Petey-Pie, keep on smiling. Baby Girl, it’s gotta be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Wade marveled, his own smile gentle and warm. Peter continued to giggle softly until her amusement was gone, leaving her with a pleasant and tender feeling in her chest.

“Oh, please teach me your ways, Professor Wilson,” Peter teased, batting her eyelashes coquettishly. Even though she wasn’t looking at Wade, Peter could feel that the air between them was stretched thin with tension.

“Oh, Baby Girl,” Wade growled, and Peter immediately felt her insides twist together in a knot. “There are so many things I’ll teach you, just you wait.”

Peter swallowed, and against her wishes, the smallest of whines left her throat. Wade closed his eyes in what looked like restraint and groaned quietly, shifting in his seat. Before either one of them could say another word, their waitress was back, sliding large pasta bowls in front of each of them. The smell of fresh tomato sauce and mozzarella broke through the fog covering Peter’s brain, and her stomach gurgled.

“Grazie!” Wade chirped, tucking a napkin into the neck of his suit. The waitress rolled her eyes with a laugh and a smile in Peter’s direction before walking off again.

Peter grabbed her fork and dug into her plate. She moaned at the first bite; it was the first proper meal that she’d had in weeks. Her paychecks had been small the last few months; Triple J hadn’t been giving her nearly as many assignments as usual, and that meant ramen noodles for every meal except breakfast. Breakfast was always one cup of - usually, instant - scalding hot coffee with entirely too much sugar. God, she hadn’t even had Starbucks since that first week after she met Wade. What she wouldn’t give for another cappuccino.

Peter looked up, trying to distance herself from her longing thoughts of Starbucks, and noticed that Wade hadn’t started eating yet. His mask still covered his entire face, and he appeared to be making no effort to remove it.

“Wade? Aren’t you hungry?” Peter asked, wiping away the sauce that was probably all over her mouth. She tilted her head to the side as the expression on Wade’s mask remained the same.

“No, you go ahead, Baby Girl, I’m fine,” Wade said, his voice almost sounding authentic, but Peter knew better. She could hear the false notes in his tone, and his posture was too stiff to be relaxed.

“Look, if it’s the mask, it’s no big deal, it’s fine, really!” Peter promised, her hands gripping onto the edge of the table. Wade shook his head.

“No, Honey, honest, just go ahead and eat-”

“Look, I’ll put on my beanie.” Peter stuck her hand in her coat pocket, grateful that she had brought her hat after all. “And I’ll just keep my eyes down, and you can just eat like normal, it’ll be fine!”

“God, I do not deserve any of this, don’t deserve you,” Wade whispered, and if Peter hadn’t had gotten enhanced hearing from the Spider Bite™, she never would have heard it.

“Keep your hat off, Sweetheart. You shouldn’t have to cover up your lovely face just so my ugly mug can eat. Just don’t want you to lose your appetite is all,” Wade insisted, putting a hand over Peter’s. She cautiously dropped it onto the table with a raised eyebrow and looked down at her food anyway when Wade started to roll up his mask.

“You can look. Just make sure you lean over when you blow chunks,” Wade muttered, and he picked up his fork and started to poke around at his spaghetti. Peter looked up in a cursory glance, and her next bite of lasagna never made it into her mouth. Instead, her hand stopped dead in its tracks and just kind of dangled there in front of her face.

Wade had only rolled his mask up to the bridge of his nose, but Peter could still tell that he was gorgeous. His jawline was sharper than it looked through his mask, and Peter wanted to cut herself on it and watch the blood drip down his neck. Wade’s skin was pale pink and covered and crisscrossed with scars that were just slightly darker in color, and each of them appeared to be different. There wasn’t any pattern or rhythm in them that Peter could make out. Wade’s nose was slim, and Peter’s eyes were finally drawn to his lips. They were full and flesh-colored, covered in the same scars that made up the rest of Wade’s skin, but Peter didn’t care. Peter’s mind went blank with want, the urge to kiss Wade so strong and present, and she had to restrain herself from crawling across the table and plopping herself down in his lap.

“Well, you don’t look like you’re going to projective vomit everywhere,” Wade commented, shoving another bite of spaghetti in his mouth. He was eating at a pace that rivaled Peter’s, and the only thing that made Peter even slightly squeamish was the fact that he had talked with his mouth full.

“Huh?” Peter asked, still looking at Wade’s lips.

“Earth to Petey-Pie, I”m up here,” Wade said, chuckling a little at the end. He waved his hand a few times in front of Peter’s face, and she shook her head as she broke herself from her trance.

“M’sorry, didn’t mean to stare,” Peter muttered as she picked up her fork again. When had she dropped it? She managed to eat two more bites before the thoughts floating around in her head left her mouth.

“Just really pretty,” Peter whispered, cheeks burning hot. “Your lips are like wow, and your jaw is like woah, and your chin is really pretty and your dimples, s’nice.” God, she wished she could stop talking. Why couldn’t she stop talking? She used to do this shit with Gwen too, and she would just laugh and kiss Peter to shut her up. Would Wade do that? She wanted him to do that.

“You are just a dream come true, Baby Girl. Never gonna let you go,” Wade murmured, a soft look coming over his face. His face was so much more expressive - how was that even possible? - without his mask, and Peter nearly swooned. She bit back her response, hiding it under her tongue. Even though his comment had been a little extreme, especially for a first date, Peter had a feeling that “Yes, please,” wasn’t the right response. At least, not yet.

They made idle chit-chat through the rest of their meal, and Peter was extremely pleased that Wade didn’t roll his mask back down when they finished. While getting ready to leave, Wade asked what was wrong, and Peter was forced to own up to the grumpy expression on her face.

“Don’t wanna go home yet,” Peter confessed, tugging on the ends of her coat. A big smile coated with mischief crossed Wade’s face.

“I know just the place, Sweetheart,” he said, scooping up her skateboard from the floor. He offered it to her, and she carried it out of the restaurant in her freehand.

Full and content, Peter left the restaurant, happy to let Wade guide them to wherever he had decided they needed to go. They walked for about fifteen minutes, going up one street, across another, and then making a left onto one final street. Their destination appeared to be a skatepark, and at almost 11 PM at the end of October, it was entirely empty.

“Figured you could skate off dinner if you wanted,” Wade said with a shrug, nodding his head to Peter’s board. “Y’know, ‘he was a skater boy, she said see you later boy,’ and all that shit.”

Peter laughed and shook her head. “Yeah, that’s cool with me. You want me to show you a few tricks?”

“If you want,” Wade agreed, leading them into the abandoned skatepark. Once inside, he fell back, so Peter took the reigns to guide them further into the park. She’d been here once or twice before, so she took him over to one of the half-pipes and gestured that he should sit. Peter shrugged out of her coat, much to Wade’s protests, and she threw it at him with a grin over her shoulder.

“Keep it warm for me!” She shouted as she took off down the half-pipe. The coat was too thick to skate with comfortably, and she’d get too hot too quickly to have any kind of fun. When she looked back at Wade, he was snuggled up beneath the fabric, and she laughed. It looked like doll clothes spread out over his lap like that.

“Yeah, keep laughing, Short-Stuff! I’ve got the best view in the house right here lookin’ at you, Honey-Buns!” She was wondering when Wade was going to make his first ass comment of the night.

Peter spent a few moments getting her momentum, just going up and down on the half-pipe. She hadn’t been to a skatepark in a while, and she was a little rusty as far as tricks went. She did a few basic ones for Wade, pausing between each one to smile at his clapping and cheering before moving on to some of the more complicated ones. She skated around the park a few times before making her way back to Wade. She set her board down gently in front of her.

“How’d I do?” she asked, shaking her fringe out of her face. Wade stood up with a leer, and Peter gulped. Wade moved toward her, and she backed up, matching him step for step. He moved gracefully, like a predator, and Peter’s blood started to race as she realized that this was the first time since she became Spider-Woman that she was the hunted instead of the hunter. She liked it, liked feeling like prey when it was Wade who was the predator.

“It’s a 10 from me, Sweetheart,” Wade crooned, stepping even closer. Peter looked from side to side, trying to figure out if there was somewhere for her to go. She took a few steps to the right, and Wade matched her pace, pushing himself even closer. She had a thought of making a break for it, Wade chasing after her, his hot breath panting down her neck. That made her insides warm even further. She’d save that for another day.

“Did you like performing for me, Bambi?” Wade asked, pressing himself flush against Peter. Her back was pushed up against the chain-link fence, and Peter tangled her fingers in the links on either side of her, trying to resist from reaching out and touching Wade.

“Asked you a question,” he reminded, gently, his voice firm but still warm. Peter opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. She just nodded, her body on fire from Wade’s touch.

“Saw you looking to the side, looking around like you were gonna run, Petey-Pie,” Wade continued, running his nose down the side of Peter’s face. She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed at the feeling of his skin just barely brushing against hers.

“You wanna run, Baby? Want me to chase after you?” Wade’s lips were at Peter’s ear, and she shivered, the metal from the fence digging into her fingers. One of Wade’s hands reached out and gently grasped onto her hands one at a time, freeing them from the cold fence. He gathered them both in his hand and held them against his chest, letting go when Peter tangled her fingers in the straps of his suit.

“You’d like it, running around with nowhere to go,” Wade whispered, licking a wet, hot stripe up Peter’s neck. It contrasted with the biting cold of the wind, and the whimper that left Peter’s throat was strangled and torn apart. She couldn’t remember ever making a noise that sounded like that.

“You might be fast, Bunny, but I’m faster,” Wade suddenly growled, biting down at the junction between Peter’s neck and shoulder. She cried out, head falling back against the fence. It bent beneath her weight, but she didn’t care.

“Please, Wade, please, please,” she begged, but she didn’t know what she was begging for. She wanted to kiss him, she wanted to bite him, she wanted to touch him.

“M’here, Sweetheart, I have you,” Wade assured her, his lips caressing her jaw. She whined. His mouth was so close and yet so far from where she wanted it.

“Mm, please? Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Peter gasped when Wade’s kisses turned sharp and biting on her neck, sucking so hard it was bound to bruise. Good, she wanted the marks, wanted the reminder when she looked in the mirror.

“Gotcha, Honey, I gotcha, don’t worry,” Wade murmured, bringing his lips up to Peter’s. Much to her displeasure, he didn’t immediately kiss her. Peter whined as he brushed their lips together. He was tall, Wade was so tall, so when Peter tried to rise up on her toes to chase after him, he easily broke apart from her. He waited until she settled back against the fence, and then he was on her again, body pressed against hers as close as possible. Peter arched her back and whimpered, trying to press closer, trying to get his mouth back on hers.

“Spoiled, spoiled, little Petey-Pie,” Wade chuckled, taking his lips away again. Peter growled in irritation; he was just being mean now, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re being mean!” she snarled, pulling down on the straps of his suit so that he was leaning over her again. Wade smirked and held himself just a few inches out of reach, and Peter stretched up on the balls of her feet while simultaneously pulling Wade toward her. Finally, he was within reach, and she bit down on the free, beautiful skin of his neck. It wasn’t gentle.

“Fuck! That hurt, you brat!” Wade growled playfully, caging Peter in against the fence. She bared her teeth at him right back, and even though she couldn’t see something in his eyes, she swore she could see something change in them. Before she could try to think about what that something could be, Wade finally kissed her.

Peter had only kissed approximately three people in her entire life: Mary Jane, Harry Osbon, and Gwen. She and Mary Jane had ended long ago, as had her and Harry, so her last experiences with anyone had been with Gwen. Gwen had been sweet and gentle, and the furthest they had gone was the furthest Peter had ever gone with anyone: exploring each other’s tonsils and playing footsie under the table. Gwen was sweet and warm and gentle, and Peter would never, ever forget her.

But this, Wade, was hot and harsh and unyielding. It was everything that Peter had ever wanted but had never been able to have. Wade’s mouth was rough, skin uneven from the scars that she had longed to taste, but he tasted of marinara sauce and home. He tasted like hope and electricity.

Peter didn’t have a good track record with relationships, with keeping people, but her heart whispered Wade’s name over and over again as they kissed, and she thought maybe this time, maybe she could keep this one, this time.

Peter wrenched her head back with a gasp, unhappy to part from Wade but needing to breathe. He seemed inclined to agree as his mouth just moved to her jaw, sucking what she was sure was going to be another bruise in a few hours. Peter fell into a fit of soft whimpers, trying to get him to suck, bite, harder. Any marks that Wade made would just disappear before tomorrow, and she wanted them to remain as long as possible, so she could remind herself tomorrow that this was real, that Wade was real.

“Have you ever done this kind of thing before, Baby Girl?” Wade murmured against her skin, lips moving back up to her own. She caught his hand before it could tangle in her hair, and she tapped on his glove in a questioning manner, hoping he would get the memo and take them off. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin, needed the relief that skin-to-skin contact would bring.

“N-not really, no,” Peter whispered, surging upwards to kiss Wade again. “Want this, want you.”

“Are you sure, Sweetheart? You tell me to stop, we stop. Push me away now, tell me red, tell me anything but yes, and I’ll stop right now. We can just go home, and it’ll be fine,” Wade said firmly, lips gently resting against hers. Peter nodded and whined.

“Yes, I want you, Wade. Yes, please, yes-” Peter’s cries were cut off as Wade took her lips in another kiss. She didn’t think she was a very good kisser, and she didn’t really know what she was doing, but she mostly just tried to copy what Wade was doing. Tentatively, she slid her tongue along his, darting back into the safety of her own mouth when he chased after her. Peter whimpered at the taste of Wade, sharp, salty, almost metallic, and Wade growled in response, pressing her back against the fence. It bent further, but neither of them seemed to care.

“Gonna take care of you, Sweetheart, don’t you worry,” Wade promised, sliding one hand up her stomach and under her shirt toward her breasts. Peter groaned as he reached her bra, hand slipping underneath to stroke and gently pinch her nipples. Her body was on fire, and she was on edge, suddenly rocking forward against Wade’s thigh. He moaned, his voice muffled from where his head was pressed against her shoulder, and shoved his thick leg between hers, tensing as she squeezed her thighs on either side of his leg. Wade was so much, shoulders so wide and muscles so big, that Peter felt dainty and small in his arms even though she knew that they probably weighed around the same amount. Her legs would dwarf a normal person’s, but Wade’s, full of thick, corded muscle, gave her a run for her money. She arched her back again and ground against Wade’s thigh, letting him know just how much she appreciated his size.

“So big,” Peter gasped out, head falling back as Wade continued to toy with her nipples. It was like he knew exactly where to touch her, exactly where to pull and push. He pinched one of nipples and flicked the other one, earning himself a high-pitched whine of his name. His other hand tangled in Peter’s hair, pulling her toward him, and Peter bit his lip when he kissed her again. That earned her a growl.

“S’good, fuck, right there, Wade! So right, want you, more, please?” Peter begged. Wade obliged her, and Peter lost all of the air in her lungs when his hand slipped in her pants. Peter cried out as Wade’s fingers swiped against her, warm, thick fingers moving quickly over her underwear.

“Christ, you’re fucking soaking wet, Baby Girl,” Wade groaned, nosing at her temple. Peter cried out as his fingers moved faster, circling her clit. “This all for me, Honey?”

“Just you, Wade.” Peter could barely breathe. “More, more, please, fuck, right there.”

“The mouth on you, little Bunny,” Wade growled, his voice sounding more animalistic than before. His body was tense and firm against hers, and Peter couldn’t help humping against his leg and fingers. It felt good, too good, she never wanted this to stop, oh why hadn’t they done this sooner, it was so good.

“Almost there, Petey-Pie? Gonna be a good girl and come for me, hmm?” Wade’s voice was feral, and Peter could feel his interest, hot and hard against her hip. He ground his hips against her, moving his fingers across her clit and nipples in a rhythm that Peter couldn’t follow.

“Please, please, can I, Wade, more, please,” Peter begged, catching Wade’s lips. “Please, let me, c’mon, wanna come, wanna come on your fingers, please, please.”

“Be good and come for me, Sweetheart, c’mon, c’mon, Baby Girl. Come for me,” Wade urged, fingers moving at the same pace, and Peter had no choice but to obey.

Peter’s body shivered and locked up as she fell over the edge. As she came and collapsed against Wade’s chest, she felt like she was laying outside on the grass on a summer day. She could feel the warm, comforting rays of the sun on her skin, and her whole body tingled from the pleasure coursing through her veins. She vaguely realized that Wade’s fingers hadn’t stopped moving on her body, and she shivered as the direct stimulation on her clit became too much. Usually, when she used either her hands or the toys in her bedside drawer, she stopped touching herself almost immediately after her orgasm. She was almost always too sensitive for another orgasm immediately, and her hands would fly away from herself as she fell over the peak. Wade, however, continued to touch her until she squirmed and whined and begged him not to.

“Too much, too much, Wade,” Peter panted, even as she continued to rock her hips against him. Wade, she realized, was panting too, and he slowly stopped moving his hands over her body, slipping them from beneath her clothes. Peter tried to straighten up, but her knees were weak, so she continued to slump against Wade as she righted her clothing. Wade chuckled and kissed her, lips moving almost lazily against hers now.

“So good, Baby Girl, so sweet, absolutely perfect,” Wade said, his voice almost a purr from how low it was.

“Was it good for you? It was, oh my god, it was absolutely perfect for me, but, you, was it good for you?” she asked, suddenly worried because she hadn’t touched him at all. God, she still wanted to touch him. “Did you, ya know.” God, the gesture she was making toward his dick was so stupid. “Oh, did I,” Wade laughed, pulling Peter against him with a soft groan. “I came when you did, Sweetheart. That look on your face when you came will haunt all of my wet dreams for eternity. It’s enough spank bank material to last me until I’m old and gray.”

“Wade!” Peter laughed, hitting his chest playfully. Wade joined in her laughter, and they rested against each other and the fence, a soft smile on Peter’s lips as she waited for her heart rate to calm back down.

And right there in a vacant skatepark, just a few minutes past midnight, Peter realized she was in love. Oh, fuck.

29 notes · View notes

bethscreativespace · 3 years

Text

💔a scientist's love affair with art

Chapter 1 - the story

If you've known me long enough, you'd most likely know that I had always been that kind of nerdy one who wanted to become a professor and a great scientist or the like. You'd probably think that there's no other career that suits me better than a scientist. And I should admit that it was true. Notice the past tense there. Cause in this moment, I can't assure you if it's the truth about me anymore. Yep, you must be baffled right now. And so am I.

It all started in late 2019 when I was in the final semester, doing my undergrad research. I had always thought that becoming a scientist means that I get to do cool and fancy stuff in the lab. And the result would be something completely brand new and world-changing. I thought it would be such a dynamic thing. But then in that period of time I learned the hard truth that it was not. My expectation was either too high or didn't make any sense at all.

Well, maybe this kind of world-changing invention was more achievable in the era of Rutherford, Max Planck, or Einstein. And I thought that by being a scientist, I could be one of them, the inventors of fundamental theories. But the truth is, today is the 21st century. Everything's settled, in a way. It's like everyone's just trying to improve the existing technology, cause everything we needed is already here. The past scientists have invented it for us. It's as if there's nothing more to be found.

So as a result, what scientists do these days are testing things out. They combine materials and see how it is better than the previous ones. It's no different than experimenting recipes in the kitchen. You add this new type of cheese in your bolognese sauce and see if it makes your lasagna taste better or bitter (yes, pun intended). I don't really cook, so pardon me if this analogy doesn't make any sense, but I hope you get what I mean. And yeah, this is what scientific experimental is all about these days. Or at least this is what I know and what I've experienced myself.

Now going back to my story, it was a huge disappointment to me, knowing this fact about how scientific world works today. But at the time, I tried to hold it back. I thought, "Maybe I should just explore more? Maybe one day I'll find a place where everything is exactly like what I expected it to be?" And many other maybes and hopes that kept me from acknowledging the truth. I tried hard to push this disappointment to the back of my mind, but in fact, it never really stopped bothering me. I was stubborn enough to ignore those thoughts and pretend that everything was fine, "I still want to become a scientist, yeah that's my future." I was lying to myself.

So life went on, I graduated in the early 2020, the pandemic came, and I found a full-time job.

Right after graduation, I initially planned to pursue a master's degree that year—in science, obviously. But as you might've guessed, I didn't make that plan wholeheartedly. And then, the pandemic came, and it wouldn't be wise to travel abroad in that kind of situation, so it became an excuse for me to postpone my plan for a year. So I got a job that (accidentally) required me to work on something that was not at all related to science, and I worked there for about a year.

This job had its own effect on my thoughts about science. Or did it? I'm not sure, but this is how it goes. I found this job was so exhausting because of the pressure and some jerks who messed around with my head. But somehow I considered that I was unhappy doing this job because I wasn't doing something that I loved—which I thought would definitely be science. So I quit this job, with an excuse that I would be much happier if I had a science-related job. At this point, I believed that it was the actual reason.

It was in the early 2021 that I got another job which was perfectly within the scientific field. Surprisingly, I was happy. At least in the first couple of months. Now the thing is, I wasn't aware of what actually made me happy. From my current perspective, I'm guessing that I was happy because I just left the shitty job, so basically anything other than that job would simply excite me. And trust me, this opinion of mine doesn't come out of nowhere. Let me explain a little further.

After several months of being in this new scientific job, I reached a point where I realized that I had been faking this happiness. I'd been trying so hard to believe that this was the source of my joy, which I'm now pretty sure that it was not. I was unconsciously lying to myself, again.

In this job, I truly experienced how it was like to be a scientist in an academic field. I have done pretty much everything a science professor in a university does. One of the main things that I did, and that would clearly be done by a professor, was writing a scientific paper. Or papers, actually. As I've mentioned earlier, I found excitement in doing it at first. But as I wrote more, my long-forgotten disappointment about what people do in science, resurfaced. First, it came back to the fact that these papers made it very obvious for me that scientists these days were no different than chefs experimenting bolognese sauce in the kitchen. And for me, it was such a tedious job, which I hated. Yeah, I really hate doing monotonous things, and it hasn't changed for, well, ever. Second, I felt that in writing those papers, my creativity was confined. I could only write things as far as what was cited from other literatures. I couldn't free my fingers to type things that were on my mind. All I had to do was rewrite what was already written. Again, what a tedious work. But at that time, I was still trying to convince myself that I liked this job. Until it came to this tipping point which started a couple of weeks back and is still happening today, and which also led me to write all of this.

I came to a realization that I did these very scientific tasks out of responsibility. Not out of fun. I found it really hard to concentrate and eventually I felt like I was doing a really hard job. It wasn't as stressful as how it was in my previous job, but I just couldn't find fulfillment in it. And this realization made me reconsider my relationship with science.

I should've done that earlier, because this part of myself has actually been craving to be heard all this time. One day, I posted this Instagram story that asked my close friends' opinion about whether they see me as a person who is more of a scientist or an artist. My friends knew that I was pretty good at both, so it was a fair question. I knew that I expected the answer to be an artist, but I didn't know what it meant. I didn't know that it was actually the heart's subtle voice.

But listening to this part of my heart was not as easy as you might think. Why? Because I'm not a high school student looking for her passion so that she could choose a university major. But it's funny because I'm literally like that indecisive high school student, even though I have graduated from both high school and college. And more ironically, I was not like that when I graduated from high school. My naive high school mind thought that everything was gonna go so smoothly and I'd be a cool scientist like those in the movies.

So me holding a bachelor of science degree, really complicates things. Not only that, what makes it so much more confusing for me, is the fact that I had always known that I was born to become a scientist. But it's like I was slapped in the face when I realized that my heart told me that I was not. So it became a battle between parts of myself. Now let me share with you what have been going around in my head ever since I reached that tipping point.

---

I suspect that I'm in denial. I'm in denial that a huge part of myself which previously was in love with science, has actually gone. Or has it really gone? I want to keep having that part of myself, but for what reason? I couldn't figure out.

I still don't know for sure whether I'm losing this spark because I've really lost it internally, or, because of the external factor. And what I mean by external factor is this situation where as far as I know, scientists in my country are not given sufficient facilitations and a place to grow well, so it might be the cause of why all I've been seeing so far is the research around me are mundane. If this was true, I think, maybe this figure of the "cool scientist who invents stuff" would still exist in other parts of the globe. So if what happens to me is the latter, then it's easy. It means that I still want science for my future, but I shouldn't stay in my country. But the problem is, right now, I can't figure myself out. I don't know whether it's the internal or the external factor. Even if this cool scientist figure does exist somewhere, would I still want to be that person?

And my confusion doesn't stop there. As I said before, I'm a kind of person who hates doing something monotonous, cause what I love to do is something dynamic, something that challenges me. So, this raises another question. What if I lost interest in science not because I didn't love it, but because it was just my nature of getting bored of things easily when I've already found its pattern and it doesn't challenge me no more. So if this was the truth, then I thought, no matter whatever field I was in, things would always get to a point where they don't satisfy my thirst of challenges anymore. But is this really true? Maybe there actually exists some fields or careers that would always provide me with challenges? Maybe I just don't have enough information about them?

On the other hand, if I'm tired of science because it's just never been the thing that I sincerely loved with all my heart—if I knew this for sure, which I currently don't—I'd absolutely go chase my other passion and try to explore and find the one that I'm really in love with. But again, I'm afraid that the history would repeat itself. When I've mastered this thing, whatever it is, I'm afraid that I'll most likely get tired of it all over again, just like how it happened with science.

Now let's say that science is just not meant for me. I would still find it difficult to accept that fact. It's just so weird that I could ever have this thought of leaving science. Part of me knows that it's not a wrong thing to do. I can do whatever my heart tells me to do. But the other part of me thinks that it's ridiculous to leave something that I've been keeping and holding so tightly for so long. And the other smartass part of me also gives this infuriating-but-true idea that it's too late to try new things, cause I have dived too deep. I got a very slim chance of surviving if I try to move to another part of the ocean. The more I consider all these thoughts coming from various versions of myself, the more confused I am. They all seem to have some truth in it. Not completely, but partly is still enough to make me take them into consideration.

On top of that, I feel like I'm betraying myself—or at least huge part of it—if I abandon this big old dream of being the next Einstein. But I'm also questioning why in the first place have I ever had this dream, that I don't want at all right now? How come this thing ever possibly happened?

---

I feel like I'm ashamed of myself. Cause I had always thought that I was the kind of person who knew myself, who knew what I wanted to do and who I wanted to become. But now that I have no more interest in that picture of my future self that I've always had, it most likely means that it's not true. I'm not that kind of person who knows what I really want. Maybe my dream was just a fantasy made out of a bunch of movies' silly and unrealistic expectations of a scientist. Yeah, maybe I was obsessed with that figure, not with science itself. I was a complete fool who didn't even realize that I was dumb and had been living in a kid's fantasy.

All of these thoughts always gave me this very uneasy feeling every time I considered that it's okay to change path, that it's normal for one's dreams to change throughout their lifetime.

I just want to be happy. Be fulfilled by what I do everyday. That's all. It's wonderful when you do something that your mind is naturally drawn to on a daily basis, cause it wouldn't feel like work. It would feel like every day is a holiday, a time when you're doing what makes you happy.

So if I was asked, what would make me really happy, my honest answer would be, I want to completely leave science. Or maybe working on something that involves science only 20%, and involves art as much as 80% or more. I want to become a writer. What kind of writer? I don't know. All I know is that I just love to write. That's why I could spend hours writing this story, without even feeling that this was an obligation. I want to get creative. I want to create things. I want to feel this freedom that science could never give me.

Well, maybe you'd say, just go with your true passion then? But again, it's not that simple. Even in art, I'm still not sure who I want to be. What career do I want to pursue. Cause it all comes back to real life again, doesn't it? I can't live in this abstract imagination anymore. I have to decide what truly works in real life. And it's hard, there's nothing easy about it. If you read all the previous paragraphs thoroughly, chances are they would give you a headache if you really picture yourself to be me. And unfortunately, that's exactly what I want you to do.

Chapter 2 - so why on earth did you choose science in the first place?

To make everything clearer in my head, I tried to trace back the reasons why I wanted to pursue science in the first place. By analyzing these reasons, I'm hoping that I could see through my mind and see what I truly love doing. So here it is, my completely honest reasons. After thinking and analyzing for some time, I realized that my reasons for taking a science degree were not strong enough for me to continue loving it, let alone devoting my life to it. Okay, maybe you'd think that I'm biased about it. So let's just see them and you can share your thoughts after.

First thing that I'm really sure about is that I had always wanted to become a part of something greater than myself. I thought by taking the science path, getting a professor title, I could be a part of something greater than myself, like becoming one of those giant scientists which names are written in high school textbooks. I had this dream of receiving a Nobel prize and having my name written some place where people 100 years from now would know who I was. Not because I wanted to make the world a better place or something like that, no. My reason was as simple and as silly as that. I wanted to be someone great. That's all. So childish, right?

Before we go to the next reason, you need to know a little history of my childhood, and trust me it's related to the reason that I'm gonna be talking about later. As far as I remember, my entertainment when I was a kid was all about watching cartoons and movies. I wasn't the kind of kid who regularly went hanging out with friends or anything. I didn't even have any interest in going outside, lol. My friends were all school friends, and I met them only in school time. So yeah, I spent pretty much 100% of my time after school at home watching TV. Other than cartoons, I watched a lot of sci-fi movies—which involved superheroes, mutants, and you know, all kinds of situation that requires a scene inside a laboratory—cause these are the movies that my family watched most of the time. Perhaps my story today would be completely different if they watched something else. Why? Because I believe that a huge part of my malleable mind as a kid was shaped by those movies. I suspect that the stories in these movies might also be the thing that initiated this idea of "becoming a part of something greater than myself" that I previously explained.

So as you might've guessed, I was inspired to become a scientist because I saw that scientists were cool guys in those movies. But I can't say that it's the only reason. I was a very curious kid, and it's like these sci-fi stories somehow matched my curiosity. It felt like those stories were signaling a message to my mind, "Hey are you curious about these things? Look at us scientists! This is what we do. We get to know and deal with all of those mind-blowing stuff that you've always been wondering about!" So my scientific curiosity was represented as pretty unique questions that I had in mind when I wasn't even supposed to start learning about high-level science. I don't know if these questions are common for other kids or not, but I guess I had a lot more scientific curiosities than most kids. That was why when I started to actually learn about science, I instantaneously thought that science was meant for me. These are some of the questions I had when I was in kindergarten or early years of elementary school. As a note here, I didn’t ask for simple explanation. I wanted to know the fundamental theory that governs the stuff that I had question about.

"What is light?" I wanted to know so badly how it worked, how come we could see it but couldn't touch it, but we could stop it from reaching over to the other side of the room by putting our hands out to block its way.

"Why is water like that?" Well maybe this one's a little bit silly, but I really wanted to know how come it was different from other solid materials, how come we could pour it over something, while we couldn't do the same with wood or plastic.

"How could we see through glass?" I found that glass was such a unique material and my mind was really blown by it.

"What makes something edible?" The answer that I demanded was not something like "You can eat anything that isn't poisonous," but more like how our bodies could consume only certain things and what were the properties of them.

And perhaps there were more questions but those are the top ones that I clearly remember until today.

Now back to the reasons why I wanted to become a scientist in the first place. So these curiosities, plus the images of scientists that movies taught me, equals to my younger self being so motivated to become a great scientist. Looks like a perfect combination, right? Yeah, it does look like it, but is it really a perfect plan?

Curiosity might be a good start for a young scientist. But being a scientist isn't all about curiosity. Alright, let's analyze this a little deeper. I took science school because I wanted to know how the universe works. Silly me. I guess my childish self back then thought that by being a scientist I would always be learning about new things for the rest of my life. Well, you may say that it's what scientists do. But I guess what I imagined was more of a "getting to understand mind-blowing scientific facts" kind of scenario, and not "looking at characterization graph of a material and try to compare it with another graph and make a conclusion out of it." So basically, my curiosity about knowing how the universe works could definitely be satisfied by reading science books, watching YouTube videos, and searching things out on the internet. Taking an undergraduate degree in science would do as well, but it would stop there. Once my curiosity was satisfied, then what? That's why I subtly started to question my interest in science when my undergrad study was about to come to an end. I should've put more thought about career and real life and should've researched more about the life of a real-life working scientist before I decided to be in a science school. Alas, I was so blindly motivated and dumb at the same time.

Moving on to the last reason that I can remember about, something else that added my vague interest in science was science competitions that I participated in. Now that I'm thinking about it again, they actually made me love them because of the challenge, not because of science itself. Sadly, this is the fact that I understood just now, not at that time. For instance, I did really enjoy participating in math competition when I was in junior high. But then when I learned that in math everything was kind of repetitious, I knew that I would never in a million years be a mathematician. Right, why didn't I realize the same thing about science before it was too late? How unfortunate. :)

So after thinking about these honest reasons, I realized that this is exactly why I found it really hard to write my statement of purpose for a master's degree. Cause my purposes are ridiculous, and, not strong enough for me to get into a higher education. The moment I realized that what the universities want are people who have the desire to change the world, I knew that I had to make reasons up. I knew that I had to fake it all.

Now what I also realized is, what I wanted to do as a scientist was consuming and not creating. See what I mean? When we were at school and college, we consumed a lot of knowledge. This one's the only thing that satisfies my expectation. But once we were out in the world, once we entered a working life, we would be asked to create, in exchange for, you know, money. That's what I had no idea about. I didn't know how creating things really worked for real-life scientists. My mind was so clouded by those scientists figure in sci-fi movies. I thought scientists would create fancy stuff every day. I really thought that it was possible. Ugh, I can't express how much my younger self irritates me now.

So let's break this down. What does a scientist actually do? What do they create? Do they really create new things, as in something that we all could see with our bare eyes? Cause that's how I pictured what scientists would produce on a daily basis. But now that I've plunged into the real world, I don't think so. Do you? As far as I know, it's rare that a scientist would really create brand new things other than data in academic papers, which are not really new actually, cause you know, they are synthesized from combinations of several other papers. I'm not comfortable calling it new, let alone brand new. Maybe at some point they would create real new stuff. But that's only...

After years of doing research.

After writing dozens of papers with pretty much similar patterns.

After having to go through mundane tasks for hundreds of weeks.

Am I right? Tell me something I didn't know. Tell me if there's anything hidden about how scientists do their job that I can't really see.

I got this thirst of finding challenges and facing things that engage my mind, in everything that I do. Even in mundane tasks—but really, if possible at all, I do prefer no mundane task. Now the first question is, is science truly not able to give me this? Second question, is it really possible to have a job—which certainly exists in a freaking real life—that satisfies my requirement?! I mean, if the answer to the second question was no, then there would be no other question. I just had to accept the fact that I could never escape mundane tasks. That'd be a lot simpler. And it wouldn't be science's fault that I fell out of love with it. Cause every other fields behaved the same way. But somehow I still believe that the answer to the second question would be a yes. I would just have to struggle to find it. But now I'm starting to have doubts on this belief.

Now just to be very clear, this issue that I'm having right now didn't just come out of nowhere. As I paid more attention to what my heart was trying to tell me, I realized that this has actually been happening for a pretty long time. How long? Let's trace the history back again. If I remember this correctly, I think this doubt on my interest in science started to silently seep out of my heart in the 5th or 6th semester. It was when I started to learn about academic journals and how to plan a scientific research. I believe I had an inaudible shock inside when I saw that the scientific research that was unfolding before my eyes wasn't what I expected it to be. But my mind tried to make sense everything in the most logical way, and that was why I told myself, "Hold on, let's see and explore a little more. This is just the beginning. Maybe we will see something we expected later on. Perhaps in a higher education abroad?" Yeah, there were so many uncertainties that I unconsciously told myself. But I didn't have this kind of conversation in my head back then. Everything just happened so quickly and I didn't even realize that this was something I should've really spent my time on to think about. Time passed by, and I still couldn't get to that desired point where I found that research in science was like those in the movies. I mean, duh, but believe me, I really did have that kind of expectation. So, if I started to silently question my interest in science in the 5th semester, it means that it took me about 2.5 years to realize that this was such a crucial internal conflict that I had been experiencing. :) That is how long this issue has been existing within myself.

I remember in some period of time in 2020, when I was truly in doubt about my future—when I hadn't realized that I had fallen out of love with science, but exactly when I still tried so hard to drag myself back to it, when I was in denial that part of my heart said I didn't want science anymore—at that time, I tried to watch a lot of sci-fi movies. I thought, "Maybe by watching sci-fi movies, I would get my spark back. Maybe I have just forgotten how fun science was. Maybe this would heal me." And guess what? It didn't work. Maybe at that time my brain was already trying to tell me something like this "These sci-fi movies are useless. Can't you see? The scientists and their work that you watched, they don't exist in real life." But I was just too blinded, I guess? By what though? No idea. I was so stubborn for no reason. I kept telling myself that maybe I just needed some more time to convince myself that I was gonna be a scientist. Perhaps it's just basically hard to leave something you're already having journey with for so, so long.

But at the end of the day, the truth reveals itself, sooner or later. Doesn't it?

---

So, with this background story that I have just honestly shared with you, do you think that being a scientist is really an answer for me to express my true self?

Chapter 3 - try living inside my head for ten minutes, will you?

Being in the cross road between science and something else

I guess I'm really getting closer to a conclusion that I really don't enjoy science anymore, that I’m so so much fed up with it. I’m so done with science. I’m so tired to the bone doing it. If I was living in a dream land where I could do anything, even the magical and weird ones, where no one would look at me with the judging eyes, where there were no consequences whatsoever even if I fell of a freaking cliff, I would absolutely leave science in this very second. But you know, I’m currently living on earth. So I guess what I need is someone else's approval, saying that I can absolutely do it, even on earth. It's like I'm hoping for someone to tell me "Screw science! Do what makes you happy, that's all that matters." But even if someone ever told me that, I would still be awaited by my train of thoughts of problems and possibilities that were inevitably coming up my way right after I decided to leave science. Anyway, I’m not asking you to be that “someone” I just described above. Seriously.

It's kind of getting clearer that I now have two choices. Or at least if I'm making it simple, it's going to be these two.

One. Stop over-analyzing things, keep my way in science, fake this idea that I'm still in love with science, pretend that everything's fine, continue my career in science, and keep having the life that I've been living as if nothing ever happened. And keep eating my heart out.

Two. Do what my heart tells me to do. Ignore all the smart facts and suggestions, pros and cons, whatever. Just do what makes me happy. That's it. And be prepared for the unknown and unthinkable consequences, as well as the predicted ones. Wait, would I still be happy if I was faced with these consequences? No one knows. Yep, that's why it's called the unknown, and why this might sound like a terrible idea. But hey, if I chose the first option, I'd keep eating my heart out, remember? So at least in this second option I'd still have 50% chance of being happy.

Three? Maybe there's a three here? Yeah, I'm pretty sure there is. It's in between the two options, kind of safer and a lot less extreme than those two, but perhaps a little bit more complicated. Oh, stop it. Nothing is more complicated than the other ones. They all are complicated. :) Even if I have the third option, I can't describe it as clearly as what I did with the first two. So perhaps you might wanna give a hand with this one?

Recognizing my other passions

So what do I honestly want to chase after if I leave science?

Before we answer that question, let's talk about the other fields that I'm interested in. The good thing is, for a certain passion, I think I kind of instantly know if it is unlikely to sustain for the long run. One that I'm sure of is music. I've realized long ago that I would always love music, as something that I would do in my spare time. Something that I would always go back to after a long tiring day. But I knew that I didn't want it to be something that I would constantly do and learn about and work on every single day for the rest of my life. I knew that music was all about pattern and mastery. You know how I'd react to patterns, right? And once I've mastered music, I'll stop there. So yeah, that's why I know that music-related is not something that I can count on for my main career. Not because people say something about it, but because I'm sure it's just not for me.

The other thing that I liked to do was, coding. I love it. I always enjoy doing it. But I’m not sure if I would like the idea of doing it over and over again on a daily basis.

There is also one thing that I'm not sure about. It's entrepreneurship. First of all, I think I'm interested in this because at some point it will bring me passive income, which means that if I have enough passive income that I don't have to exchange my time for money anymore, I'll be able to spend my whole time in a day only for the things that I truly like, without having to worry that what I'm doing will produce enough money to pay the bills and stuff. And I really love this idea. On top of that, I also think I might like entrepreneurship because I'm a kind of person who likes to manage things. I like to plan and make systems. And also, I believe that there would be a lot of challenge to be solved if I become a CEO or the like. It looks like this entrepreneurship suits me well. However, my guts didn't tell me anything about it, neither love nor hate towards it. So it's kind of a little more confusing cause I can't decide anything about it right away. But I think with this one, I won't mind doing it alongside with other things. So whatever I decide to choose to be my "main thing", it wouldn't really affect my entrepreneurship, nor will entrepreneurship affect the main thing. At least that's what I believe today.

Now I'm putting this one in the last, because I feel that it's special to me. It's writing, Luckily for writing, I don’t have this instant feeling that I’m gonna be bored doing it anytime soon. And, my guts kind of told me that I love it. But it doesn’t guarantee anything, does it? Just like science, I could go from all-loving to all-ignoring mode. But maybe with science, this happened because my purpose was unclear, and I have never even thoroughly contemplated about it for once. So if I try not to repeat this same mistake with science again, will I be able to figure out if writing really is the one for me?

The beginning of love affair with writing

If I remember this correctly, my “love”—or whatever it was—in writing started to blossom in 2018, when I was in my 4th or 5th semester. It was when I first started to learn using this close friends feature on Instagram story. I wrote a bunch of cheesy short paragraphs there to express my current feelings and thoughts. I think it was a form of letting these flooding words that were building up and overflowing out of my head.

Just like it took me a very long time to realize that I had fallen out of love with science, it took me forever to understand that I actually fell in love with something else. I was so slow in figuring out that I’ve always had this other passion. I didn’t know it was there and should’ve been nurtured better. I really didn’t know myself.

On the days after graduation, I felt so lost and disoriented. I didn’t know what I was gonna do in life. And guess what I did? I wrote. I wrote in an old fashioned way. I bought a notebook and scribbled my random thoughts inside. I got to the last page in just a few weeks. I had so much to write about. And then I got a job. I should've felt better than I previously was. But I still kept writing. Or I guess the proper way to call it is "journaling" instead of "writing", but whatever. Nonetheless, I had no idea that writing was something worth my attention. Cause I just wrote random stuff that popped out of my head. Who wanted to read it anyway? Never had I thought that it could ever be an option for me to make a living out of. Well, right until now, I’m still not sure about it, but at least I'm putting some thoughts on it and I'm giving it a chance.

What comes after

Do I love the idea of being a writer or do I really love writing?

Even if I said that writing is special to me and my guts told me that it's good for me, it doesn't mean that I can just "follow my passion" blindly. I'm not repeating the same mistakes I had with science.

What really scares me is myself. Because I don't know what my future self would eventually tell me about what I'm choosing today. She doesn't even bother giving me a single hint. I have never thought that I would ever say this. Knowing myself, is the hardest thing to do, ever. I thought that I had always known myself better than anyone else. But now it's really hard to understand myself because I don't know who's right, who's telling me the truth. Who's lying and who's honest. Who says something out of personal interests and who says something just the way it truly is. And by "who", I mean these voices and opinions of those smartasses residing within my head.

The problem is not with the world or the people around me. Most people experience this fear of rejection before even starting. That's not my problem at all. Well, I'm not saying that I'm kind of bulletproof from those things. But what I'm afraid of, is me. I'm afraid that it's me who's going to disappoint me one day. Let me make this clearer.

Imagine a scenario where today I willingly decide that writing is my passion. So tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, and next week, next month, next year, I keep writing. But just as pretty much all things in life, anything is gonna get hard at some point. One day I might feel so passionate about writing thousands of words, and the other day I might feel like doing nothing, let alone writing. And the other day—perhaps after a couple years of becoming a writer—I feel like I've mastered all about writing. I feel like it's so effortless to write anything. So then it becomes a mundane task. And then a question starts rising up in my head, "Is this really what I want to do in life?" Same old same old question. "I don't find any more joy in doing this. I'm so tired with all this stuff that I've been doing for a long time. I think I need to do something new. But… it’s like a dejavu…"

That's exactly what I'm truly afraid of.

Now my annoying and over-analytical thoughts didn’t stop there. To make it more complicated than it already is, I have other concerns. Even though I’ll describe these concerns in just short paragraphs down below, it doesn’t mean that they worry me less than the other paragraphs I wrote above.

I'm in love with writing now just because I'm having too much thoughts on my mind, maybe life is currently getting harder, and writing becomes my coping mechanism? So when the rainy days are passed, would I still love writing?

I haven't found or seen any patterns in writing. But is it really true that everything would eventually reveal a pattern? Now I'm not sure how the pattern would look like though. And I'm not sure how I would look at writing when I learn its pattern, if it has any. If it does have a pattern, will it be a "mundane" pattern or a "creative" pattern? The difference is, you know, the first one is totally repetitious, and the latter requires some form of creativity even though it's still mundane.

But if I’m being honest, I somehow have this faith in writing. I want to believe that I’ll always find endless possibilities and limitless creativity in writing, and that’ll be the reason I would never stop loving it. But I guess it’s like there’s always this angel and demon, each whispers good things and bad things to your ears all at once. And this angel and demon are faith and fear. It’s like they come in a pair. I have this faith. But it comes along with that fear. What fear? Well, the fear of facing my own smartass self. Just like what I’ve explained before.

Gosh, it’s starting to feel like I’m solving a rocket-science type of problem. Is this really that complicated or have I just been making it so much more complicated than it actually is?! Even if I don’t like science anymore, I’m still having this logical and analytical nature within me, which could be both good and bad. But regardless, I’m grateful for it. I believe that somehow it’s going to prevent me from falling in the same hole all over again.

---

I guess right now you’re either having a headache or unintentionally dozing off while reading this long-ass story. But you might as well have some suggestions for me. Let me guess one. You're probably about to tell me a safer and simpler way of solving my problems. You might say that I could be both a writer and a scientist. Cause after all, scientists do write, don't they? Okay, but to be honest, I wanna get crazy with things. I want to explore something unique in my writings. And there's no way I can do that with an academic writing. Everything is set. Everything should follow the rules. You're confined by rules. You follow conformity. And conformity leads to patterns. I'm not too keen on patterns though. I like freedom. That's why being a ”writer” of academic papers is just not for me. And it will eventually lead to this conclusion, again. Science is not for me. Why? Cause academic papers are what scientists produce. Nothing else. It's their one and only masterpiece. Isn’t it? I'm open to correction, so please do correct me if there’s anything wrong with what I just said.

Chapter 4 - mr. stark, I don’t feel so good…

Okay, now you might say that I don’t know for sure if what scientists do are only mundane tasks. Well yeah, maybe I don’t know what the NASA scientists are doing, or what the MIT guys are working on, but I DO know what Indonesian’s scientists do for a living. I’ve mentioned before that my current job is a resemblance of the job of a university professor in my country. The lecturers delegate their work to me. So I’m working on something that they should’ve been doing themselves. I don't think there's anything I haven't seen or done. I'm 100% sure that I know exactly what I'll be doing if I become a lecturer. Ew no, I won't. That's just an example.

Other than my job as a lecturer assistant, I got several teaching sessions every week. Teaching chemistry to high school students. This is again a resemblance of what a university professor will be doing. And all in all, this is still science-related, even though it's not university-related. The difference between this one and the tasks given by my lecturers is, teaching was scheduled, while in the assistant job I could schedule my own time and work on it whenever I'm ready as long as it's finished by the required time. So because this teaching session was scheduled, it raised its own problem, which is very upsetting to me.

It’s a pit in my stomach every time I was about to have a teaching session. I couldn’t focus on doing anything else until I got the session done. Not because I was afraid of facing the kid's questions or whatever. I can safely say that I’m a professional and very experienced teacher. Even cooler, I’m so used to impromptu teachings. So it should’ve been nothing hard for me to teach. But with my current situation, it becomes something that I should forcefully ask myself to do. I was always thinking about getting it over with, and so this thought covered the most part of my brain and I couldn’t think of anything else. And the silly thing about it was, I really didn’t have anything to prepare for. Like I said, I’m used to impromptu teaching, I don’t have to be prepared for anything. So all those “thoughts” that prevented me from concentrating on other things really didn’t make any sense. It was just pure stress.

I’m not saying that teaching became something that I hate just recently, no. I never liked it since forever, I knew that, clear as day. If you knew me pretty well, you’d probably know that I’m good at teaching. But being good at it doesn’t mean that I like it. I guess I’m just awesome at a lot of things. :) But that doesn’t mean that I’m willing to be a slave for that many things. I have never had any interest in becoming a person who does teaching for a living. Ugh, no. But I’ve done it for years now because as far as I knew, it was the only way I could exchange my skill, as a science student, for money. Or at least, it was truly the simplest and most common way. I could still afford being forced to do it for money back then, perhaps because my life wasn’t all about science at the time. I wasn’t in the science-hating mode. And maybe I was happier, that’s why everything was easier and I could endure the subtle hate I had towards teaching. But now, you know what happens to me now.

Not only teaching, this kind of stress happens to all other science-related things that I do. Well, that means EVERY single thing I do these days. I’m not exaggerating, it’s a fact. From writing papers, to scoring exams, to having discussions with the lecturers, each of them really did suck the happiness out of me. I always had this varied level of stress—depending on how much I hate the activity—and it wouldn’t disappear until I was done with the task. I was always thinking about how I could rush to finish it as soon as possible. Not because I was a productive kind of guy, but because I hated doing it, and I wanted it to be over so badly. But unfortunately, I mostly ended up procrastinating, and it usually led to an even messier kind of stress.

So is this a solid proof that I don’t enjoy all the science-related tasks or what?

That’s about the job I’m currently working on and trying to get out of so badly. Now to top it all off, I have other things that might silently add unnecessary thoughts to my mind and to all this process of exceedingly complicated contemplation I've been doing. It’s easy to guess. Yep, it’s “What would people say?” It's like I'm gonna be revealing a big big secret that I've kept forever, and sharing it with other people would probably get them a heart attack. Cause yeah, I'm pretty sure that this kind of news would shock people around me. It's as if "I'm a scientist" is written on my forehead and once people know about it, there's no way they could ever unsee it.

---

One evening, this cute version of myself—the motivator one—came up with a talk.

"Hey, just because I’ve dived too deeply into this part of the ocean and everyone around me sees me in a certain way, doesn’t mean that I’m a prisoner. I still have my free will, and I can choose whatever and wherever I want to be. Just because I’m now working in a completely scientific environment and it’s as if everyone knows for sure that I’ll be a scientist, doesn’t mean that I must be one. Who are these people to decide what’s best for me. I’d be such a dumb if I let other people take control over my life. And I’d also be a dumb if I let the environment set boundaries for me. It’s just a job. I’m not locked in an electrocuted prison cell. I can step outside and see the world. Even more, I can become a part of that outside world, not just seeing it. So why not?"

That is such a moving and beautiful pep talk I got from me.

But unfortunately, it's easier said that done.

---

I’ve come to a point where I’m on the edge of giving up. It’s only responsibility that holds me back from ignoring all of the tasks given to me. It’s like you’re about to throw up after eating this exact flavor of sushi—a meal you’re not really keen on—for both lunch and dinner for 7 days in a row, but you try really hard to hold it cause it’s a dinner where your whole big family is there and you don’t wanna embarrass yourself and ruin the night. That’s exactly the kind of situation where I’m at.

Sometimes, or a lot of times to be exact, I'm confused about this stress that I've been experiencing. On one hand, I believe that mental health is as important as physical health. But on the other hand, I can't decide if this "stress" really is a kind of stress and anxiety, or it's just me being so lame in facing the real world. So am I too hard on myself? Or is it the complete opposite? Am I too freaking soft on myself? Did I spoil myself? Sometimes I feel like I’m thinking too hard, unlike anybody else I’ve ever met and talk to. Sometimes I think that if anyone ever tried to live my life, they wouldn’t be able to survive the way I did. But other times, I feel like I’m such an ungrateful human being. I had pretty much everything I could’ve ever asked for. Not all, obviously, I’m not living in heaven. But I got a good life, in a way. There are so many other people out there who aren’t as lucky as I am. Who couldn't be what I am. Who do not have what I have. And who might wanna be myself and own what’s mine, if they were given the chance. Or maybe this is exactly why? I got pretty much everything I needed. So as a human being—plus, as a person who is very demanding for new things and isn't very keen on mundane life—I look for more and more. But is it a good thing or a bad thing? Is it wrong to long for a life that one really desires?

I just want a job that doesn't feel like work. That doesn't make me wanna rush to get it over with every single day. That doesn't give me this feeling that I love Saturday and hate Monday. All 7 days in a week are beautiful in its own. It's cruel to alienate one. Is this too much to ask?

Imagine having to eat something you feel disgusted about for the rest of your life. You'll spend an hour or so of your day feeling tortured that you have to go through lunch and dinner. You'll eat just so that you don't die starving. You'll just want to get it over with every time it comes to your meal schedule. You won't taste your food, you'll just gulp it down as fast as you can. And then you finish your meal. You exhale. It's over. Although you can still feel the nasty after-taste, you're grateful that it's over. But then you remember, it's just today's meal. You'll go through the exact hellish hour of the day, tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after. But luckily, it's just an hour a day. You thank God that you can still endure an hour of suffering every single day.

Now imagine instead of an hour, it's 8 hours a day. 8 hours. Or even more. And don't forget the nasty after-taste too. Ah, what a perfectly awful life.

Chapter 5 - what now?

So now the big question is, if I really choose to completely leave science, what am I gonna do? Say that I wouldn’t end up the same way I did with science, that whatever I decide to choose for my career next, it's gonna go well and I'm never gonna be tired of it. But what is it?

I'm still okay with something in between. A job that still requires scientific knowledge or background, but definitely isn't meant for those nerdy scientists. "I'm still okay" doesn't mean I'm sure that I'll love it, but I'm still open to that possibility. Although if I'm being honest, I prefer something that doesn't touch the s.c.i.e.n.c.e world. At all.

At this point you might be getting this impression that I totally hate science. If I was asked whether or not it's true that I'm so done with it and I hate it that much, I can neither admit nor deny. Cause honestly it's cloudy in my head. I guess I have associated all my hate towards the job, with science itself. I mean, I may not be in love with science like I used to, but perhaps I would be fine being in the same room with it if I never felt this stress over my job in the first place. Right now, even understanding mind-blowing scientific facts doesn’t look appealing to me anymore. I currently have this very negative perspective about any idea of science. But I suspect that it’s because what I said before, my mind can’t draw the borderline between the job in science that I hate, and the knowledge of science.

Now back to the real life obligation of getting a job and money. Let's say I'm gonna be okay with this "something in between" kind of job. But what is it? Does it even exist? If it does, can I even find it in my lame country? Okay now you might wanna say, "Go find it abroad! I believe in you, you can do that!" First of all, thank you for the support—if you ever said those words on your mind—but it's always easier said than done. First question, how do I start? Where do I start? What's the first step that I should take literally tomorrow in order for me start getting there? Yup, of course, it's not your homework. It's mine.

As I briefly searched for the types of writers that exist out there, I found the one that perfectly suits what I want. It's creative writing. But later on I also found that it's hard to make a steady living out of it. So, this passion should be more of a side hustle and less likely to be a main career, I guess. At least the good thing is, now it's clear that I have to find some other type of career. Obviously not science, and maybe not writing.

---

Now I know that I have shared everything I had in mind about science. But not really everything, I might have one more thing to say. Just to be very, very clear about it. Earlier I was questioning whether I loved the idea of being a writer or I truly did love writing. So why didn't I ask the same question with science to know the truth about my feelings towards it? Have I always been in love with the idea of a scientist, or have I always loved science? Did you come up with the same answer as I just did? Cause after all this analysis I've written, the answer's pretty obvious. Right?

I might've loved the knowledge of science because it was cool. It blew my mind. It challenged me. It provided me with something new. It was rare. It was unique to me. But it was in the past. It changed, ever since it became something less new, less rare, less unique to me. Ever since it stopped giving me challenges. So do I really love it because it is what it is? I guess I had this idea that by being a scientist, I could be in a full-adventure-ish kind of life. I thought I could escape the 8-5 and all the administrative tasks. I thought it would be something new, something different, every single day. Yeah, I had this idea. And I was in love with this idea. I really was. And then when you expected too much from something and it turns out that it can't give you what you want. Boom. You're done.

---

Ever since I got my first job, I immediately knew that 8-5 job wasn't for me. It's not for me. Getting up in the morning, going to the office—or going to your working desk if you're working from home, attending meetings, doing administrative stuff, having lunch, going back to work, some more administrative stuff, getting your last work of the day, going home, having dinner, and going to bed. You wake up in the morning just to find out that you're in this endless loop of having to do the same thing—or pretty much similar things—over and over again. Every day.

Perhaps a lot of movies that I watched when I was a kid shaped the reality in my head. You know that there's always a conflict in every story, whether it be in a movie or a novel, right?

Imagine watching a movie where the plot goes like this.

—

The scene starts with the main character waking up in the morning and getting prepared for work. He went outside his apartment and took a bus to go to the office. Arrived at the office, he met his co-workers, had a small chit chat and went to his desk. He opened his laptop, and got to work. The scene is then fast-forwarded, and it's evening now. He got up from his chair, stretched his legs, packed up his stuff and said a polite goodbye to his co-workers. He took the elevator to get to the ground floor of his office, walked outside and waited for the bus to come and drive him back to his lovely apartment. Once he was back home, he took a shower, cooked some meal, had dinner, scrolled down on his social media for some time, and went to his bed room. He plopped down on his bed, turned off the lamp, and tucked inside the cover. Before closing his eyes to really fall asleep, he smiled. He thought to himself, "What a fulfilling day I had today." And then he fell asleep.

The next morning,

The scene starts with the main character waking up in the morning and getting prepared for work. He went outside his apartment and took a bus to go to the office... —and it goes exactly the same as the two previous scenes...

And then the movie ends.

It's credits scene now.

That's it.

—

Whoa. Are you excited to watch this movie? Do you think it's gonna be one of the box-office hits? Yeah no, you know the answer.

Maybe somehow all the engaging stories I watched when I was a kid, as well as those I'm still watching until now, they shaped me. They make me believe that my life is a story. An engaging one. An unpredictable one. An adventurous one. The one that I would love watching.

---

Now back again to the real-world problems. So what then? What am I gonna do for a living from now on?

To be honest, right now I don't know the answer to that. But I know that I have to find the answer. I want to find the answer. And I know what I need to do to be able to figure out the answer. I need time to be with myself, and myself only. I need to take a step back and be detached from my current surroundings. I need to stop everything that's going on in my life right now. I seriously need to be detached from the world. I need to stop worrying about things other than myself and my thoughts.

3 notes · View notes

whathappenedtomyweekend · 3 years

Text

It’s Just A Spark Ch.5 - Anything Could Happen

Yet again Hiccup found himself confronted with his wardrobe and concluded he had way too little things that were not baggy, out of wool or old loungewear.

He tried to negotiate; in the end, it was still summer and he owned maybe three button-down shirts that looked neat enough.

"Sometimes I don't know if I'm an adult or just faking it," he told Toothless who was lounging on his bed. "On our fifth date she'll see I've run out of options, realise I'm an actual idiot and then leave me. Not that we're together."

He sighed and plopped down next to the cat, who hissed indignantly at the disturbance.

"Sorry," Hiccup mumbled and idly ran his hands through the pitch black fur. "I think I want to, Toothless. Be with her. I don't know. I mean, it's not like I … have a lot of experience. I don't wanna mess this up. But I guess the second date is way too soon and I'm pretty sure she'd let me know when it's too late. Is it too early to ask? I mean, it's just a question, right? Just a harmless little 'Hey, what are we?' … right?"

Toothless blinked and started purring. Hiccup sighed.

"Glad we talked about this."

Toothless yawned.

oOo

His flat didn't really feel like home. It had always felt like something was missing.

But now, with Astrid standing in the middle of his hallway, it didn't seem that bad after all.

She'd been right on time and had beamed up at him, a bottle of wine in her hands. Hiccup was sure he had never opened his door to such a beautiful sight.

"Just, uh, put your shoes anywhere, it's fine," he quickly said and watched her place her shoes next to his.

Right. He'd forgotten his heart could beat this fast. He discovered his heart was able to beat even faster as she quickly wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed him lightly. Hiccup's arms closed around her almost reflexively.

"It's good to see you," she murmured into his chest and let go as quickly as she'd hugged him, leaving a slightly dazed Hiccup who had to wait for his heart to continue beating for a second.

Astrid bit back a wide grin at the expression on his face.

"Likewise," he grinned, focused on her smile. "It's been a week since I last saw you - you didn't set your stove on fire."

She laughed. "I decided to stick to salads and frozen food. Safest decision I ever made."

Hiccup grinned and led her into the kitchen.

"To make up for all the deep-frozen stuff …" he pointed at the oven and grinned even wider as Astrid gasped and inhaled deeply.

"You really made lasagna!"

Hiccup couldn't help but laugh as she hit him lightly with excitement.

"I'll use those quickfire questions more often," he said and Astrid didn't know why but it sounded like a promise, excitement blossoming in her chest.

The kitchen was warm and smelled absolutely amazing. She wondered how long it had taken him to prepare this.

"It should be done in about ten minutes," he mumbled close to her ear, standing right behind her. It was then that Astrid really took notice of the close proximity they had been in the whole time. Quickly she took a step to the side and nodded when he offered, "Let's sit down?"

He led her into the living room. It was a small, cozy room with lots of nooks and crannies but was very sparsely decorated, as if he'd moved in only recently.

"Since when have you been living here?" Astrid asked curiously, looking around. Hiccup looked embarassed, rubbing the nape of his neck.

"Um … five years, give or take?"

Oh. Well. She shot him a quick smirk. "You're not really the decoration type, huh?"

He shrugged. "I would've, I just never found the time," he paused and then quickly added, "No, it just never felt home enough for me to really put effort into it."

Astrid furrowed her brows and turned to him fully this time.

"How come?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. Maybe it's just living here in general. Or that I'm living alone with Toothless."

The young woman hummed.

"Or I'm just not home enough, too busy with work," he laughed now and Astrid couldn't help but think, No. You told me the truth the second time you tried to explain.

They both wordlessly agreed to drop the subject. Hiccup turned to say something to her but was interrupted by a black lightning bolt that made a dash for the sofa.

Astrid jumped - tripped over her own feet - crashed into Hiccup - together they fell onto the sofa.

Hiccup swallowed, his face inches away from Astrid's who had landed on top of him, one hand on his chest, the other right next to him on he sofa. The young woman stared at him, her bright blue eyes wide with shock. Her breath was hot on his skin.

Oh, god. He almost groaned at the sensation.

"Um …"

Astrid was mortified.

"I …"

"That … was Toothless," Hiccup got out then, his voice rasp and Astrid thought, 'how have you still not pushed me away?', her nose almost touching his. It would be so easy to just lean forward and-

The oven beeped.

Both of them jumped and immediately Astrid scrambled off of him, Hiccup following her suit.

'Right,' he thought through the mist in his head. 'Ten minutes.' And then, 'She almost kissed me.'

Astrid had almost run off into the kitchen, having to catch her breath for a moment and pretend that did not just happen.

'Oh, God,' she thought, slumping against the copboard. 'I almost kissed him.'

Astrid tried taking deep breaths to calm her soaring heart. If it hadn't been for that oven she really would have kissed him. Would he want her to? Would he kiss her back? Or just stay still, and then ask her to leave?

Hiccup returned, with the cat in his arms. His crooked, flustered smile almost made her forget to properly breathe in.

"May I introduce … the culprit. Also known as Toothless."

Astrid chuckled breathlessly and didn't fail to notice he seemed to be just as shaken and flustered as her.

Nevertheless she crouched down when Hiccup let the cat down again and offered her hand to the animal.

"Hi, buddy," she crooned softly and smiled when the cat bumped his head against her open palm. "Hi. Nice to meet you. You gave me quite the turn there, Toothless."

Toothless started purring as if agreeing with her and prowled around her legs, making her laugh.

"Okay, so your cat likes me," she declared brightly and smiled at him and felt a weight drop off her chest as he returned her smile just as freely.

"Makes two of us, then," he returned, almost making her forget the scene on the couch had even happened.

He quickly turned off the oven and took out the steaming lasagna.

"Alright, side or middle part?"

oOo

Hiccup was already halfway into his glass of wine when he remembered he didn't usually drink but also found he didn't really care. Maybe it was just her company, but he felt the urge to try something new. So he took another sip but kept it at a full glass

Astrid looked even more beautiful sitting at his table, he found. He couldn't help but think that nobody else should be sitting on that chair, bathed in warm, glowing light, really. Maybe that was the alcohol getting to him. How much wine before he'd be tipsy? Considering he never really drank - his heart rate was already through the roof at the sight of her - it had to be the alcohol. He wondered what would have happened if the oven hadn't beeped earlier.

She'd have kissed him. Maybe. Hopefully.

And he wasn't sure if he'd have held back much after that.

Again, this was the alcohol speaking.

Of course.

Hiccup ignored the fact that he had been thinking about kissing her for weeks now.

She was smiling at him.

"Sorry?"

"Thanks again," she repeated, still smiling - how was it that her smile was enough to warm him entirely? - and laid down her cutlery. "For the lasagna, I mean. I wouldn't even have gotten to completing the sauce. Also, my oven doesn't have an alarm," Astrid tried not to let her mind wander back to the previous moment in his living room (she failed miserably). "And I always forget to set an alarm elsewhere."

Hiccup chuckled. "Next time, just come over if you need a full meal."

How did he manage to make everything he said sound like a promise for a future?

"I'd love to," she heard herself say, not really surprised she was completely truthful.

oOo

They had already finished dinner and moved back onto the couch when Hiccup realised that this was the most home he'd ever felt in his own apartment.

Astrid had looked even more radiant in his kitchen, he'd found and looked as if no other than her should be sitting on the chair opposite to his, really.

Right now she was facing him, her head resting on her arm on the sofa, one leg comfortably tucked under her body.

"By the way, I didn't get to tell you any dark secrets last time."

Hiccup chuckled. "I'm all ears," and in demonstration inched closer and propped up his leg on a pillow, resting it at her side.

Astrid grinned and cleared her throat, mockingly serious. "Alright, let's see … all my friends saved my contact as Ass-strid,"

Toothless, who had been resting between them, jumped at Hiccup's sudden burst of laughter and stared at the young man accusingly.

"And you have my official permission to do that, too, if you like," she continued. "To make up for your nickname."

Hiccup tried to get it together. Really, he tried. But upon meeting her eyes, he burst into another fit of laughter, making her blush and lightly hit his arm.

"Come on, I didn't laugh that much at yours."

"You're right," he cleared his throat, trying to sober up. "Sorry."

Her sparkling eyes gave her away. "You're forgiven."

"Thank you."

"Also I own more fluffy socks than normal ones."

He blinked. "That's … soft."

"Hey, it's a problem. Especially in summer. Ever tried being sockless in high heels for a job you hate?"

His expression grew serious at that. "Which one?" he asked, entirely dropping the subject at hand and moving away from their teasing tone.

Astrid paused, defeated by his softened gaze and quietly admitted, "The waitressing. I'm … I'm at the Smith's every Tuesdays and Wednesdays and some Fridays when it's busy. I hate that place. Never liked bars in general, and even less like the people there, my boss is alright but almost never there 'cause he's busy getting drunk with the customers." The words just kept flowing over her lips - she felt completely safe telling him this, because it was Hiccup. Because his eyes were honest and his hands were gentle. Because he was patient. Because he was listenting, seriously because it was her talking.

"The other waiters don't really care, but that's the thing, they mostly don't even care about the JOB, they don't write things down, and it gets messy. The customers are a whole other story. Some are really nice, but that's maybe ten percent. The other ninety are jerks who wanna go to a bar and get some who think it's acceptable to grope the waitresses. They quickly learn that it's not. I almost got fired for punching instead of letting them."

Finally she stopped, feeling as if a giant weight had been lifted off her chest.

"Then why haven't you quit yet?"

His voice was gentle.

She drew another breath.

"Because I need that job. I'm paying my rents and food with the pet shop money, and the rest I need for the books."

Hiccup furrowed his brows, leaning his head to the side, signalling her to explain.

"I … told you last week I had to postpone becoming a teacher."

He nodded.

"Well. I … I was living with my uncle at the time. And one day he gets up and tells me, he's moving. And that it's time for me to get a job. I had just finished university. He knew that I wanted to start going into teacher training. But he insisted, so I started searching for a job. Elsewhere. I didn't want to stay where I was, especially not after ... that talk with my uncle. So I found a good offer here, reasonable rent, safe location," she smiled slightly at the reference to the fire department. "And a job I could tolerate. So I moved. And he hasn't called since."

Silence engulfed them after she had finished. Astrid had been staring at a very interesting loose thread of his shirt the entire time she had talked. Now the shirt started moving and slowly, ever so gently, Hiccup took her hand in his.

"I'm sorry, Astrid," he whispered softly, searching her gaze. She bit her lip and looked up into honest forest-green eyes, only now registering the tears that had formed in her own and quickly went to wipe them away with her free hand.

"S-sorry," she whispered shakily, wishing she had never even started talking about it. Now she was crying, on a date, with a person she actually liked, and now he had to see her like this! Getting all sentimental over nothing -

Her thoughts were interrupted by calloused fingers that settled on her cheek and gently - how could he be so careful while having such rough hands? - wiped away the tears that had spilled over.

"Don't," he mumbled. "Don't apologise. Least of all to me. Don't apologise for having feelings."

His thumb was now almost absentmindedly stroking her cheek, her eyes wide. The movement stopped abruptly and he quickly lowered his hand again - she wouldn't complain if he continued - but still held her hand in his.

"Astrid, I ..." he broke off, as if searching for the right words. "I have asthma. And … whenever I had an asthma attack, I'd apologise and run off somewhere because I didn't want to bother anybody, 'cause it was my illness, right? It was my inaqequacy, like it was my fault for having it. I didn't want anybody else deal with it.

But one day I didn't have my inhalator with me. And I'd have suffocated if I hadn't told Gobber, who knew which inhalator I was using and got one for me. What I'm trying to say is," he was smiling softly now. "Don't be me. Don't almost die just because you feel like this is only your burden to carry. Even if this was a pretty weird metaphor, I admit."

And Astrid looked at him and thought, 'I'll try if you stay.'

Out loud, she said, "Thank you. For … well."

Before Hiccup realised what was happening her small fist had hit his chest lightly.

"That's for making me talk about this."

"What-"

"And this," she quickly leant forward and gently pecked him on the cheek. "Is for … everything else."

Part of his heart was singing, 'She kissed me!', the other wondered what he had done to deserve her letting down her guard.

"I think we're almost even now," she husked out, smiling again, probably at his dumbfounded expression. "That's one dark secret on one dark secret."

Hiccup hummed and looked down at their still-joined hands. Then he returned her gaze and said, "Quickfire question." Astrid groaned playfully and chuckled, distractedly wondering just how his voice had managed to easily untie the knot in her chest.

"Alright, just ask."

"A dream except teaching?"

She hummed, running a hand along her braid. "That would probably be travelling, or flying. Like parachuting. Or sky diving."

"Where would you go?"

"Paris, maybe. Or Moscow. Or - oh, Istanbul! Or Hanoi. And I'd love to see the Northern Lights someday."

He chuckled. "Sounds good."

"Why, you finally planning a trip?"

"Maybe."

Astrid couldn't help but return his smile and shifted, curling into the crook of the sofa.

"Okay, my turn: relationship with your parents?"

Hiccup hummed and ran a hand through his hair. "I grew up with my dad, never met my mum, but I had Gobber as adoptive dad, slash uncle, slash godfather, slash trainer, slash the guy whose sofa I crashed on when I had a fight with my dad."

"I'm sorry about your mum," she whispered, already regretting her question. He shrugged.

"I never really got to experience what it's like having one. I mean … it feels weird, 'cause growing up the other kids had a mother and they fought and complained about it, and I just thought, I never got to choose. I never got to fight with her. But Dad sort of made up for that. We used to have what could best be explained as a, say, rocky relationship. He didn't listen and I rarely tried to talk. But we grew out of that. We meet every Wednesday for lunch, so I guess that's a habit."

He grinned at her and quickly, before she could ask him another question, asked, "A thing teenage-Astrid wanted?"

She laughed. "A punching bag."

"A thing now-Astrid wants?"

A pause. "A punching bag," she repeated and laughed, feeling all too light sitting in front of him on his sofa.

He chuckled. "Solid."

"Honestly, you just ruined my punch line."

"Yeah, well, maybe next time you do that, you should hit me up."

Astrid scrunched her nose at him, causing him to grin brightly.

"By the way, I have ice cream," he piped up, a joyous feeling bubbling up in his chest at her excitement.

"What now, you have me on your sofa for an hour before you decide to supply me with information like that?"

He laughed and got up, pulling her with him.

"I needed to make sure you stayed before I gave you all the good stuff."

Her laughter echoed through the hallway and Hiccup was sure he'd never hear a better sound than that.

'I stand corrected,' he thought five minutes later and hid his blush behind his bowl of ice cream as he watched Astrid take another spoonful of ice cream and MOAN.

"Where'd you get this?" he heard her ask through the mist in his head. "I've been searching for good ice cream for ages and here I am, in your living room, with stuff that doesn't taste like it was made out of cardboard."

"Uh, one of my friends has a little café a couple of blocks from here and it's on my nightly route, so I picked some off yesterday."

Her eyes lit up and she shuffled closer.

"Let's go there sometime! That ice cream is to die for, plus," she pointed her spoon at him. "I get to meet one of your friends."

He couldn't help but laugh at her. She looked endearing, as excited as she was, even with ice cream on her nose.

"Don't move."

Her expression was priceless as he scooted closer to her, reached out and gently wiped the dollop of ice cream off her freckled nose. Without thinking (which was rare for him but had grown into something like a bad habit he only seemed to have in her company), Hiccup licked it off his finger - then realised what he'd done and almost precicely blushed to the same colour as the strawberry ice in front of him.

"Sorry," he blurted out. "I wasn't really- um. Thinking."

To his surprise (and confusion) Astrid started laughing so hard she almost doubled over.

"Okay, what's so funny? I'm making an idiot out of myself, and you …" he hesitated, searching for words, shrugging helplessly.

Astrid had sobered up now but was still grinning, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes, but the fact that you did it isn't really the thing - okay, it kind of is, your face was pretty funny," she explained and flitted her eyes shortly over his body. "But it's also you doing something sexy and not realising. And if you do realise you're backing away immediately." Her eyes were fixing his own now. "For some reason."

He swallowed and still looked at her, completely incredulous.

"What … about me is sexy?" he asked, partly in utter disbelief that Astrid was the one calling him sexy and not the other way round. Another part of him was desperate to know so he could do them more often - again, the alcohol speaking, of course.

Astrid chuckled, seemingly surprised at his utter lack of understanding and set her ice cream aside.

"Okay, so there's … running your hands through your hair, for one." She waved at the auburn mess on his head, counting on her fingers. "Then there would be the fact that you're a fireman, which should speak for this all in itself-"

"How is an occupation-"

"First of all, the general facing-death-thing and you know, saving people and pets and all that. Then there's the helmet thing, which could be specific for you, but I'm not sure. You should see yourself when you're walking out of my kitchen and take off that helmet. Anyways. That's that about your job, then there's your reaction to meeting Tuff, which," she chuckled. "Was a bit mean, I admit. But you did look jealous - don't think I didn't notice!"

"You weren't supposed to," he said weakly and slumped his shoulders.

"Hey," Astrid's hand gently touched his shoulder and he looked back up at her. "Everything I just said were positive things. Some of which may or may not drive me crazy."

She offered him a smile that made his heart skip a beat. Hiccup blinked. Astrid sighed, a small smile still playing on her lips.

"What I'm trying to say, Hiccup, is, that you have no reason to retreat anytime something like that happens. It's …" she paused, searching for the right word and offered him multiple ones. "Good. Endearing. Incredibly attractive. And a bit funny."

"Okay," he huffed out a laugh, finally relaxing. "Good."

"And I'm not just saying that because you lifted the ice cream mystery."

There. A grin blossomed on his face and Astrid had succeeded. Her success became even more tangible as a pillow hit her gently.

"Come on, I know that." He paused and grinned. "It was also the lasagna."

She threw the pillow back at him.

He caught it, still smiling. Astrid leaned back onto her arm again, watching him intently.

"Quickfire question. Why become a fireman?"

"Why not?"

"A leg that you lost because of a fire and asthma." She grinned. "Considering these it sounds like you have a death wish."

He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "Well. I guess it is pretty stupid. But you know, never let that hold me back. I think … fire fascinates me, for one and I don't really know why. Then, of course, I thought, how can I help people? How can I be useful? I want to … change things, I want to improve things."

She hummed in understanding.

"You know what's funny? I had the exact same thought process, just that my mind ended up with teaching, and not with risking my life on a daily basis for the sake of it."

Hiccup laughed, bumping his prosthesis against her leg. "Children can be pretty dangerous. One minute one's crying because their goldfish died, the next second there's a fist fight on the yard and next period you have a class of hormonal teenagers who either just got into a relationship or freshly got out of one."

She rasied an eyebrow. "That's what I call good high school memories."

"That was a free outlook of your future," he retorted, grinning crookedly.

Astrid snorted and asked, "Alright, Mr Fortune Teller, any other outlooks you have to offer?" She trailed a finger across his collar bone to his chest, poking him there.

Hiccup tried to surpress the shudder at that sensation and replied, "Well. You could, of course, pursue your career. I do see a lot of happiness in this possible future, yes. Imagine: no more careless collegues, stupid costumers … just careless collegues and stupid children who-" she swatted at his chest, laughing when he gently grabbed her wrist and stilled her. "Okay, forget that one," he chuckled, his eyes soft. "Chase it. I see academical fulfillment."

"You do?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Alright. What else? Any … people who might influence me?" Her tone was light, teasing almost as she marvelled at the way Hiccup's eyes were glowing in the soft light of the living room. "Well," he had not let go of her wrist yet and now trailed his fingers towards himself so he could intertwine his fingers with hers."There MIGHT be a - I believe you called him an incredibly attractive young man, who, if you play your cards right-"

"Oh, shut up."

He laughed.

"Am I wrong?"

"You're pushing it, Haddock."

He smirked. "Back to last names, Hofferson?"

He took another light punch to the chest, his smile never faltering. Their faces were, for the second time this evening, only inches apart.

The air between them was prickling.

It was a moment.

Astrid pulled back.

Hiccup smiled at her and brushed a stray strand of hair back into her fringe.

"Quickfire question," he husked and Astrid grinned brightly. "If I asked you out on a third date, would you say yes?"

Her grin widened, her hands found his chest and pushed him back lightly.

"Only if you let me ask you out next time."

Their breaths mingled.

Next time.

#I'm gonna leave any italics etc out bc I can't be bothered with the editor #HTTYD #httyd 2 #hiccstric #romance #fanfic #mine #IJAS #it's just a spark #chapter 5 #toothless #modernAU #writing

3 notes · View notes

chilling-seavey · 4 years

Note

What if Florence and Daniel got into a fight bc both of them are stressed out worrying about money and taking care of the kids?? How would my OTP resolve their fight??? 🤔

This was lowkey emotionally draining to write...wowey. 3.3k words later, here’s some proof that Florence and Daniel’s relationship isn’t as perfect and flawless as it seems... x

Monday, November 4th, 2024

Daniel let out a heavy breath as he got into his car after another shift, having spent most of it with his supervisor never being satisfied but that wasn’t new. He turned on the car and connected his phone to Bluetooth to call Florence as he always did before leaving. Strangely, he was sent to voicemail but a text came through instead.

Can you pick up diapers on your way home?

He sighed and replied with a quick ‘ok’ before pocketing his phone and putting the car in reverse. Closer to home, he parked outside the drugstore and headed inside, rushing down the aisles to find the diapers and grabbed the biggest package before bringing it to the cash.

“$37.45.” the cashier said after ringing up the item.

Daniel waved his card and was directed to the machine. He typed in his pin and waited a moment only to be met with card declined: insufficient funds. The glance from the cashier made Daniel feel even worse and he cleared his throat nervously, brushing a hand through his hair before shuffling through his wallet to only be met with a $10 bill and a few loose coins.

“Sorry… I, uh, left my other card at home.” Daniel said softly before leaving the store empty handed.

He sat behind the wheel of his car and tried to steady his breathing after being unable to afford diapers for his baby daughter. After a few moments of trying to calm down and trying not to cry, Daniel turned on the car and headed towards home.

The apartment smelt like burnt supper when he walked in and the noise was insane, the baby’s piecing screams topping it all. No one even heard him come in. Daniel set his guitar case and backpack on the floor in the doorway to the living room, taking in the messy kitchen and loud TV with Clementine sat admits a pile of toys trying to watch it, Penelope on the couch with her face in a pillow and her hands over her ears as she cried, and screaming Lucy in Florence’s arms as the dishevelled looking mother tried to put the dishes in the sink.

“Hey.” Daniel finally spoke, earning the glances of Florence and Clementine.

Clementine jumped up and ran for him as if he was her saviour from the chaos and he picked her up with a tired grunt.

“What’s going on here?” Daniel asked softly.

“Mommy burnt the house down!” Clementine said with a giggle as Daniel carried her towards the kitchen, his eyes lingering on Penelope on the couch for a moment.

“I just burnt the lasagna a bit.” Florence sighed, wiping her damp hand on her shirt that was already covered in tomato sauce and baby drool. Her hair was pulled back but still almost completely falling out of its tie and her makeup-less face looked like she hadn’t slept in days. “Did you pick up the diapers?”

Daniel cleared his throat nervously, setting Clementine back on the ground to let her run back off to the TV, “No, my-”

“Goddammit, Daniel, I ask you to do one thing.” Florence snapped as quietly as she could, tossing the pan in the sink a bit too hard, making Lucy scream louder in her arms.

“I tried, I just-”

“It’s not that hard to remember. Your daughter needs diapers. We have, like, four left but that’s fine; when we run out I’ll just tie one of your shirts around her like a freaking monkey at the zoo.”

“Florence, what is going on?” Daniel asked at her obvious stressed out state.

“I had to pick up Penelope only an hour after dropping her off this morning because the teacher called and said she had a meltdown and wouldn’t relax and everything is setting her off today. The damn oven beeped and she lost her mind. Of course Lucy’s crying only makes it worse and she won’t shut up because she’s teething.” Florence pushed her finger in the five-month-old’s mouth to get a look at her swollen gums and the baby just cried louder. “She also pooped all over everything today which is why we needed new diapers earlier than planned because her personal nuclear bomb ruined half the things on the change table.”

Daniel watched with wide eyes as she rushed over to grab the last two plates from the dining room table and tossed them in the sink too before turning on the tap and letting the water run over everything.

“And Clementine is demanding that she gets this new set for her doll that everyone has at school. She won’t even hear of it for Christmas because she needs it now.” Florence continued. “And she keeps testing me! Judging everything I do like she’s the adult. ‘Mommy, the lasagna’s burnt’. Like I didn’t know!”

“Okay.” Daniel sighed softly, reaching over the counter to take the crying baby from her and made his way to the freezer to take the cold teething ring out and held it out to Lucy. “I’ll take the girls and get them ready for bed and then we can talk.”

“I don’t want to talk. I wanted you to get the diapers like I fucking asked.” Florence grumbled.

“Flora.” Daniel snapped sharply to shut her up.

His glare certainly helped, and she clenched her jaw before looking back to the dishes without another word. Daniel bounced the baby lightly as she kept screaming through the teething ring he desperately tried to put in her mouth as he headed back to the living room.

“Clem, angel, can you tidy up your toys and go get your pyjamas on please?” Daniel asked softly as he turned off the TV.

The almost six-year-old nodded and got up from the rug, starting to gather her things, “There’s a new set you can buy for my dolls, Daddy. It’s a whole car they can ride in and the radio even plays music! It’s really nice and all the girls in my class has it. I wanna get it so we can play together at school.”

“We’ll think about it.” Daniel said, trying to hold back his nausea from the harsh inset of reality. He wanted nothing more than to buy that stupid toy car for his daughter but it was no where near realistic. He set Lucy in her playpen with the teething ring before moving to tend to his middle daughter who was still face down on the couch with her hands over her ears. When he set his hand on her back she startled. “Just me, bug.”

Penelope rolled over, giving him a good look of her swollen red eyes and matted dark hair and tear streaked cheeks, and she held her arms up to him through a hiccup.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Daniel pouted as he bent down and scooped her up, the four-year-old cuddling right into him through her sniffles as he took her to her room to get her cleaned up for bed. He sung softly as he wiped her face clean with a damp cloth and got her into her pyjamas, something that always helped calm her down, and he took his time to help both her and Clementine brush their teeth and comb their hair before tucking them into bed.

Daniel grabbed Lucy for story time, all three girls cuddled up with him as he read them a bedtime story. Lucy fell asleep quickly, probably tired out from all her crying – same with Penelope – and he kissed the oldest two good-night before taking the baby down the hall to bed too. He let his eyes linger on the remaining three diapers in the basket before letting out a small sigh and took one out so he could change her into her pyjamas. Lucy was tucked into her crib with the teething ring beside her just in case and he pushed a pacifier past her lips, watching her for a second as she sleepily sucked on it for a moment, the plastic bumping lightly against her tiny nose.

The apartment was eerily quiet as Daniel closed the nursey door, baby monitor in hand, and made his way back down the hallway for a conversation he really did not want to have.

Florence had the kitchen cleaned up by the time he was back, and they shared expressionless glances as she closed the last cupboard.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” Daniel said, placing the baby monitor on the counter between them, “but you don’t need to take it out on me.”

“Maybe if you did what I asked, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“I tried.” Daniel protested. “It was a hard day and to top it off my card-”

Florence held up her hand to cut him off, “You go to work to play music for eight hours and then come home to a good meal that you don’t have to cook. You have it easy.”

“Easy?” Daniel gaped. “Are you kidding me? You know how much shit I do in my job and how many late nights and early mornings and weekends I put into this. It’s no where near easy.”

“Oh yeah.” Florence chuckled humourlessly. “When you don’t have to lift a finger around here, leaving me to practically raise your children.”

“You think I like never seeing my wife or kids?!” Daniel frowned. “It was bad when Lucy was first born, yeah, but we even had a whole discussion and I got much more time freed up. But I can’t just sit at home all day with you guys, this isn’t a fairy-tale.”

“I know but you act like I’m a psychotic bitch when I let it all get to me! I got shit on today! And walked over and hit and kicked and bitten and screamed at and I burnt my arm trying to get the charred dinner out of the oven. You just don’t understand what it’s like to stay home!”

“You have no idea what it’s like to work! To go out and earn a salary! You could have gone to school and gotten a degree and then figured out what you wanted to do with your life but instead you chose to cruise off everyone else. You didn’t even pay for your first apartment! Callum did! You have no freaking idea the value of money!”

“I was raising my daughter.” Florence seethed. “Fuck you for even saying that.”

“You could have made it work.”

“Sorry I chose to focus on her rather than shoving her in daycare to be pretty much raised by a stranger for the first four years of her life. I didn’t have the money for any of that. I barely had money to put food on the fucking table half the time and you know that.”

“So get over yourself! Stop being so goddamn selfish if you’re so finically-aware!”

“Fuck you!” Florence shouted, walking around the counter as if she were going to leave the room but she stopped in the middle of the living room and turned back to him. “I get that you have to work and I am thankful that you even have a job, but a little compassion isn’t a lot to ask of you.”

“Compassion? Are you serious?” Daniel scoffed loudly, taking a few quick strides across the room to stand in front of her, shouting back his rebuttal, “I nearly wait on you hand and foot and I drop everything whenever you need me and for years I always have! I have done nothing but work my ass off for you and our kids and you still have the audacity to say that it’s still not enough? I work too much and now I don’t work enough and then I don’t ‘understand what you’re going through’. Well, dammit, Florence, what the fuck do you want from me?”

“I want you to care about other things than your work!”

“I already cut my hours! We’re nearly fucking broke, Florence, I don’t know why you can’t understand that! We literally cannot afford for me to lose one more hour a week! Last months rent virtually drained us and we are surviving on a $10 bill and my fucking shoelace right now! I’m pushed to the fucking brim half the time trying to get all the shit done so I don’t have to work overtime so I can still come home to you and the girls and all I’m met with is attitude and snark and an ungrateful wife who scolds me like my goddamn mother when I walk in the door!”

Florence didn’t reply for a beat and the silence lingered heavy over the apartment. Her eyebrows furrowed first before her face scrunched up in anger and she jabbed a finger in Daniel’s face before yelling, “Fuck you! I am not staying home just to make you a supper and serve you a beer in a pretty pink dress and heels with a face full of makeup and a fake smile when you get in from work. This isn’t the 19-fucking-50s! I am allowed to have emotions, Daniel James, and right now you are tugging at every single last one of them! How dare you say these things to me!”

“You are freaking out for no reason!” Daniel shouted louder to top her. “You’re twisting everything I’m saying! Do you even hear yourself?”

“All I can hear is you being a selfish and ungrateful son of a bitch!” Florence screamed, throwing a couch cushion at him.

“Throwing things at me? Real mature, Florence. Real fucking mature! God, why don’t you understand?!” Daniel shut his eyes and threw his hands into his hair and tugged hard to try and rid his frustrations. “You’re so naïve sometimes, you drive me fucking crazy!”

They were already even listening to each other anymore, simply off on their own tangents trying to out-volume the other. Daniel and Florence didn’t fight often, priding themselves on their open communication, but everything eventually hits a bump and when they did, they really did.

“Just go play your pretty music, Daniel! Make some pretty music with your friends and put it online for everyone rave over and shut up. I’ll be here taking care of and being hit like a punching bag by your children.”

“You know what, I would appreciate it if you stopped fucking accusing me of being a shitty father because I have a job! I have been trying my best and if that’s not enough for you then I don’t know what to tell you!” Daniel put his hands up.

“What? You’re gonna leave?” Florence laughed humourlessly, throwing her finger in the direction of the door. “Fine! Go on! Wouldn’t be the first time! Leave when it gets hard Daniel!” She cut her screams, leaning in closer to him to whisper sharply, “Just like Matt did.”

Their fight seemed to echo through the apartment as silence fell again, her angry expression still glaring at him as his face melted into neutrality.

“Don’t say that.” Daniel said softly, trying to each for her.

“Don’t touch me.” Florence stepped back before walking quickly down the hallway.

“Flora, I’m not gonna-” Daniel started after her but the slamming of the bedroom door startled him to stop in place. He took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face to try and calm down, leaning back against the wall of the hallway. It was surprising that the baby wasn’t crying given the fact they just had a ten-minute-long screaming match.

Daniel composed himself enough to open the girls’ bedroom door and peak in, finding them both huddled up together in Clementine’s bed, frightened looks on their faces.

“Hey, my loves.” Daniel sighed, sitting himself on the side of the bed. “I’m sorry if we scared you. Mommy and I haven’t been talking as much as we should have been, and we got a little crazy. Do you forgive us?”

Clementine and Penelope nodded. Daniel kissed each of their heads and got them tucked in again in their own beds.

“No more yelling tonight?” Penelope asked.

“No more yelling.” Daniel promised, smiling sadly between his two eldest. He couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on Clementine a moment longer, remembering the night Matt walked out, leaving nineteen-year-old Florence and baby Clementine alone and a mess in their small apartment. She stared up at him with those same blue eyes he always remembered, and he gave her an extra kiss on the cheek, staying with them until they were drifting back to sleep, “Daddy’s not going anywhere.”

Daniel found himself back outside the master bedroom door with his hand on the knob and his forehead against the cool wood, taking slow breaths to keep himself calm to try the conversation again. He finally opened the door and slipped inside before closing it silently behind him. The light was on in the ensuite and he stopped in the doorway.

Florence glanced up at him from where she stood in front of the vanity brushing her hair. She silently turned back and continued what she was doing.

“Come here.” Daniel whispered, stepping closer and gently pulled her arms down from her hair to wrap around his shoulders and he tucked his own tightly around her waist, peppering a few kisses over her cheek and across her shoulder. “I love you. So fucking much. Even when you scream at me and swear at me and throw things at me.”

Florence sniffled a little, holding him tighter. “I love you too.”

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Daniel rubbed a hand over her back. “No matter what.”

“I’m sorry.” Florence mumbled, wrapping her fingers around the material of his shirt and buried her face in his neck.

“I’m sorry too.” Daniel sighed. “My card got declined today. It scared me.”

“What?” Florence leaned back with concern, holding her hands on his biceps to keep him close as she stared at his flushed face.

“$37 for diapers and my card was declined. I felt like a fucking idiot, like an absolute joke of a father…can’t even buy the necessities for my kid.” Daniel sighed, turning to lean back against the counter and hung his head. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do, Flora. I’m scared.”

“I know.” Florence mumbled, petting her hand through his hair. “Maybe we should talk to someone? Get a budget figured out until we get back on our feet. Worst case scenario, we ask your parents for a bit of a loan. We’re not going to lose anything from this.”

Daniel nodded, biting his lip as he stared at the floor, fingers holding tightly onto the edge of the counter behind him.

“I’m sorry.” his voice broke and he struggled to hold back a small sob, quickly hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Florence frowned, wrapping her arms around him to let him cry against her shoulder, “I know how hard you work. You’re such a good dad and an amazing husband. I know you’re trying your best and I also know it’s slowly starting to destroy you.”

Daniel whimpered as he nodded, clinging onto her tighter through his tears as he muffled a sob into her neck.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” Florence sighed, running her hand up and down his back. “I took my own shit out on you. I needed any excuse to yell, I guess.”

“Better me than at the girls.” Daniel chuckled lightly, pulling back from their hug a little to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I love you.” Florence said strongly, taking his face in her hands. “$0 in your pocket or millions. Doesn’t matter. Don’t you forget it, okay?”

Daniel nodded and leaned in to kiss her once, lingering there a moment longer before pulling back.

“Now no more tears.” Florence said, taking a deep breath herself as she started to feel herself start to cry. “There have been to many tears in this house today.”

#daniel seavey #why dont we #daniel seavey imagines #why dont we imagines #why dont we music #anything but mine #imagines

31 notes · View notes

flirting-with-psychology · 4 years

Text

Has the person you like ever seen you in your pajamas? Yes

Did the last person you kissed celebrate your last birthday with you? He was celebrating thanksgiving with his parents during my birthday but he called me

What’s the first word of the last text message you received? I

Do you think you’ve changed at all over the past year? I’ve gotten more anxiety and gotten fatter

Is there a song that reminds you of your ex? Do you still listen to that song? I Almost Do, Red, and If This Was A Movie (all by taylor swift). Yes I still listen

Did you tag anyone in your last Facebook status? Not in the post I shared, but in my last original post I tagged my boyfriend

How do you behave when you’re drunk? Usually giggly and overexcited

What is your least favorite type of chocolate? White chocolate

When was the last time you felt disappointed? What was the reason? Disappointed that the gym won’t let me cancel over the phone and might still charge me for february

Is there someone that can make you smile, even when you feel like crying? Not always

Is there a certain person on your mind right now? Tell me about him/her. My boyfriend

You’re getting ready to go to bed, and the last person you kissed shows up, what do you do? Get into bed with him

What was your last thought before you went to bed last night? Being annoyed at my dad’s snoring through the walls

Do you think someone is thinking about you right now? Maybe

Are you okay right now? I haven’t been okay this whole year

What time did you get up today? Like 1:30

When was the last time you saw your mom? The other day

What is the last thing you drank today? Water

Do you dislike/hate anyone? Donald trump and Mitch McConnell

Where is your best friend right now? At home I assume

When will your next kiss be? As soon as we get negative test results

Will you be up before 7 am tomorrow? No

Does anyone completely understand you? No

Who was the last girl you hugged outside of family? I don’t remember, it’s been a long time

Have you held hands with somebody in the past three days? No

What will you be doing in 3 hours? Probably wasting time

How often do you straighten your hair? Never now, I used to when it was short

What are you currently looking forward to? The costume sale that hopefully I will be able to go to

Is tomorrow gonna be a good day? What are you going to do? Lol probably not

Who did you last hang out with? My dad

Did anyone see your last kiss? No

Could things possibly get any better? I fucking hope so

Do you know who you’ll even kiss next? I assume it will be my boyfriend

Do you ever sleep in jeans? No, that sounds really uncomfortable

Name something you dislike about the day you’re having? Stress

Did you get a full 8 hours of sleep last night? No

Are you in love lately? Not sure

How often do you see your ex? Rarely

Who was the last person to text you? My boyfriend

Did you like anyone last summer? Yes, my boyfriend

Do you replay things that have happened in your head? Yeah

Who was the last person you stayed up with till 2am? My boyfriend

Do you want a boyfriend or girlfriend? I enjoy having one

Are you currently in a relationship? Yes

Do you use a full length mirror daily? Most days

Would you be shocked if the person you have feelings for texted you? No

Is there anyone you wish you could fix things with? I would like to reconnect with my friend Shaina

What are you planning on doing after this? Idk

Is there a girl you would do anything for? No

Who IMed you on facebook last? My mom

How old are you? 26

Do you love dogs? Yes

Were you finished childhood and teens when Harry Potter movies came out? No, they started coming out when I was in elementary school

Did you keep all your VHS tapes? Probably

Do you think Jack Nicholson is a good actor? Yeah I think so

Have you ever watched an episode of “The Honeymooners”? No

Have you ever owned a pair of high-top Converse? No

Do you have rain boots with a cute pattern on them? I have cowboy rainboots

Would you rather eat an apple or an orange right now? Apple

Would you rather do a cartwheel on land or a backflip in water? If I could do either of them, a backflip in water would be cool

Have you ever performed on stage in front of people? Yes

Were you kinda scared of the goths in high school? Not scared, just didn’t have anything in common with them

What size is your mattress?(single,twin,double,queen,king) Full size

Do you eat foods from all 4 food groups everyday? Lol no

Do you sleep in PJs? Yes

Do you prefer watching TV or listening to music? Watching TV. Listening for music needs to be accompanied by another activity

Would you rather watch a movie in theatre or at home? Theater is fun, but right now at home

Do you prefer brown or white rice? White

Do you like spaghetti? I love spaghetti

What about lasagna? No, I don’t like red sauce

Do you celebrate Christmas? No

Is your Thanksgiving celebrated in October too? Who does that?

Do you like chocolate bars? Yes

what about ice cream? Mostly, although sometimes the plain flavors are boring

Have you ever been stung by anything? What was it? Wasps a few times

Do you get tired easily? Only in the morning

Or do you always have plenty of energy to spare? No

Have you ever done volunteer work? Where? I volunteered as a teaching assistant What about court-ordered community service? No

Have you ever worn contacts?(even just to try them out) I tried but it made my vision all swimmy

Would you wear contacts on a daily basis? Maybe if I got some that worked

Are your ears pierced? How many times? One on each ear

Do you have GOD-GIVEN(not dyed) natural brown hair too? I have natural brown hair but I don’t believe it’s god-given

Or were you born blonde? No

Have you found a gray hair on your head or body before? I don’t think so. Both of my parents kept their hair color for awhile so hopefully I got that gene

Have you ever had any suspicious moles removed? Yes, on my arm

Have you ever been screened for STDs? Yes

Are all your wisdom teeth pulled? Yes

Did you have your tonsils taken out? No

Did you have your appendix taken out? No

How many kidneys do you have?(have you donated one?) I have both of them

Would you(to save someone)?^^^ I'm not sure. If it was someone I loved and there wasn’t one already on hand, maybe

Have you ever found a bug or slug in your salad? ewww no

Do you like Harry Potter? Yes

What about Twilight? It was ok, I liked it at the time I read it How do you feel about Lord of the rings? I like the movies

Are you going to see ‘The Hobbit’ when it comes out? I did

Do you have a glass that says 'Molson Canadian’ on it? No

Do you have any collector’s glasses or cups or mugs? I have a bunch of shotglasses from places I visit

Would you rather have a white fridge or a black fridge or a stainless steel fridge? Stainless steel

What size shoe do you wear? 7.5-8 womens

Do you have a wide foot or a narrow foot or just average? Kind of dorito-shaped, so some shoe types just don’t fit

Do you bite your nails when you’re stressed? No

Do you have to take an allergy pill daily in order to live normally? No

Are you on the birth control pill? No

Or are you trying to get pregnant? I’m trying not to get pregnant, but I use condoms instead

You’d rather wear black sneakers or sneakers in a bright color or pattern? Probably bright color

Has anyone ever told you they were attracted to you? Yes

Can you swim well in water way above your head? Decently

Are you afraid of thunder & lightening? No

Have you ever experienced an earthquake? No

What about a tornado? No

Are you closer to your dad?(more so than your mom) I’m probably a little closer to my mom

Were you your parents’ first born? Yes

Do you have a child? Is the father still with you? No

Did you trade stickers at recess when you were a kid? No

How old were you when you had your first crush? Do you remember their name? I was like 5 the first time I put a word to it and his name was Aidan, but I probably had sort-of crushes even before that

Can you even remember what the hell they looked like? Blond, bowl-cut at the time. He actually grew up to be really hot so I guess I knew how to pick em

Have you ever operated any type of motorized vehicle before? A car

Are you going to drink alcohol tonight? Maybe

Have you ever heard of the Canadian kids show called “Mr. Dressup”? No

What about the kids show “Fred Penner’s Place”? No

Did you hate Sesame Street when you were little too? A little

Were you born perfectly healthy or with some(or a lot) of health issues? I might have had some minor things

Do you collect DVDs? Not as a collection, but I buy movies I like a lot

Do you download music? Yes

Or do you still go to stores and buy CDs? No, those are like twice as much

Did you skip(jumo-rope) a lot as a kid? No, I was bad at it

Did you ever catch any bugs or insects with your friends as a kid? Only roly polies

Didn’t you just LOVE art class in elementary school?! Yeah

Have you ever played dodgeball? Yes but not well

What about Red Rover? No

Have you ever played “What time is it mr. wolf?”? It sounds familiar but I don’t remember it

Do you hate your weight? Yes

Have you ever struggled with a mental illness? A little

Serious question, peanut butter or nutella? Peanut butter for a sandwich, nutella for eating straight out of the jar

Have you ever stepped on a snail? No

Do you prefer baked potatoes or mashed potatoes? Mashed

Do you prefer ankle socks over regular socks? Ankle socks

Last movie you’ve seen in theaters? I can’t remember

What is your oldest sibling’s middle name? I don’t have one

Have you ever been to Disneyland or Disney World? Both

Would you ever go backpacking across any country? Probably not

Would you prefer to travel around the world by yourself or with a friend? With a friend

Do you like breadsticks? Yes

Do you usually wear shorts around your house all year long? No, but I do wear short sleeves year round

What state were you born in? Colorado

Have you ever had a nose bleed? All the time

How far away do you live from your birthplace? Like 15 minutes

Do you have a weak stomach? No

Do you know anybody who has been diagnosed with cancer? Yes

Have you ever had to take care of an intoxicated person? Yes

Have you ever considered becoming a lawyer? Slightly but not really

Do you *really* like donuts? Yes

Do you think Disney World could ever get old? At some point

If you could, would you hookup with the last person you texted? Yes

What are your favorite things to spend money on? Jewelry and nerd stuff

Will you talk to the person you like on the phone tonight? I am talking to him right now

What do you usually order on a pizza? No sauce, cheese, garlic, pinapple Do you and your boyfriend/girlfriend fight a lot? Not really

Who’s the first person with the letter “m” in your contacts? Mac

Which would you rather have a new puppy or kitten? Kitten

How old will you be on your next birthday? 27 yikes

What color are your underwear? Turquoise

Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people? If it’s messy

#survey

2 notes · View notes

fleckcmscott · 5 years

Text

Watch What Happens - Chapter 2

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: None

Words: 2,027

“Shit,” Y/N said. Her furious typing came to a standstill. “Patricia, do you have the wite-out?”

Patricia arched her brow at her from behind her own typewriter. “Did you hit the ‘v’ instead of the ‘w’ again?”

Y/N caught the tiny bottle her colleague tossed her. “Why can’t this guy have an easier last name? At least one that’s phonetic?” The feed roller clicked as she turned the typewriter’s carriage knob. Carefully, she extricated the paper without damaging it. “I can’t start anything with ‘Kowlinska,’” she said, carefully fixing her typo with the white liquid.

“I think it starts with a ‘K’,” Patricia retorted.

“Ha-ha,” Y/N deadpanned.

God, she needed break. She’d been working non-stop for three hours. Stretching, she stood and walked across the medium-sized room to look out the window. The streets were full. With a population of ten million, there was always plenty of hustle and bustle. The vendor on the corner was offering pretzels to anyone who came near him. A little girl ran down the sidewalk excitedly, screeching and dodging trash bags all the way. Y/N smiled, thankful she was now in Gotham. The grime of the city, the variety of people - she wouldn’t trade it for anything. It was miles away from the small town she had wasted almost forty years in.

The sun was already on the horizon, ending the day too early for her taste. She still had a lot of work to do. A status conference on a jeopardy order for three children was tomorrow morning - that file needed to be prepared. The motion she kept mistyping needed to be completed. The shredding needed to be done. She enjoyed being busy, but this week had been more demanding than most. It would be another long night.

“Y/N? I’m getting some coffee. Want some?” Patricia asked.

Y/N turned to her and smirked. “If I drink it now, I’ll never get to sleep tonight, and then you’ll have to deal with me in the morning.” She shook her head and made her way back to her desk. “No thanks. I like you too much for that.”

“Sweet talker!” Patricia called as she walked off.

Y/N leaned back in her cloth chair, eyes roving over the woodwork of the ceiling. When she’d first started at Shaw & Associates, she’d found the intricate office decor intimidating. Fortunately, she’d grown up comfortably, and had been so most of her adult life. But she hadn’t been exposed to such opulence. Now, after a little over a year, she’d gotten used to it. And she was proud to be part of one of Gotham’s most prominent law firms.

Matt Stone, the attorney she worked with most closely, stuck his head out of his office. He was frazzled. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

She swiveled to face him fully and crossed her arms. “Do you have another present for me?”

“I do.” He approached and handed her an expanded pendaflex. It took both hands for her to hold it. “The Wayne Foundation case-”

Y/N’s eyes darted to his, corners of her lips turning up. “You’re letting me work on a Wayne case?”

“Which one?” Patricia interjected as she returned. She blew on the hot coffee she held.

“The case about the abandoned tenements in the borrows? The ones the Wayne Foundation wants to claim?” Matt nodded at the file, hands in his pockets. “The defendant filed a motion to stop it. Again.”

Y/N’s face scrunched up as she opened the file. “That’s odd.” Her fingers leafed through the stack of papers. “Didn’t you say before that they’re falling down? You’d think they’d want to be rid of them before someone gets hurt.”

“Maybe they want to keep the land as investment property. Then try to sell it off later.” He shrugged at her. “Look it over tomorrow. We’ll talk about it in detail next week.” At that, he spun to go back to his office.

Groaning, Y/N wheeled over to watch him as he took a seat behind his large, wooden desk. “That’ll be the third late night this week,” she said.

Matt waved her concern off. “Do you have something better to do?”

She rolled her eyes and scooted back to her work area. “Not being in the office is good enough.” While she didn’t have any plans, she didn’t want him to think she was endlessly available.

He offered an olive branch. “Well, I’ll owe you one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/N said over her shoulder. “I’ll remind you at Christmas.” She caught Patricia’s eye, then. “I can’t decide if he likes me or hates me.”

Patricia chuckled. “Both. Definitely. Give me the Kowlinska paperwork. Unlike you, I know how to type.”

Y/N snickered as she passed it to her. “Thanks. I’ll finish tomorrow’s conference file.”

~~~~~

It was past seven she left the office. Though Matt had told her to start working on the Wayne file tomorrow, she’d wanted to take a crack at it. Given the size of it, she thought she might sneak it home to peruse over the weekend.

She was happy to be entrusted with a case from the firm’s most prestigious client. And after working there for a relatively short time. It’s not that she was a fan of the Wayne family - they just happened to be wealthy. But it would be nice to work on cases besides the pro-bono family and child protection matters. She was good at those and was able to process them quickly, but reading reports of domestic abuse was wearing. This change would be good.

The small grocery store was fairly deserted when she entered it. She was relieved, not wanting to take too long. A bottle of wine, a bag of chips, and a frozen dinner for tomorrow would do. As she picked up each item, weaving through the disparate aisles, she smirked at herself. Was it pathetic that she was pleased with her basket of alcohol and garbage? Maybe. But she was fine with that.

Y/N sauntered down the frozen food section, scanning the bright TV dinner boxes. The regulars, macaroni and cheese, Salisbury steak, lasagna, were ones she’d already tried. She stopped when a new one caught her eye: Polynesian Style Dinner. Nothing like fried meat chunks in an unnaturally orange sauce. She’d try that one and pretend she was adventurous.

The only thing preventing her from grabbing it and heading to the check-out was the man standing in front of the freezer door.

She watched him. He hadn’t seemed to notice her approach or sense she was a couple feet behind him. She took the opportunity to inspect him. Well worn brown shoes, dark blue slacks a tad loose on him. The basket in his hand had marked-down pens, bread, and a bottle of seltzer. Continuing upward, she could see his tan jacket was well-loved, soft and clean. His longish, slightly dark brown hair had a slight curl to it, and it looked freshly shampooed. Even though she was in heels, he was a couple of inches taller than her.

After waiting to see if the man would realize she was there, she gently cleared her throat. “It’s hard to decide when there are so many choices, isn’t it?”

He slowly moved to look at her. She thought he hadn’t heard her clearly at first, but the corner of his mouth lifted.

She spoke again, starting to grin. “I think I’ve had every one of these. Want me to warn you off a few?”

A soft huff escaped him. She noticed his free hand join his other on the basket handle, squeezing tight. “No. I get these all the time,” he said quietly.

Y/N gave a short nod, then pointed at the door of the freezer. “Would you mind if I grabbed one?”

It took only a moment for him to open the door and hold it for her. He leaned against it lightly, some panache in his movement. The slight smile hadn’t left his face.

She let out a faint laugh and stepped forward to reach past him, and grab the dinner. “Thanks,” she said as she turned to look up at him.

His wide cheekbones and sharp jawline gave her pause. He looked a bit weary, maybe a couple years older than her. The clear, light green of his deep set eyes surprised her, a contrast from his dark, prominent brow. Those eyes were narrowing as she continued to stare at him.

“Sorry,” she said, blushing and averting her gaze. He’d caught her checking him out, and she felt bad for obviously making him feel self-conscious. “I didn’t mean to gawk at you. It’s been a long day and I’m a little dazed.”

He reached into the freezer and grabbed the same frozen meal. “It’s fine.” She thought she heard him chuckle.

She started towards the check-out, looking back over her shoulder. The man was headed the same way, but kept a respectable distance. As she placed her few items on the belt, she noticed him get in line behind her. He held his hands in front of him, head bent downward as he waited. Y/N paid quickly, giving him a small wave as she walked off. “Night.”

“Good night,” he answered.

Once Y/N was back home, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her answering machine was blinking. She played the messages and took her shoes off. They were mostly mundane: confirmation of a dentist appointment, her sister just calling to say hello and catch up. She was in the middle of opening the wine when the last message played.

“Y/N, this is Matt from the office.” He must be working at home, she thought. “Sorry I didn’t catch you before you left. You’ll need to come to the hearing with me tomorrow. I’m this is last minute, but you know the file well and it’ll make the process easier. Sorry to cancel casual Friday.”

She finished opening the wine and poured herself a double. “Now you owe me two favors,” she said to herself. Taking a long drink, she walked to the television, turned it on, and planted herself on the sofa.

The news was on. “Thomas Wayne has formed an exploratory committee to to test the waters for a potential run for mayor,” the reported intoned. “We caught up with Mr. Wayne outside of town hall.”

The picture cut to Thomas Wayne: well-dressed as always, slicked back hair. His wife and son were with him. “I’m the only one who can help Gotham. That’s why I’m considering a run for office.” He brought his hands up to his chest, gesturing for emphasis. “To help the people of this city. To give back some of the blessings I’ve been given.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. Even though she was only now starting to work on a Wayne file, she’d heard some of the legal maneuvers the foundation had taken. Yes, there were good intentions behind nearly all of them. But only a small fraction of those plans seemed to come to fruition. With that knowledge, she thought it was arrogant for him to assume he was Gotham’s white knight.

Deciding it was too late to think about politics, she let her mind drift to the guy at the store. She hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. He’d barely talked with her, as though he didn’t realize how good looking he was. And the way he opened the door with some flourish… For someone who came across as rather awkward, he certainly appeared to have some grace. The juxtaposition was charming.

Taking another sip of wine, she chastised herself. He’d probably thought she was a desperate creep, staring at him the way she did. She was neither. She wasn’t even looking. But it had been a long time since she’d seen someone who’d piqued her interest at all.

The news broadcast ended and she flipped to Tonight with David Endochrine. Finally, brainless entertainment. She grabbed the folded blanket from the back of the sofa and snuggled down into the couch. She finished the wine and was soon snoozing, still dressed for work.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @clowndaddyfleck

#arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck #joker 2019 #arthur fleck x female reader #watchwhathappens

69 notes · View notes

the-obsession-ship · 5 years

Text

New in town (Jim Hopper x Reader) -Part 3-

Pairings: Jim Hopper x female!reader

Warnings: Abusive Ex, Mention of abuse in the past, Language.

Type: Fluff and more fluff, with a slice of domestic!Hopper

Word count: 2,000+

Read the other parts here: Part one, Part two.

Long-time no Hopper, I know! College started and my brain and hands have been mostly on coding, but I cannot neglect the man who has kept me going and writing this has been a really nice mental break! I appreciate all the feedback I’ve gotten on this fic, It continues to shock me on all the love from you guys, so thank you so much.

Dropping your heavy backpack down by the door when you walk in, you huff out a sign and stretch your tired back. Hoppers cabin was a lot deeper into the woods then you initially thought and you spent a good amount of time tripping over the uneven forest path to get to the porch, You thought it was perfect, though a little dirty and dusty, potato chip bags and beer cans everywhere, it had a charm to it you couldn't quite place exactly.

Hopper dropped the rest of your luggage on the floor next to your backpack, Flo had helped you pack and insisted on giving you sheets, pillows, and she even bought you enough toiletries to probably last you for the rest of your life, so the small number of things you brought from Adams had now tripled by everything Flo thought you might need and you couldn’t help but be warmed to the core by her kindness.

“Alright, I think that’s all of it” Hop stretches out his back after bringing in everything Flo bought you, “I know it’s not much and I’m sorry I didn’t have time to clean up a bit” He goes to pick up the leftovers on the coffee table and tries to casually shove some dirty magazines under the couch, probably hoping you didn’t see him do that, although you can’t help but smile at the large man clumsily cleaning his cabin for you.

“Your rooms right there, you can go unpack if you want” Hopper pointed you towards the small room next to you with a badly painted green door.

“Thank you” You leave the Chief to his cleaning, not wanting to impose on anything else he might want to shove under the couch, smiling to yourself you pick up a couple of bags and push open the old green door that leads to your new room.

“Lysol? Dish soap? Hell, I’ll even take oven cleaner at this point” Hopper huffed under his breath as he threw open cabinet after cabinet trying to find any cleaning supplies, he had. A beautiful woman is staying in his home and he wanted to make everything as comfortable as possible for her and yet he couldn’t even find a standard household cleaner.

He decided to clean any dust off with a wet kitchen towel and made a mental note to pick up cleaning supplies on his drive home tomorrow.

Hearing you softly hum ‘Takin’ care of business’ that had played on the radio, when you were driving to his cabin; smiling to himself as he finished cleaning the kitchen, he could hear you opening and closing the drawers of the dresser while you unpacked and could only imagine you swaying to the tune in your head.

Having you live with him was definitely going to be a new experience, he hadn't had a woman live with him in years, most women he was around didn’t even stay the night. A warm feeling was brewing in his chest just thinking about his little cabin actually having life in it for the first time in probably decades.

Pushing thoughts back down that Hopper didn’t want to think too hard about, you needed a place to stay and he wasn’t about to ruin whatever relationship you both had with bringing too many emotions into it.

Tieing the last trash bag and tossing it outside with the others for the time being, Hopper sighed while he looked around his small cabin, it was far from being spotless but it would have to do, for now, hearing you starting to go quiet in your room, presuming you’re close to being done unpacking Hopper decides it’s time to bite the bullet and make something for dinner, he knew you probably would want more than just chips and salsa.

“Shit..” All he had in his fridge was beer and leftovers from a party that Flo held at the office, he doesn't even remember when that party was or what holiday it was for, probably need to throw that out as well, he thought.

Pulling back from the fridge to look over at you, watching you take in the place you’d be staying in, he hoped he cleaned it enough for to make it at least feel comfortable “You cleaned up, it looks nice Hop”

“Thanks. Uh I didn’t have any time to pick groceries up before we got back” Hopper scratches the back of his neck and looks at you sheepishly “So, I don’t know what to make you for dinner”

“That’s okay, let’s see what we have here” Hop watches you move around the kitchen, brows furrowed in concentration, he knows you’re probably wondering just what to make with the little supplies you had, he considers just ordering pizza and hoping it won’t take the delivery guy hours to find his cabin, when you speak up.

“How about spaghetti?” He watches you pull out pasta and a can of tomato sauce, things that Flo probably bought him on one of her health kicks, trying to get him to at least cook himself a meal every once in a while, of course, that never worked but he appreciated Flo’s efforts. “I make really good spaghetti, trust me”

Hopper couldn’t help but smile as you bounced around his makeshift kitchen, boiling water, setting timers, and measuring pasta. You looked actually at peace, “That sounds great” This wasn’t exactly what he had planned for your dinner date to be when you originally offered to make him pasta, but he damn well wouldn't trade seeing you happily make dinner in his kitchen while you both talked and drank beers together, laughing at some stupid joke he had said.

“Hopper, I’m back!” You shook off the heavy coat that adorned your shoulders and hung it up on the rack next to Hop’s huge blue one.

“Hey, how was your day?” You heard him call from the kitchen, walking in there to greet him and noticing he was actually attempting a new recipe for tonight's dinner. You finally got him started on cooking and since then you have both learned he could make a mean meatloaf and now you never ate much else, he found it simple enough and it made leftovers for you both so it was your normal supper, but tonight he was clearly trying to make lasagna, emphasis on the ‘trying’ part.

“It was good, slow for most of it, but me and Joyce had fun” When Joyce found out you were staying with Hopper, she insisted on helping you find work, Melvalds wasn’t hiring at the time but Joyce pulled some strings and got you on part-time at the Kodak booth, which put right in front of where she typically worked. Luckily your hours always coincided so she picked you up in the morning and dropped you off at night.

“Did you stop any bad guys today?” You tried not to ask what the burnt smell was, assuming this was his second attempt at making dinner.

Hopper looked up and smiled at you before returning to his work on the counter “Oh yeah, Mrs. Mayfield’s pomeranian is quite a tough case” His voice got deeper, making you laugh at his faux seriousness “But, I took care of it”

Still smiling at Hoppers silly comment you took to setting the table, although it had only been a little over a month of staying with Hop, you both fell into it like it was normal, he cooked, you washed the dishes, he took out the trash, you cleaned up after meals; it felt really domestic, even though you and Hop were no more than good friends.

Hopper came in and set the pretty lasagna down on the table, “Well, I’m impressed, it looks edible!” You joked while he cut sizable slices for you both.

“What? You doubted my amazing chef skills?” He faked being offended at your words.

"No, not at all Hop” You both laughed while he cracked open beers for you both.

You didn’t want to ask, but it came up every night, Hopper knew that, so while you picked at the other half of your lasagna and Hop went for seconds, you spoke up “Did anything come in the mail today?” Your voice always sounded like an ashamed kid asking for another cookie and you hated it.

“No, nothing today, I told you it might take a while, especially if they have to track Adam down” Hop always tried to let you down nicely, never wanted to hinder the mood but knowing just how important this was for you.

You nodded at that and started on the rest of your remaining lasagna, it was actually really good and Hop had done a great job on it. “Hey” You looked up at him, he could always tell something was wrong, guess that was what made him such a great police chief.

“You’re safe here, even though you work in town I’m always right down the road, I will never let anything happen to you, okay?”

“I know that Hop, thank you” You reach out and take his large hand in yours, hoping it conveyed how grateful you were for being here with him even just a little bit.

After dinner, you went to go wash up from the day, while Hop picked out a movie.

Now you can actually wash your face without wincing from your swollen eye, your face went from a deep purple bruise that faded into yellow that seemed to never go away, but now as you looked at yourself wiping off the remaining water and makeup, you can’t even tell that you looked like a wreck just weeks ago, well over a month ago really.

Hopper reassured you every step of the way that your bruises didn't look “that bad” which you were grateful for, but you knew it looked rough enough for old lady’s to glare at you while you picked up dinner at the grocery store, sometimes you’d forget why they were staring and stare back at them causing an awkward impromptu conversation from the stranger that usually resulted in you mumbling “You should have seen the other guy” under your breath and walking away.

Sighing as you felt the hot water hit you from the shower, you stepped in, remembering that it wouldn’t take long for Hop to find a good movie for you both.

You quickly washed up as you could smell popcorn being made, you laughed at just how well he knew you, how you needed the popcorn to watch a movie even after finishing a large slice of lasagna.

Hop hummed an old favorite as he melted some butter for the popcorn, hearing the shower shut off he quickly turned the stove off and went to put the VHS in, he knew you were getting sick of his Clint Eastwood movies so he asked the teen at the Family Video store to recommend something so Hop ended up walking out of there with ‘Night of the comet’ It wasn’t something he’d ever watch normally but he knew you’d enjoy it.

Setting the popcorn down on the table with freshly poured butter and salt, he fluffed the pillows on his couch a bit and sat down to wait on you. Everything he did for you made him feel like a teenager again, he always got butterflies in his stomach just thinking about you being happy because of him, although he pushed those feelings down at every turn.

The smell of your favorite shampoo and sleepers shuffling across the old wood floor alerted Hopper to your presence, “What’re we watching tonight?” You jumped onto the cushion next to him.

“Night of the comet, it’s newly out I think you might like it” On the small couch with Hop’s arm being lazily thrown around the back of the cushions, the soft hum of the VHS beginning to play the tape, and a hot bowl of popcorn on your lap; you could forget all about Adam, the pending restraining order and your slightly uncertain future in Hawkins, at least for the next hour and thirty-five minutes.

I hope you enjoyed! The movie I picked for them to watch is a 1984 cult classic known as ‘Night of the comet’ If you want, you can watch it here.

I can’t promise when the next part will be out, but since I’m finally starting to settle into College, it probably won’t take as long as this one. Feedback is always appreciated, thank you, everyone. Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one.

Tags: (Love you guys so much)

@eleanor-gillespie @l0ve-0f-my-life @kate110199 @happy-hopper @souls-rain @alumiinikuu @cainanelea

#jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #chief hopper #chief hopper x reader #chief hopper x you #chief hopper imagine #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things one shot #st #st2 #st3

79 notes · View notes

hookedonapirate · 5 years

Photo

A Glimmer of Hope

Banner by: @resident-of-storybrooke. Thank you so much for making this, Tori! You are the sweetest!

Summary: Killian returns home from visiting his brother, looking forward to asking a question that will change his life. That day, his life is indeed changed. Just not in the way he expected.

A/N: This ended up being really long, but there was not a good place to split it up, so here's the last chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

Rated: M for violence, language and smut

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6

Also on: A03 I FF.N

Chapter 7

Cake flour, unsweetened cocoa powder, butter and oil, eggs, buttermilk, red food coloring. These are just a handful of the ingredients he needs to make the perfect red velvet cake. The perfect red velvet cake Mary Margaret has been kind enough to help him make. He’s never made a cake before, so she gave him her recipe and offered to come over and help him with it. But he was determined to make it himself, so he took down several notes as she explained the specific techniques she uses, like how she separates the egg whites and whips them before folding the whites into the batter, and how she uses both butter and oil for a moist, soft, cakey texture, and a buttery flavor. She also explained how to make the frosting that pairs nicely with red velvet cake—cream cheese frosting. She told him to add a pinch of salt to offset the sweetness and to chill the frosting for twenty minutes so it will hold its shape before he slathers the white sugary goodness on the cake. He also watched several cake-making tutorials on YouTube to see how cakes are put together.

When the cake is finished, it looks nowhere near perfect, and he’s sure it doesn’t taste nearly as good as Mary Margaret’s, but he sure as hell tried. While the cake is setting in the refrigerator, he cooks the lasagna, another recipe Mary Margaret had gladly handed over to him. She even gave him some fresh tomatoes she picked from her own garden for the sauce, which he found out is her secret ingredient. Fresh garden tomatoes. Who would have thought that would make a huge difference, but it really does. And now Killian gets to replicate it. Okay, maybe not exactly, but he’s sure it will be a close second.

So, why did the lasagna have to perfect, or at least close to perfect? Why did he want to use Mary Margaret’s fresh garden tomatoes to replicate the best lasagna dish that ever existed? And why did he need the cake to be perfect? Why did the cake have to be red velvet, why did it have to have the perfect, light, soft-crumbled texture, why did the frosting have to be silky and sweet, but not too sweet? Why did he have to combine the perfect dinner dish with the perfect cake? Why did he have to go to the jewelry store and pick out the perfect piece of jewelry? Why did the apartment have to be neat and tidy, and why did he have to be so finicky about his outfit for the evening, even though he’s not dressed up per se, but wearing his best pair of jeans and his red dress shirt with a black vest? Why was he so nervous about tonight?

Easy. It’s his best friend’s birthday. And he wants tonight to be perfect. Hence, he made her favorite dish, baked her favorite cake, and he picked out a bracelet that fits her style perfectly. He did all of these things because she is perfect. The perfect roommate, the perfect best friend, the perfect woman. She told him not to make a fuss about her birthday and that she just wanted to come home and relax after a long day at work, so he decided to throw a party of two. He knows she won’t mind if it’s just the two of them.

He and Emma have been roommates and best friends for six months. Six. Amazing. Months. The decision to move in together was easy. They both needed a place to live and they had both agreed to remain friends since they didn’t want to be each other’s rebound. That would have been an ugly situation, and Killian didn’t want to take advantage of Emma. It’s the very last thing he wanted to do. So he settled on being friends. Okay, settled is not the appropriate word. He thoroughly enjoys their friendship.

They talk about everything and do everything together; they go out to lunch and go shopping together. They share the chores around the apartment, they cook together, they’ve spent many nights binge-watching t.v. shows and having movie marathons on the sofa together. Some nights, they even share a bed together, but it took Killian a few months to trust himself enough to not molest Emma in her sleep after the whole incident at her brother’s place.

He’s surprised he never received a fist in the face from David for that. He’s also surprised the Nolans forgave him when they learned Emma and Killian actually met the day they agreed to let him stay at their place. But they couldn’t blame him because he’d told Emma he didn’t want to impose on them, and she was too stubborn to listen. He doesn’t blame her though because she was trying to help him. And he’ll appreciate that gesture until the day he dies.

When neither of them is working, he and Emma are inseparable. The only things they haven’t done together is shower and engage in other enjoyable activities in bed, but he’s totally okay with that. He’s completely in love with his best friend, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s not about to fuck up what they have by admitting his feelings to her, because what they have is too damn good.

Killian grabs two oven mitts and takes the pan of lasagna out of the oven once it’s done. The cheese is bubbling as he sets the pan on the counter. He inhales through his nose, taking in the delicious aromas of fresh tomato sauce, Italian sausage and a mixture of different types of cheeses. If it tastes half as good it looks and smells then he’ll be extremely happy.

He’s smiling in success as he hears keys jingling outside the apartment and the sound of the door opening. He pulls off the mitts, setting them on the counter and strides across the kitchen to meet Emma at the door.

When she steps inside, she looks completely drained from working at the station. She immediately pulls off her boots and when she rises, he can see the tiredness in her jaded, green eyes, which seem to spark to life when she catches a whiff of the lasagna, a weak smile pulling at her lips.

“You made lasagna?”

“I did.” He graces her with a warm smile and leans in, kissing her on the cheek. “Happy birthday Emma.”

Her smile widens and she draws him into a hug, their arms wrapping around one another. “You know you didn’t have to, right?”

Killian chuckles against her, murmuring in her ear. “I knew you would say that. I also knew I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

She squeezes him tightly, and he groans playfully, pretending to be squeezed to death. She laughs and swats him playfully. “Thank you, Killian.”

He pulls his lips away from her ear to face her, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re welcome, love.” He lifts his head to press a kiss to her forehead. “Now go and get dressed into something comfortable. You look beat.”

Emma smiles as they pull away, and she lowers her gaze, taking in his outfit before returning her eyes to his. “But if I wore something comfortable, I’d be in my PJs. And you’re all dressed up, I’d feel underdressed, but honestly my PJs sound so good.”

He chuckles. “Love, you are not allowed to eat your birthday dinner in anything other than your PJs. How does that sound?”

Emma laughs and doesn’t seem to be opposed. “Sounds perfect.”

“Good, now go before I eat all the lasagna myself,” he teases.

She starts making her way past him. “I’m going,” she says and spins around when she’s halfway across the room, pointing a finger as she continues to walk toward her bedroom. “Don’t you dare start without me,” she warns with a big smile.

He smirks playfully, his eyes flashing with a bit of mischief. “I would never dream of starting anything without you.”

“Good.” She turns around again and disappears into the hall.

Killian goes into the kitchen and grabs two plates and a spatula, dishing out the lasagna. He takes the food to the coffee table and returns to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He sits on the couch, lighting some candles, and he’s filling the glasses with wine when Emma appears in the room, donning a frail smile.

She looks absolutely stunning.

She’s wearing a pale pink tank top and a pair of white pajama shorts with pink hearts, her long, golden curls spilling over her shoulders as she plops down on the couch next to him, her eyes widening as she takes in the view of the lasagna, the wine and the candles. “Wow, I really feel underdressed now.”

He sets down the wine bottle and turns his head toward her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her temple. “You look perfect.”

Emma’s blushing as he pulls away. “Thanks.” She gazes at him wistfully, and her eyes start to well up with tears. She looks like she might cry as her eyes return to the display on the coffee table. “Thank you, Killian, this is so great.”

“This is just the beginning, love.”

She lifts a thin brow in bewilderment. “There’s more?”

Killian chuckles and leaves the room to retrieve the gift he got for her. He was going to wait until after dinner, but now’s as good a time as any. A minute later, he’s reclaiming his spot next to Emma as he hands her the gift.

Her eyes widen as she sees the rectangular-shaped gift encased in gold wrapping paper. “Did you wrap this yourself?”

He nods. “Aye.” He smirks and holds up his hands. “You’d be surprised what I can do with these hands.”

Killian notices the light tint of pink in her cheeks and a hint of a smirk on her lips, as though she wouldn’t mind finding out what exactly what he’s capable of doing with those hands. She carefully peels the wrapping paper away, not wanting to ruin the beautiful wrapping paper. She opens the slim black box to find the beautiful, silver charm bracelet inside. Her eyes widen, a gasp leaving her lips as she takes the bracelet out of the box, fingering the different charms.

Emma laughs once she realized what he’s done. “Each charm fits my style.”

He grins, “Aye, it has all your favorite things.”

He had chosen each charm specifically to mirror her tastes. A buttercup, which is her favorite flower, a horse, her favorite animal and a pair of Uggs, which are her favorite type of boots. The bracelet has a Volkswagen bug for the vehicle she drives, a deputy badge for her new job and a swan for her last name. It also has a heart-shaped charm inscribed with her name. But his favorite charm is the one she’s currently looking at, her thumb brushing over it. A tear slides down her cheek. “You included our friendship…”

Killian’s heart flutters. He loves that she noticed what the pair of hands holding onto one another meant. It symbolizes their friendship, and Emma only had to glance at it to know that. “Aye, love, I did. How could I forget such an important aspect of your life?” he asks playfully, hoping she agrees.

Emma laughs. “No, we can’t forget that.” She leans her head on his shoulder, her voice more sincere. “Our friendship is really important to me. Thank you for this. It’s beautiful.” She peels her eyes away from the charm bracelet and leans in, kissing his cheek. Her lips are soft against his skin as she lingers a bit longer than he’d expected. She pulls away and drapes the bracelet around her wrist.

He helps her with the clasp and brings her wrist to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss there. “You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks tinge with blush, a bright smile curving her lips, as she playfully swats his shoulder. “Stop, you’re making me blush.”

He cocks a brow, smirking vibrantly. “I fail to see the problem. It’s a good look on you.”

She laughs and cups her cheeks in her hands to hide them. “You’re making it worse.”

“Still don’t see the problem, love.”

She shakes her head, still smiling as she leans over, grabbing her plate of lasagna. “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

He retrieves the other plate from the coffee table, and the room grows silent for a moment, apart from the noises she makes while she eats. “Mmmmm.”

A hint of a smile plays at his lips. He enjoys watching her as she enjoys the food he made her. Several mmmms later, he finally asks, “I take it you like the lasagna?”

She nods and swallows the food in her mouth with a sip of wine. “Are you kidding? It’s sooo good, it tastes like Mary Margert’s lasagna, maybe even a little better.”

Killian smirks against the rim of his glass as he takes a sip.

Emma turns her head, eyes narrowed at him. “Did she help you make this?”

He swallows the liquid in his mouth and nods. “Aye. She gave me the recipe and her garden tomatoes.”

“When was she here?”

“She wasn’t. I called her and wrote down all of the instructions she gave me.”

“So, you made this by yourself?”

“With her recipe and a bunch of notes, yes.”

“Well, you follow directions well because this is amazing,” she compliments, licking her lips.

“Thank you, love.” He grins proudly, his heart bursting with relief. She said his lasagna was better than Mary Margaret’s!

When they’ve finished the lasagna, Killian brings the plates to the sink and retrieves the cake from the refrigerator. He grabs a candle and a lighter from the kitchen drawer, lighting the candle. He hasn’t mentioned he made her a cake yet.

“That was so good,” she calls from the living room. “I’m ready to sleep now.”

He grabs the platter of cake and carries it into the living room. The sofa she’s sitting on is facing away from him, so she can’t see when he enters the room.

“Not yet, love. You have to try the cake.”

She turns her head around, her eyes widening as she sees the red velvet dessert. “There’s cake, too?”

He chuckles. “What birthday is complete without a cake?” He walks slowly across the room, singing happy birthday, and Emma’s laughing as she watches him. He takes a seat next to her, facing her as he holds the cake, shifting it over slightly so he can lean in and kiss her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, love,” he whispers softly. He pulls away and holds up the cake in front of her face. “Now, make a wish and blow out the candle.”

She’s more serious now, although there’s still a hint of a smile on her face and her eyes are locked on his as she blows out the candle.

“What did you wish for?” he asks, setting the cake on the table.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout but accepts her answer, hoping whatever she wished for does come true. He goes to the kitchen and returns, cutting a slice of cake and transferring it to a small plate.

Emma’s eyes are wide as she looks at the tall slice. “Wow, not only is red velvet my favorite, but it looks amazing. Don’t tell me you made this too?”

He nods, grinning smugly. “Oh, but I did,” he replies, handing her the plate. “Again following your sister-in-law’s instructions.”

“You really shouldn’t have.” She takes the fork he offers her and takes a bite of it. Her eyes roll to the back of her head, a low moan crawling from her throat. “Oh my god, this is sooooo good,” she mumbles with a mouthful of cake. “Like really, really good.”

“Really?”

She nods profusely and takes another bite. “Like better than sex good.” She moans again, filling his mind with unbidden imagery as he watches her.

He lifts a brow, a cocky smirk curving his lips. As happy as he is to hear how much she likes his cake, he has to wonder if it’s really as good as she says it is or if she doesn’t have much to compare it to. “Maybe you just haven’t had great sex, love,” he muses, a warm blush spreading through his cheeks.

She licks her lips, staring at him, as though he might be right. “That’s very possible. He who shall not be named wasn’t very good in the sack.”

“And yet, apparently he was good enough for she who shall not be named.”

“Or maybe she was only faking it,” Emma conjectures, piercing another piece of cake with the fork and offering it to him.

“That’s a possibility,” he replies, wondering if Emma faked her orgasms with him. But he doesn’t wish to dwell on the subject and banishes the thought. He opens his mouth, closing his lips around the fork prongs to scoop up the cake. “Mmmm.” He nods and licks his lips. “That is better than sex.”

“See? I told you.” Emma sits back against the couch, continuing to eat as he grabs a plate for himself and they both eat in silence. “Oh, crap.”

Killian looks over to see what happened and immediately regrets it.

A small amount of frosting had fallen from the fork and landed in her cleavage. He takes one look at her and has to refrain from groaning as he quickly faces forward again. He sets the cake down and is about to get up to retrieve a napkin, but before he does, she scoops up the frosting with her finger and brings it to her mouth, sucking on her digits. “Mmmm, it’s still good,” she comments, licking her lips.

Fuck.

He’s sure it is good. He wonders if she tastes even better than the cake. Killian tries to rid the thoughts from his mind as he grabs his plate of cake again and continues to eat.

Emma finishes her slice and sets the plate down, holding her belly as she slumps back into the couch. “I’m so full now.”

He cranes his neck to look at her and he can still see remnants from where the frosting fell between her breasts.

She catches him staring and furrows her brows in confusion. What?”

“You still have some frosting there, love,” he says, pointing to his chest.

She peers down at herself and laughs, looking up at him again. She must sense his uneasiness because she gives him a lazy smirk. “That doesn’t make you uncomfortable, does it?”

He chuckles and looks away. “Nope, not at all.”

“Mmhmmm,” she nods. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I just leave it there…”

This woman is trying to torture him.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Fine by me.”

He plans to avoid looking at her at all costs, but the little minx sits up and reaches for the remote, which is on the other side of the cake, and she makes sure to give him a better view of her breasts with the frosting still smudged on her soft skin. He tries not to look, but it’s very hard not to. It’s indeed very hard.

He shifts in his seat, realizing the effect she has on him and he shoots up from the couch as she turns on the television. “Let me get you a napkin.” He flees from the room and grabs some napkins, releasing a heavy sigh. He looks down at himself and he’s as hard as a fucking rock.

Bloody hell.

Reluctantly, he heads back to the couch and sits next to her, handing her the napkin. She takes it and looks disappointed that he’s ruining her fun. Just as she’s about to dab the frosting with the napkin, he reaches out and grabs her hand to stop her before he even thinks about what he’s doing.

Emma’s eyes snap up, meeting his heated gaze. He can see the longing in her eyes. She is the one with the ability to read people, but after six months he’s able to read his best friend pretty damn well.

She wants him.

Hopefully just as much as he wants her. When her eyes drop to his lips, it only proves his theory to be true.

Slowly, he brings his hands to her face, his left thumb brushing over her cheek. When she lifts her eyes and stares directly into his soul, his heart starts pounding mercilessly. He leans in and catches her eyelids fluttering before he closes his eyes, softly capturing her lips. It takes her no time at all to react. She drops the napkin on the floor and curls her hands around the collar of his shirt as she moves her lips against his.

He can’t believe he’s actually kissing his best friend, and it hasn’t really sunk yet. They’ve shared pecks on the cheeks, on each other’s forehead and other innocent parts of their body, but never once has he kissed her on the mouth until now. Those were all friendly, chaste kisses meant to express their affection toward one another, but this is vastly different. This kiss is hot and volcanic, every inch of his skin exploding as he savors the delicate press of her lips; they’re soft and pliant against his own, his tongue darting out to trace the taste of cake at the seam blocking the entrance to her mouth.

She parts her lips, allowing his tongue to swoop in and taste her. She’s more delicious than he’d imagined. Her mouth is soft and tastes like red velvet and cream cheese, and he sucks on her tongue to get more of her flavor. Once he tastes her, he can’t enough. The slowness of the kiss is gone, rapidly heating up, his hands sliding into her hair until his fingers are entangled in her soft curls. Kissing her is everything he imagined it to be. Her mouth is everything he imagined it would be; it’s an intoxicating mixture of soft lips, a warm, eager tongue, playful nips and her sweet, decadent taste.

Emma climbs atop him, straddling his lap, their lips never disconnecting as his arms snake around her. His palms are on the small of her back, fingers digging into her as he pulls her to him until her breasts are flush against his chest. He becomes infused with the couch beneath him, melting in the cushions as her body molds into his.

He kisses her with the intensity of the feelings he’s held for her over the past six months. He’s waited all this time until it was the right time for both of them. He wanted to rebound after what that wretched bitch did to him, but truth be told, he couldn’t stomach the idea of being with a woman who wasn’t Emma. He tried going on dates, but none of the women was his Swan, so he never went further than dinner with them. Emma had the same issue, although she’d never said, or at least never admitted out loud that it was because of him.

He releases her lips, leaving them both panting for air, his breath ragged on her skin as his lips drag across her jaw. He takes some of her hair in his hand, gently tugging her head back so he can kiss down the column of her neck, his lips moving in a blazing hot pursuit. Her mouth is so heavenly, he didn’t want to stop kissing her, but at the same time, he’s eager to taste other parts of her.

His hands slide underneath the hem of her shirt, fingers wrapping around her slim waist as he kisses the tops of her breasts, licking off the remaining frosting off her skin. Both of them moan at the contact, and her fingers scrub through his hair as he savors the added sugary sweetness mixed with the tangy sweetness of her skin on his tongue. He kisses her there with the hunger of a man who’s been fasting his whole life. He’s tasted nothing so delicious, and he’s dying to taste her most secret place because he can only imagine what he’s doing to her and what that tastes like.

He’s back at her mouth, but only long enough to find her tongue again, getting another taste. He tears his lips away to pull off her shirt and sees that she’s not wearing a bra. He growls, his cock twitching in his pants as his eyes glide over her beautiful bare breasts, her pink nipples stiffening under her gaze. He’s touched them before, six months ago while he was half asleep… while he was dreaming of she who shall not be named.

Killian lifts his eyes to Emma’s as he remembers the promise he made to her. His hands are on her hips as she’s unbuttoning his vest, and apparently she can read his thoughts.

“You’re not thinking of Milah are you?” she asks playfully.

He lowers his head and moves in, kissing the valley of her breasts. “Who the hell is Milah?” He breathes in Emma’s intoxicating scent as he wraps his arms around her back and kisses along the curve of her breast, eagerly drawing a nipple into his mouth.

Emma moans, melting into him as her fingers curl around his dark locks of hair. He sucks on the hardened bud, taking her other breast in his hand, squeezing and pulling her nipple. He licks her, twirling his tongue around her areola, and sucks her bud into his mouth, groaning several times at how good she tastes. How good she feels in his mouth. His hands and lips take turns exploring her lovely breasts, switching back and forth between each one. Both of her breasts are perfect—the perfect size, the perfect amount of softness, the perfect nipples colored with the perfect shade of pink—he couldn’t pick a favorite from the two of them if he wanted to.

As soon as he pulls away, Emma’s shoving off his vest, and together they pull off his shirt. Her eyes light up as takes in the view of his body, her hands gravitating to his chest like they belong there, fingers combing through his chest hair. Her touch ignites his skin.

“Do you want to know what I wished for when I blew out the candle?” she asks, lifting her eyes to his.

Killian raises a curious brow. “I thought it wouldn’t come true if you told me, love?” he asks, his voice completely wrecked.

Mischief laces her little smile. “It already did.”

Killian’s heart pounds in his chest. Her statement could only mean one thing.

“I wished for you to kiss me.”

He smiles and wraps his arms around her back, pulling her to him. “Well, then you were wrong in assuming your wish wouldn’t come true if you told me… because I would’ve kissed you either way.”

Emma grins happily, wraps her arms around the back of his neck and smashes her lips against his, kissing him breathlessly. He groans in her mouth when her breasts are pressed against his chest and he can feel how hard her gorgeous nipples are through his hair. With their lips attached, Killian scoops her up in his arms and lays her on the couch, her head resting on the arm of the sofa as he explores her body, his fingers kneading her breasts before trickling down her body. When he reaches her core through the thin fabric of her shorts, he can feel the heat of her dampness gathering at the crux of her thighs.

Emma moans, writhing underneath him. “Killian… I want you…”

Oh, gods.

He didn’t think it was possible to want her more, but hearing her beg for him causes something to snap inside him, and he’s desperate to grant another one of her wishes. He tucks his thumbs under the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down as she raises her hips to allow him to remove them, and once again he growls. She’s not wearing knickers either.

He pulls the shorts the rest of the way down her long, silky smooth legs and throws them carelessly on the floor, his eyes sweeping over her gorgeous, glistening folds as she spreads her legs for him. “Fuck, Emma,” he groans, wrapping his hand around her foot to plant a kiss on the tops of her toes. “You’re trying to kill me.”

She’s grinning devilishly at him from where she lays. “That was the plan.”

He lifts both eyebrows and smirks. “So you put on these pajamas with no underwear, hoping I would find out? Hoping I would see you without them?”

Emma nods slowly, biting her smile. “That was my other wish.”

Fuck.

Knowing she came home and dressed specifically for him, purposely not wearing any underwear with the anticipation of having him see her without them makes his head spin. It’s so fucking hot, he could explode from merely looking at her from his current angle.

His fingers move, finding her where she’s dripping wet, his touch ghosting over her clit, making her back arch. She sucks in a shallow breath and he looks up at her face, seeing her eyes glowing in anticipation.

A low growl crawls from his throat. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already fucking soaked for me.”

“Told you, you’re what I wished for.”

“So, this is all for me?”

She nods, unashamed of herself. “God, yes.” Her voice is wrecked, and it’s clear how deprived she truly was of him.

His hand falls to her entrance, her nectar coating his fingertips. He wants to lick up her goodness and tongue her into oblivion. His cock twitches at the thought.

Gods, he can’t wait to taste her. He presses two fingers inside of her cunt, her muscles tightening around him, begging for more contact.

Without warning, he pushes the two teasing fingers deep inside her, watching as Emma’s mouth opens, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she rocks her hips into his touch. Her cheeks and chest are already flushed red, her chest lifting and falling sporadically as he rubs that little sweet spot inside her wet heat. She’s completely naked and her lips are swollen, her eyes darkened with lust. It’s a glorious sight to behold.

She’s so tight around him, and he can’t wait to feel her around his cock, but first, he’s dying to taste her. He climbs atop her and begins kissing his way down her beautiful, writhing body. Her breasts, her nipples, her stomach. As he thrusts his fingers deep in her cunt, he makes his way lower and lower until he’s off the couch, kneeling on the floor. He’s leaning over her, planting soft kisses on her nub, which is clean-shaven and smooth under his lips. Her legs are spread wide for him as he tenderly kisses each of her inner thighs, inhaling her lovely feminine scent. He growls in anticipation of having her in his mouth.

He wraps his arms around her thighs and lifts her legs over his shoulders for better access, his teeth biting along her soft flesh, indelibly marking her skin as her dripping pussy is only centimeters away from his mouth. Not wasting any more time, he swipes his tongue out to lick her. Even though she knows it’s coming, Emma lets out a small gasp of surprise as he drags his tongue from her soaked entrance to her clit. He smiles to himself at the sounds she makes before capturing her clit with his lips, his tongue flicking over her flesh, sucking softly, making her hips jolt.

He’s so glad to realize he was wrong before when he thought she tasted as good as the cake. She tastes much better than the cake. He groans against her sensitive flesh, already in love with her flavor as he tongues her with long, languid strokes, eagerly laving up her arousal. He sucks at her lips, experimenting with different techniques around her clit. But it doesn’t matter how he licks her; the results are the same. A slew of moans pour from her lips as her hands are buried in his tousled hair, her knuckles probably white from how tightly she’s gripping onto him as she rolls her hips into him, desperately riding his face, and presses firmer and closer until he has to regulate his breathing, surrounded by the taste and smell and feel of her cunt.

Killian doesn’t let up, his mouth and tongue exploring her thoroughly, working wonders on her. He can tell Emma is completely helpless on the other side of the couch, her breathing accelerated as she feels one of his hands slide away from her thigh, to her opening. Two fingers dive deep with little effort, her own slickness and how soft her inner walls are make a perfect combination in aiding him in his endeavor of making her cum in his mouth.

His cock is aching to take her, but he’s too focused on her pleasure to do anything about it. He knows she’s close to coming when her legs start to shake on either side of his head. Killian increases his ministrations, tonging and finger fucking his best friend into submission.

“Killian… oh god…” The nails of her fingers dig into his scalp, but not deep enough to hurt him. In fact, he loves how restless she is, how much she craves his tongue whenever he pulls away slightly, making her squirm for more. “Killian, please… I’m so fucking close,” Emma whimpers, her muscles twitching around his talented tongue.

When he curls his fingers inside her, she flies over the edge, her delicious ambrosia exploding in his mouth. Her entire body wrenches, her moans dying down as she falls from the precipice of her orgasm.

He’s not finished when her body goes limp from her climax and keeps torturing the sensitive bud between his lips with a slow, circling tongue. Soft whimpers pour from her lovely lips, her eyes closed, mouth parted slightly as she basks in the afterglow of her orgasm. His fingers keep working in and out of her, coaxing more stimulation with each coordinated stoke.

He doesn’t want to stop, he could do this all night, but he knows all good things must come to an end. He leaves a lingering lick along her slit and a gentle, wet kiss to her nub, making her wince with sensitivity. He groans as he removes his fingers from her core, sliding them into his mouth, eyes fixating on the eyes smiling over at him. She lifts her hand and croaks a finger, beckoning to him. He responds to her summons and climbs on the couch, gently laying on top of her. She cups his cheeks in her hands, bringing his lips to hers, pressing his wet scruff against her lips so she can taste herself. She moans into his mouth as he brushes his tongue against hers.

She reaches between them and undoes his pants, slipping her hand inside his boxers. He lifts himself up just enough to allow her to wrap her hand around his cock. They both moan at the contact.

“Take your pants off,” she demands, giving his shaft a few firm pumps. He groans and thrusts his hips into her touch. “That’s another one of my wishes.”

He chuckles against her lips. “You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

She smirks slyly. “It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to be demanding. I want your pants off and your dick inside me.”

Killian growls and wastes not another second, practically leaping off the couch and lifting her up. He tries to navigate across the room with her lips latched onto his and her legs wrapped around his waist as he carries her to his bedroom and lowers her feet to the floor once they’re past the threshold.

They’re still kissing as Emma pulls his pants down, and he removes his shoes and tugs off his pants, tossing them aside. Emma tears her lips away, her eyes scanning over his throbbing erection, tongue sweeping hungrily over her lips. This is the first time they’ve seen each other naked, and it’s glorious. Killian doesn’t wish this night to end so quickly and he’s afraid once he’s inside her, he won’t last long. So, he pulls her into his arms, his hands sliding down her backside and over her butt, squeezing firmly as Emma’s lips make a trail down his neck and over his chest, every kiss burning his skin. She moves her hands up and down his body, both of them exploring each curve and contour of the other. Emma curls her hand around his cock and strokes him as he fingers her. The noises they make fill the room, and before he explodes in her hand, he lifts her up and brings her to the bed, depositing her onto the mattress.

His mouth is back on hers, and they’re kissing again, their bodies writhing, hands continuing to explore each other until they’re panting profusely, heartbeats slamming against their chests.

“Shall we use protection?” he asks, remembering he has an old pack of condoms in his sock drawer. “I have some condoms, but they’re more than six months old.” He hasn’t used them since he was with what’s her name? He honestly can’t remember, he’s too enamored with the woman beneath him.

“That’s okay, I’m on birth control and I’ve been tested since I found out that asshole was cheating on me.”

“I got tested as well.”

Emma smirks mischievously. “Good, because I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel it when you cum inside me. That’s my next wish.”

Killian groans and crushes her lips with his. He’s so fucking hard, he can’t wait a second longer to have her. In one fluid motion, he maneuvers the head of his cock at her entrance, pushing himself into her. Emma moans and wraps her legs tightly around him. She reaches behind him and grabs his ass, her fingers squeezing him, pushing him in deep so he’s stretching her wide. He groans, finally feeling those soft, slick walls around his cock and he thrusts into her, his eyes rolling back in his head. She’s so tight and warm and it doesn’t take much for him to feel like he’s on the verge of his climax. He lowers his head and mouths her breasts, hoping to distract himself from coming too soon, but it’s not working very well. She feels too damn good.

“Gods, you feel incredible,” he groans, pulling away from her breasts, his fingers clutching at her soft thighs. “I’m so close already.”

“Me too. Fuck me harder, Killian. You feel so good inside me,” she moans, her voice completely wrecked as her hands move to his biceps, fingernails digging into his skin.

His heart is pounding erratically in his ear but somehow he manages to make out her reply, changing the angle of his hips in answer and snapping into her. He reaches between their bodies to where they’re joined and he strokes her clit to take her with him. A string of curses and moans pour from her mouth as he fingers and fucks her at the same time, bringing them both closer and closer to the edge.

He can feel it; the pleasure that had been roiling low in his belly since they started kissing, finally releases. It spreads through him, burning away anything else, the outside world fading away until the only thing that remains is them here together, making love. He looks deeply into her eyes, which are full of warmth and perhaps something else as she gazes up at him, and he can think of nothing but the two of them. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she places her hands on his back as he moves inside her.

“Emma… oh, gods,” he whispers in her ear, his words shattered. The building pressure spreads inside him until it becomes unbearable and he rocks into her relentlessly until he explodes inside her, filling her up with his cum, just as she’d wished for. Emma cries out and shudders beneath him as her own orgasm catapults through her body, fingernails digging into his skin, her toes curling against his thighs.

When they finally come back to themselves, Killian collapses into the mattress beside her, pulling the blankets over them. Emma lays her head on his chest, placing her hand on his stomach as he presses soft kisses through her hair.

“Gods, Emma, that was…”

“About bloody time? Worth the wait? Fucking incredible? Better than cake?” she laughs languidly. “Did I forget anything?”

“Agreed, agreed, agreed, definitely agreed. And nope, I think that about covers my thoughts exactly,” he chuckles, running his fingers up and down her arm. Although, there is one thing she didn’t mention that he wonders about. “I’ll be sure to tell Mary Margaret, my replications of her recipes were a complete success.”

Emma laughs. “She’ll be happy to hear that. Though you may not want to tell her just how successful they were,” she adds, combing her fingers through his chest hair.

“Ah, so you’re saying my cooking abilities determined how the night played out?” he teases playfully.

She shakes her head against his chest. “No, I think we’d end up here in bed regardless of how you cooked lasagna and baked the cake.”

He cocks a brow, peering down at her. “So, I would have been able to lure you into bed without my cooking skills?”

She swats him playfully. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’ve got some talent in the kitchen. In fact, I think you’re in the wrong profession and should’ve been a cook instead. But let’s face it…” Emma pauses in hesitation as her soft, green eyes look over at him, “we would have ended up together regardless of how tonight panned out.”

Killian’s heart flutters underneath her hand. “You’re sure about that, huh?”

“Yeah, why do you think I never went on those dates Mary Margaret tried to get me to go on?”

“Because I know you have a hard time trusting men after being burned twice.”

She nods. “I do, but I couldn’t even talk myself into having a one night stand with anyone,” she confesses, her eyes flicking to his. “You’re the one guy I do trust. You’re my best friend.”

Killian is relieved to hear her say those things. He’d imagined that’s how she felt, but hearing her say it out loud and knowing he wasn’t alone in his feelings, gave him a huge sense of relief. “Well, love, I haven’t been able to be with anyone else either. How could I when I’m in love with someone else? You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. The feistiest woman, the most beautiful. No one else could possibly compare,” he murmurs, lifting his hand to her face, his thumb caressing her cheek.

Emma lifts her head from his chest. “Killian, did you just say you loved me?”

Shit. He did. He didn’t even realize he’d said it.

Taking in the embarrassed look on his face and the rosy blush crawling up his cheeks, Emma can’t help herself and starts giggling. As to be expected, this doesn’t improve the situation and, if possible, he blushes even more.

He gulps thickly, clearing his throat. Is she laughing because she finds it funny that he could be in love with her or is she laughing because she thinks he’s joking? He guesses it’s better than if she had a negative reaction. But, if she finds out that he’s not joking, will she run? Will she be scared or mad at him? Does she even feel the same way he does?

“I didn’t… I… no, ugh...” he stutters, sinking his head into the pillow, and runs his hands over his burning red face. He’s not actually embarrassed by his confession, but he’s afraid if he tells her the truth, he’ll lose her.

“Oh, come on, Killian,” she tries again, completely flustered, burying her head under the pillow.

This is not how he wanted to express his feelings for her. He also hadn’t planned on taking her to bed before he told her. He would have been content on spending the rest of her birthday cuddled up on the couch and catching up on The Good Place on Netflix while trying to build up the courage to confess his love for his best friend.

So much for that.

Emma replaces the pillow under her head and takes his hand into her own, intertwining their fingers. Her giggling slowly fades into a whole-hearted smile as her eyes with his and places a soothing palm on his cheek to calm him. He stares into her eyes trying to read what she’s thinking, but maybe he’s not as good at reading her as he thought.

“I love you, too, Killian,” she says with a grin.

“You do?”

“Of course I do.”

Killian breathes the longest sigh of relief he’s ever breathed before. “Thank God. I was afraid that after my Freudian slip of the tongue, I’d lose you.”

She shakes her head against the pillow, still donning a smile. “You could never lose me.”

He turns on his side to face her and plants a brief, but tender kiss on her lips, all the frustrated tension he’d built up during the conversation easing up. He takes a deep, shaky breath and looks her straight in the eye, the tranquility in her emerald orbs giving him the courage he needs to tell her the truth that he’s spent the last few months trying to tell her, and apparently already has. But she needs to know his slip of the tongue wasn’t a mistake. “I love you, Emma.” He smiles and lifts his hand to stroke her hair. “You are my light and I am so glad we met. So glad you were at my door that day six months ago. You stopped me from making a big mistake by going into that apartment. And you’ve stayed by my side ever since.”

She smiles and raises her hand to his cheek, her thumb gently caressing his skin. “Well, you know what they say… sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.”

He nods. “This is definitely better. Much better. And it’s only the beginning.” He kisses her again, his heart exploding with joy. He feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders since he told her. Since he knows she feels the same as he does. Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against hers as she licks her lips. “So… anymore wishes for your birthday?” he asks with a mischievous smirk.

Emma laughs and presses her body into his, hooking an arm around his waist and nuzzling her face into his chest. “No, I have everything I need right here.”

Her words warm his heart, and he wraps her up in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I’m glad. Happy birthday, Emma.” He’s lulled to sleep by the sound of her soft breathing and thoughts of how much his life has changed over the last six months.

When he arrived at his flat in Boston six months ago, after the flight from England, the woman he thought he would spend the rest of his life with was betraying him on the other side of the door. Little did he know the woman he would actually spend the rest of his life with was on his doormat. When his plans all went to hell, when everything around him had a crack in it, he found the light that shone through. When he should have been hopeless, falling down an endless spiral of misery and sorrow, he instead found a glimmer of hope.

He found Emma and never looked back.

@onceuponaprincessworld @ilovemesomekillianjones @artistic-writer @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @followbatb @teamhook @darkcolinodonorgasm @nikkiemms @mariakov81 @kingofmyheart14 @kday426 @withheartfulloflove @takhisismb @ohmakemeahercules @bugheadswanjones @tiffanyyy-ma @authorarsinoe @idristardis @balckwolf98 @xarandomdreamx @thejollyroger-writer @mamegank @whatthehell102082 @myswan-myhappyending-mylove @yasbio2015 @squidvisious @leftbeyondthestars @hallway5 @andiirivera @spartanguard

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #cs smut #a glimmer of hope #my fic

60 notes · View notes

talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 years

Text

A View To A Winchester (Part 7)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle. Gotten pretty cute and fluffy, with some angst. I’m a few sections ahead now in my writing so the outline of the story is taking shape and smut is on the near horizon. This has been a fun escape during stay-at-home orders. Getting to know Dean through my heroine’s eyes has been a great writing exercise and therapeutic reduction in anxiety. There should be studies done on what staring at photos and video of Dean/Jensen does to the human body. (But the SPN fandom has probably done one already; if not, it could be the next big scientific breakthrough.)

Section Word Count: 3,385

Section Content: fluff, angst, R-rated language, drinking, Spice Girls references, Dean being Dean and turning ladies to puddles

Thank you to @deanwanddamons for reading some of the story so far. Appreciate it.

~~~~~

Dean had not returned the next day. But Julie was apparently on his mind. He’d texted her that morning with an update. Another job had dropped into his lap. One too good to pass up. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. But he was looking forward to seeing her when he got back.

That was on a Monday. She filled that day with decisions about what to make for her “girl power get together” scheduled for the end of the week. There was also the necessary recuperation from overdoing it with the wine. She hadn’t been that hungover in a while. Bingeing on caffeine and “The Office” helped.

By Tuesday, she’d become ancy. Staying home was not going to work. If her mind was going to run around in circles, there would need to be something else to occupy it. Rifling through options landed on a trip to a nearby state park. She’d decided on one with a bit of a challenging hike. Composed of winding hills and trails near the Brandywine River, the nature reserve filled her senses, balancing the whirlwind of emotions. She spent close to an hour sitting beside the riverbed. A turbulent spot chosen where the white water rushed over boulders and splashed into a slight descent. The river’s frantic pace cancelled out the chirping of busy birds. A gauge nearby displayed a healthy amount of rain had occurred over the past few weeks.

Even the intrusion into her personal space by a talkative, friendly dog walker didn’t bother her that much. The petite raven-haired woman, whose age was hard to pinpoint, made some chit chat while Julie trekked back to her car. Her name was Ina and she was new to Delaware. Currently, she was in search of a server job at a high-end restaurant where the tips would make it worth her time. “Any recommendations for decent food markets? Best place to order take-out, Thai being my favorite?” Ina’s chocolate lab, Cocoa, sniffed at Julie’s sneakers with abandon as questions were tossed in her general direction. Julie pet Cocoa, dodging some inquiries and rambling off information about places near her home. Cocoa got a few good scratches behind an ear before she wished Ina well settling into Pike Creek.

Wednesday ticked by even slower. Her fingers itched to text Dean. The basement had been the lucky recipient of her time and attention. A large amount of progress was made unpacking boxes, sorting out donations, and finding permanent spots in the house for decorative items. She broke down and reached out to her brother and sister-in-law, Patty, and face timed with her nephews later that night.

By Thursday, she went over her mom’s house. They ended up going to the mall and then shopping for the food Julie needed for her Friday night get together. She was reminded by her mother to feed the ladies well, with various cooking tips. Dean was also a large part of her mother’s focus. Julie feigned as much non-interest on the Winchester topic as possible. But her mother knew her well enough. She was reminded upon leaving to feed him the lasagna in the freezer soon.

Karen, Stacey, and Cat benefitted from a substantial number of Julie’s hours in the kitchen that Friday night. She’d attempted chicken parmesan, one of her mom’s signature dishes. Sauce had simmered on the stove for a couple hours - not as long as Brigida’s, but not bad. They were on the second bottle of red wine, having moved out of the dining room and into the living room. Cat, sensible and responsible as usual, was abstaining and had driven the other former college roommates over to Julie’s house.

Streaming radio played. They ended up singing along to “Holler” by The Spice Girls, sans Ginger. Julie had always been eager to take Posh’s lines, mainly because hers were few and far between. But, Karen, with her mocha colored skin, coiffed haircut, and pencil-thin skirt wrapping a pencil-thin body truly embodied the word posh. In spite of all that, Karen tapped away on her cell phone while covering Scary’s verses.

Julie had always admired Karen’s drive and dedication. She even hoped to get the divorce thing down as well as Karen. Her two teenage boys were spending the weekend at the Ex’s. She was heading up to New York by train to see her wealthy lawyer boyfriend Saturday morning. Karen made more money than “new man” did. She was a partner in a very successful law firm.

Stacey always loved Baby Spice. She had the requisite long blonde hair and blue eyes and curvy figure. She also apparently loved babies, as she had birthed three of them in her fifteen years of wedded bliss. The youngest child was two and at home with the rest of the brood that night. Her somewhat sickeningly sweet hubby was great with the kids, she gushed. “He doesn’t think he’s babysitting when he spends time with them.” She nodded and pointed at all three women in succession. Her affinity for wine had not faltered either from their college days. Stacey’s lips are already way too loose when she’s sober. Her rouge stained mouth was downright slippery at present, wet with a good Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Lucky you.” Karen quipped. “My ex went to the mat to get shared custody. Yet, every time it’s ‘his’ weekend, there has to be an argument.” Karen’s love for air quotes hasn’t gone away. She smiled over at Cat. “You should have tried harder to seduce me, Kitty Kat. Would have saved me decades of dumb dick.”

Cat, who always seemed relegated to Sporty Spice by default, pushed black rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her blue eyes crinkled behind the frames. “It wouldn’t have stuck, Kar.” She dipped and sipped at her soda. Sharp angles of her brown bob curtained a pale face. Stubby fingers with short nails - that she probably still bites - flicked the hair back. “Besides, I wouldn’t be happily domesticated with Sheila now. And you hate dogs. I have two, remember? Big ones.” Cat turned to Julie. “What about you, Jules?”

Julie’s eyes widened behind her own glasses. “Are you offering to try and seduce me, Cat?”

Karen and Stacey laughed. Cat blushed. “No, smartass. Are you going to get a pet to keep you company?”

Julie shook her head. “Don’t think so.” She was taking it easier on the wine than the other two, still milking her second serving. There would be no hangover repeat.

“Well, a man, then?” Karen asked.

Stacey guffawed. “It’s only been a few months. Give the woman a chance to grieve.”

“Grieve over what? A shitload of baggage she never checked on the flight.” Karen shot back.

Cat rolled her eyes. “Here they go,” she mumbled.

Julie cleared her throat. All three turned to stare in her direction. “There is… someone.”

Karen slapped her thigh. “That’s my girl!”

“Already?” Stacey’s lids blinked in rapid succession.

Cat waved a hand at Stacey to hush, looking at Julie the whole time. “Details.”

Julie began the very lengthy tale that was Dean Winchester. When she was done, she was met with mixed reactions from the trio.

“He’s been stalking you?” Karen’s brow furrowed.

“He’s a bounty hunter?” Stacey added her concern.

“What’s his name again?” Cat pulled her tablet out of the huge purse by her feet. She was a communications manager at a large non-profit and social media was her specialty.

Julie shifted in her seat. “Dean Winchester.” Defense mode shot up. “To be fair, it’s not like I was innocent in the whole stalking thing, either.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t go much beyond some Googling, right? He got downright illegal in his activity.” Karen shook her head.

“Hm.” Cat frowned. “You said he’s around our age?”

Julie nodded. “43, he said.”

Stacey wagged a sluggish finger. “Hey, we’re 40. Don’t age us all prematurely. Nature’s doing a fine job of that without any additional assistance.” Stacey’s starting to slur. May have to cut her off soon.

Cat ignored Stacey, swiping and typing. “I’m not coming up with anyone around that age with that name. Weird.”

“Why’s that weird?” Stacey asked.

“Everyone has a digital footprint. Something can be found on anyone pretty quickly. Even if it’s the smallest, inconsequential bit of data. But, to find nothing…”

Julie shrugged. “Maybe he’s good at covering his tracks.”

“Even more reason to be wary of this guy, Jules.” Karen attempted a maternal look. “He sounds like the epitome of a bad boy. Come on, a vintage muscle car? You’re a sucker for that type. We were study partners working on our Minors in Psychology together, remember? Think about it. Ten years with a man you thought was a good partner and reliable, only to have that rug ripped out from under you? I’d be searching for the exact opposite, too, faster than you could say peanut butter sundae.” No wonder she makes the big bucks. She presents a damn good argument.

“Karen’s right.” Stacey tried to sound soothing. “You’re in a very vulnerable state right now. Hormones are probably all over the place. Any guy with ill intentions could take advantage of that.”

Julie raised a brow. “If you saw this man in person, Stace… trust me, you’d be all aboard the Dean Train. Remember Gavin Teller?” Julie leaned forward for emphasis.

“Yeah?” Stacey squeaked out the question.

“Imagine Gavin having aged to perfection, like that fine wine you enjoy so much.” She pointed at Stacey’s glass. “Now, square that. You get Dean Winchester.”

“We all remember Gavin in his heyday.” Karen let out a low-key whistle. “Damn. I may have to reconsider my opening statement.” Her original career path of a prosecutor fell by the wayside midway through her college career. An enticing salary that could be earned helping clients buy and sell publicly traded companies won out.

Stacey shushed Karen. “College quarterbacks don’t turn into bounty hunters.”

Cat raised both hands in the air. “That is an opinion, not fact. And a totally ridiculous leap. Besides, Gavin Teller sells cars at his dad’s dealership now, is bald, and has a pot belly. His local TV spots are downright cringeworthy. Such a pain in the ass when his company sponsored one of our events. Wanted his cheesy grin inserted in so many media posts. How is that better than being a badass bounty hunter?”

Julie smiled at the tension and exchanged a knowing glance with Karen. They had long suspected there’d been some sexual experimentation between Cat and Stacey around college graduation. It had centered around a night of lemon drop body shots.

Stacey tilted her nose up. “He was always nice to me.”

“That’s because he liked how you looked in that cheerleading skirt, Stace. I know I did. But, really, Julie… you should be careful.” Cat repeated the other’s concern.

The doorbell chimed. Stacey gasped and Karen’s posture stiffened. Cat returned the tablet to her purse.

“Did you order more food?” Nervous laughter from the ladies followed Cat’s question.

Julie shook her head. She looked at her watch. It was not quite 7:30 pm. Seconds later her phone buzzed. She tapped at the screen to view the text.

Knock, knock

“Oh, shit.” Julie whispered.

“What?” Karen placed her wine glass atop a coaster on the coffee table. Even in high alert, the woman has good etiquette.

“It’s him.”

Stacey cupped a hand over her mouth.

“Dean Winchester?” Cat asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why’s he coming by unannounced?” Karen was in full-blown fact-finding mode.

Julie wrinkled up her nose. “I may have told him to stop by when he got back.”

“How desperate are you?” Stacey scolded.

“Stacey…” Julie sighed.

Karen raised two hands in the air with a smile on her face. “This is great.”

“Why?” Cat asked.

“So we can all get held hostage by Julie’s lady killer?” Stacey’s voice got higher with each word.

“We can vet him.”

“Vet him?” Julie groaned.

“Yep.” Julie had seen that stern nod from Karen countless times. “If he seems like a creep, you’re done with him. I’ll call in a favor to get a court order issued if need be.”

Stacey nodded. “Yeah. Between the three of us, we’ll be able to give you a decent character profile. And Cat’s not affected at all by men…”

Cat slapped both palms on her thighs.

Karen waved Julie to the door. “Hurry up and open it.”

“This is a horrible nightmare,” Julie mumbled. Her stomach was doing somersaults. What the hell will Dean think? What will the girls do?

“Your phone’s buzzing again.” Cat commented. “Anxious little bugger, isn’t he? What did you promise the man?”

Julie took a deep breath, her hand on the doorknob. The last rays of daylight sparkled through the etched glass. Maybe this is good. I may really need an objective opinion. After all, he’s probably not as irresistible as I’m making him out to be. Context.

When she opened the door, Dean greeted her with a full watt smile. “Hey there.” The two words slipped out slow. His hands held the cake box, fingers thrumming against the cardboard sides. “I was told to deliver this as soon as I got back.” His tongue darted out to the side for a quick lick of his bottom lip while he inspected her.

Damn. He was outfitted in a light grey, muscle-hugging t-shirt and faded blue jeans. Positively edible. Fuck context. She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over her lips. This will be fun.

He stepped up into the entryway, not waiting for permission to enter. His hands offered Julie the box. She was careful to grab the box from the base. He glanced over her head and spotted the company in the living room. His eyes narrowed, tilting down to look into Julie’s eyes. “Sorry. Am I interrupting?” He whispered. “I saw the car parked out front when I drove into the neighborhood… didn’t recognize it…”

Julie arched a brow. “Were you worried for my safety? Or being nosy?”

He grinned. “A little of both.”

She nodded him into the living room. “Come meet some friends.”

He nodded in return and shuffled into the living room, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders back, a swirl of timid confidence. The ladies were all up from their seats. The tiny living room felt even smaller with the congregation and Dean’s frame occupying some of it. Julie’s slow steps gave her time to take in the reactions, hiding somewhat behind Dean’s impressive stature. In his wake, she picked apart his scent. The heady mix of leather, sweat, and grease was sharp and crazy intoxicating.

Stacey’s mouth hung open in slight disbelief. Karen fiddled with her hoop earrings and gave Dean the full top to bottom to top inspection. Cat’s eyes narrowed.

When Julie strolled up to Dean’s left, she saw his cautious smile preparing to melt the group. “Dean, these are some college friends of mine.” Julie rattled off their names in order. “Karen. Stacey. Catherine.”

Cat smiled over at Julie, appreciating the replacement of her nickname reserved only for select company.

And, then, Dean unleashed the smile that Julie was certain would topple their wall of uncertainty. He extended his hand and shook each one with the right amount of strength. “Pleasure to meet you, ladies. I didn’t think Julie had any friends.” He chuckled. “She doesn’t get many visitors.”

“And you’d know that because of all the spying you’ve been doing on our dear friend, I hear.” Karen was ready to knock him down a peg or two right out of the gate. But the look on her face betrayed the lackluster attempt at disapproval.

Dean’s eyes widened and he stared at Julie. “Have you been talking about me?”

Julie pursed her lips.

Dean shrugged, intense eyes still on Julie. “Well, if you appreciated beautiful ladies as much as I do, you’d understand.”

Stacey cleared her throat, Dean reddening her cheeks even more than the red wine had. She looked in desperate need of fanning. “Where’re you from, Dean?”

The question pulled his gaze from Julie. He smiled at Stacey again. “Kansas.”

Julie tilted her head, wondering if it was the truth.

“Long way from Kansas.” Cat added.

“Well, I’ve been all over the country.”

The three nodded in unison. Karen asked, “Have you gotten a tour of Julie’s house yet, Dean?”

Julie’s eyes zeroed in on Karen with laser focus.

Dean licked his top lip. Julie caught Stacey and Karen taking particular notice of that sexy tick of his. Not the only one at the mercy of those physical attributes, am I, Ladies? “Um, no. This is the first time I’ve been allowed entrance into Julie’s compound, actually.” He pointed to the sliding door. “I’m usually relegated to outside chores.”

“Uh-” Julie started.

“We were getting ready to take a look around,” Stacey interjected. “Jules, why don’t we get the full narrated tour with Dean, here?”

Julie could feel her cheeks blushing.

“Oh, that’s…” He laughed, protesting with a shake of his head, “that’s okay. I’ll leave you ladies to your night. I was only dropping off this cake.” He pointed to the box Julie was still holding. “Still pretty damn tasty after a week.” He grinned at her. “I snuck another slice before bringing it back.” He rubbed a hand on his thigh. “It was nice meeting all of you.”

The three nodded again in unison. As Dean turned their gazes all dropped to stare at his ass. Julie stifled a giggle and pushed the box into Stacey’s hands. She met Dean at the door. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

He bent close to her ear and whispered, “You’ll have to let me know if I passed the test later,” waited a beat, straightened his posture, then ended with, “Jules.”

The light spilling in through the front door glass lit up his eyes a crystal green. “You’ve already passed mine.” She whispered back.

“Good.” He grinned.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” she asked.

His tongue peeked out only a sliver between his lips, revving up the grin even more. “Guess that depends on you.”

“Come over around 8:00.”

He tilted his head. “Is that a request or an order?”

She ignored the question. “Make sure you eat dinner ahead of time. Cause I’m not making any.”

Surprise mixed with amusement on his face. He glanced into the living room. The ladies were seated now, talking amongst themselves, but still staring at the pair. His gaze heated her back up when it returned. “Want me fueled up for any tasks in particular?” Julie shrugged in response. “Hm. Any other commands?”

“Just don’t disappear tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She sighed. “Don’t call me Ma’am.”

His eyes narrowed. “Kind of sexy when you’re bossy.”

She laughed, blushing again.

“And when you’re blushing.” He opened the door for himself, waved a hand to the women and then mouthed “See you tomorrow night” to Julie.

As soon as the door shut, Stacey called out, “I take back everything I said earlier.”

Karen added, “If you get kidnapped, give him my address so he can swing by and grab me, too.”

Julie giggled, walking over to the group. “Seriously, what did you think?”

Stacey’s eyes bugged out. “Oh my god! He’s gorgeous and knows how to use it. That’s dangerous on a ton of levels. But I don’t think he’s a crazy psycho.” Stacey fanned herself. “My husband’s in for it when I get home.”

Karen nodded. “Oh, he’s totally trouble and you’re in for an amazing ride. But, in this case, it’s not the destination but the journey. The journey all over that fine man, of which explicit details will be mandatory. Plus, he didn’t go for the bait to inspect your house. I think an under the radar creep would have been all for that.” She pointed at Julie. “But, we still get a tour as your oldies and besties.”

“Of course.” Julie turned to Cat. “What about you?”

Cat shrugged. “He seems alright. I still think he’s got stuff to hide, though. I’m going to do some serious digging.”

Julie frowned.

“Just looking out for you,” Cat added. “But he did have a really nice ass.”

Part 8

Series Page

#dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic series #supernatural fanfiction #spnfanficpond #dean x ofc #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #spn fanfiction

2 notes · View notes