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dreamiesdotcom · 4 years

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perhaps, Cupid | nct dream

Summary: You lay down in your bed, watch 13 change to 14 as the clock passes 11:59. You close your eyes, sigh, and hope that the world stops at 12:00 before promptly deciding that Valentine's Day is cancelled.

word count: 2.3k

moon's note: idk why but i usually give gifts during occasions... and out of random... but since its v-day and i caNT give y'all any gifts because idk which part of the world you lovelies are at, so maybe you can please have 2322 words of my nonsense? I tried

When Lee Jeno, the infamous Na Jaemin's best friend, walked inside the room to the dance club's meeting room with all sheepish 'Hello's and eye-smiles, you underestimated just how much havoc he could bring into your life. He seemed way too soft for his own good like he had no mischief under his sleeve — the exact reason why when he poked your sides to get your attention and asked you if you'd "help the dumb kids get together", you were more thrilled than concerned.

Right now, you think you should've agreed with Renjun and said 'that's a bad idea'.

Donghyuck, Jaemin's dormmate, wasn't even there when you planned things out, but well, you blame him. Jaemin bitterly staring at Jisung as the younger gets cuddled by Chenle? Hyuck's fault. Jisung blushing incomprehensible whenever it's Jaemin's turn to dance? Hyuck's fault. It's been days and resident sweet boy absolutely makes no move to court Jisung? Hyuck's fault as well.

"This pining is painful to watch," even Renjun can't help but point out even if he didn't even agree to the plan. Jeno sends you a victorious smile. "Jaemin, he's crushing hard on you."

"Yes, but what if he doesn't like me because—" you don't even get to clearly hear his reasons. You shake your head. Jeno's smile falters.

Jaemin sulks a lot about Jisung spending more time with Renjun than he does with Chenle, and asks the other if Jisung has a crush on him. Renjun groans in loathing, asks him to just go and make a move and repeats the same speech for days. Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months, and absolutely nothing happens.

Oh, well, maybe something did. Maybe along the way, you realized that Lee Jeno is one hell of an attractive man.

"Heaven's, Jeno, stop it! Stop pushing me to the side, I can't see what they're doing!"

"They're reading a book for the subject Jisung's tutoring Jaemin in."

"It's a library. Aren't you just inquisitive? That's why they're here. Now let me see!"

"Y/N!"

"Jeno!" you hiss back, still whisper-yelling turning to decently state at him only to find that he's already looking at you. You tilt away in shock, "Flippity pancakes, distance!"

You see, when you start matchmaking, the goal is to get people together — definitely not fall in love with your partner in crime.

"Just say fuck, no one would kill you," he hisses back. The same whining tone is there as he peeks on the other table, "Saying 'flippity pancakes' in a weird accent doesn't wash away your intentions, so just say it already."

"No."

"I dare you."

"No!"

"I double-dare you."

"Jeno."

"Y/N."

"No."

"Do it," he huffs,"Say 'fuck'."

The way he mouths it as if teaching a child to say their first words make you burst out laughing, and for the rest of the day, you forget the mission and get lost into playing games of your own in the library, muffled hums and all. Renjun decides that he's not gonna get any studying done at this table and waves you both goodbye, and you watch as Jeno smiles at him, an expression worthy to compare to that of a luminous star.

And oh, you're in love.

It wasn't all your fault, though. Jeno was way too pretty, too lovely to not fall for. It just so happens that like the fate of you and all things beautiful, you don't deserve him.

You don't deserve him, so he never gets to know.

###

"Be my date for Valentine's day?"

"Hell no."

Apparently, his family has this little gathering that coincidentally matched that time, and he stubbornly refuses to go alone. Why you ask? No reason. He just doesn't want to 'go alone and be forced to socialize with mean cousins' and you spent most of the time teasing about how he's probably one of the mean kids in his family. The rest of the bus ride on the way to school remains silent aside from the neverending proposals and bribings — "I'll treat you candy for one month! I'll do whatever you say for three months! I'll even do your assignments!"

It would be a lie to say it's not tempting, but oh, isn't this just the perfect opportunity to ask Jisung out? The enthusiasm in Jeno's eyes matches yours, and the answer is obvious here: Exactly.

For a whole different reason, the bus ride home is silent too. You sit side by side in pure quiet, Jaemin tugging at your sleeves every now and then to gain your attention. You brush him off, keeping your head against the glass with your eyes closed. You don't speak even after getting inside his apartment and the indifference makes Donghyuck pause halfway his concerned nagging, deciding to usher Renjun and Jeno out with such lame excuse of buying ingredients for dinner.

You go straight to their bathroom to get some supplies, and Jaemin sits on the couch, antsy. He silently curses Donghyuck for leaving, Huang Renjun and Lee Jeno too, those traitors. You sit in front of him, doing your stuff without making eye contact.

"Please talk to me—"

"Shut up."

A dejected whimper leaves his lips, and you quite possibly break. You sigh as if to calm down, and you mutter a warning: "Don't."

"But why aren't you talking to me?"

Why... why would you even ask that?

"You promised me, Jaemin. You made a promise to me." you coldly say, dainty fingers pressing cotton against the cut in his lip. "You promised me that you'll stop getting into fights."

Realization seems to flash in his eyes. He seems torn between reasoning and apologizing, but first, he chases after the hand you pulled away from him. You shrug him off harshly this time.

"I did, for the longest time, you saw that! But he called Jisung a—" he looks at you with betrayed eyes, as if a kicked puppy. He never liked that tone. He never liked how distant that felt coming from you, so tears brim his eyes. "Don't be so cold to me..."

"Jisung let him be. Isn't that enough hint that it's not worth it?" your tone remains the same. The fear in your chest remains stubborn, and no matter how many times he squeezes the hand he's holding, it doesn't bring you ease. It only urges tears that you try so hard to hold back as you croak out,

"Jaemin, this will not make him fall in love with you."

The world seems to pause.

"But I already love him." He answers quickly, honestly, and the raw sincerity in his tone is just a fine, thorough stab in the gut. "And I just want to protect him."

It's painful how you're not even regretting this as much as you should — maybe, part of the reason you keep on chasing him is because it's painful. True to your twisted self, maybe it's the sole reason after all. You don't know why you keep on doing this to yourself — you hate it. You hate how the more things hurt you, the deeper you fall. You hate how you can't seem to tear away from him as quick as possible because you know that what comes next will be even more painful, and might even destroy you.

With all these thoughts inside your mind, you let him lean his head in the crook of your neck, holding him in the way you always wanted. Selfishly, you hope that it could always be like this.

"I know, Nana..." you whisper, his locks soft as silk as you brush them with your fingers. "and for the exact same reason, I want to protect you too."

You take a deep, shaky breath. "So don't hurt yourself. Not for anyone, not for the world... no matter how much you love them."

Why is it so easy to say the things that'd keep you safe, but so hard to even attempt just following them? It's as if the Universe wants you hurt, wants to see you bleed unshed blood. It doesn't make sense.

The rules have been pretty simple; never fall in love. You're helping people get together — you come later, priorities first. Don't fall in love; not with your partner, not with your other accomplices, and especially, not with the fools you're helping.

The rule has been simple. Only that you think, it was way easier to break them than to follow, and you've failed this rule pretty early on.

Just how can you not adore Na Jaemin?

###

You laugh loudly, almost hitting your head to your headboard as you look at Jisung's post. In the picture, Jaemin smiles bubbly, and the caption's way too cheesy to read. Even though you were the one who helped them get together, it's still hard to believe that they actually did, these messes of human beings. You type out a quick 'Congrats to surviving one year together. Give credits to my brain cells, pls' and then turning the device off.

You lay down in your bed, watch 13 change to 14 as the clock passes 11:59. You close your eyes, sigh, hope the world stops at 12:00 before promptly deciding that Valentine's Day is cancelled.

Your phone vibrates in your hold, and you grumble.

From: not hyuck

It's Valentine's day

Let's use that as an excuse to get ice cream at midnight

You stir, set on ignoring his message, but you quickly shoot up once you hear the sound of something — hopefully not pebbles, God, let it not be pebbles — hitting your window. Seriously?!

To: not hyuck

Is that

Is that you throwing stones at my fucking window

STOP YOU MIGHT BREAK THE GLASS

And that's exactly how you found yourself with sticky fingers from the desert's residue, watching red lights cover the city in celebration of love. It seems ironic. Today of all days, you don't feel dear at all — it's alright, you convince yourself, it's been a year and it's hurting less now.

It's all lies, of course. It doesn't matter that it wasn't this painful all the other days; what matters is that now it hurts, and it fucking hurts like hell.

From up here, if you spread your arms and think hard enough, the wind would make it seem as though you're flying. You do just like that, the flavor of vanilla suddenly so bitter on your tongue as you realize that there's no escape. Oh, how you hate this day. It makes you chuckle.

Renjun sighs, "What's troubling you?"

"Fun. What gave me away?"

"Your eyes." He shrugs. "They sure tell more things about you than your mouth does."

"How do they look?" you ask out of curiosity, unconsciously moving up to feel your lashes. "My eyes..."

"Well, right now... they look kind of conflicted. Sad. Happy. Somewhere in between, like the person who owns them... doesn't really know. And, well, they're incredibly..." Renjun ponders for a bit; beautiful, he wanted to say. "Hard to read."

"Doesn't sound like it if you said that much."

Did it sound so rude that you were nonchalant? Probably. You're too tired to mind, though. It'd be a lie to say you didn't expect this, to feel alone once they get together, to be scared of being erased in their lives, to be afraid of being less important now. You knew none of them would be real, but that doesn't stop you from being afraid. Would it make sense to say you don't care at all, at this point? To say you don't give a damn when truly, you do. You care so much you feel indifferent.

"You liked them, didn't you?"

And then comes along the question you're most afraid of.

"You were in love with Jisung... now, you're in love with Jaemin." he muses to himself, "Yet you're the one making sure they end up together. What the hell are you?"

Since there's no place for lies in friendship...

"Do you see the way they look? They deserve to be happy, and me... well. Well, I..." you search for words you can't seem to find. After all, you don't even know where to go now — isn't this what you wanted? For Jisung and Jaemin to get together. What's this all about? You bemusedly shake your head, "Should've just fallen for you, huh."

Accelerate, heartbeat, flying — you turn to look at his direction — your eyes tell, your eyes say so much... how do you feel?

"You'd catch me, right, Renjunnie?"

"I'm not some back-up plan, excuse you." He rolls his eyes, huffing, "But, why not? Certainly. Would be my pleasure."

You stare at him in wonder, awestruck, amused and amazed. It's just a random joke you made so you wouldn't have to answer him truthfully, but goddamn, this — you feel oddly seen, chosen; as if you've never been chosen before. Maybe he's right. His heart picks up speed as more minutes pass in silence, so he looks away and smiles sheepishly.

Renjun closes his eyes briefly, "You didn't answer my question, though. To do whatever the hell you were doing... what the fuck are you?"

Both poison and sugar linger on your lips as you smile.

"Perhaps, Cupid."

Maybe, yes, right, Cupid. Makes sense. A matchmaker who creates perfect love, and quite possibly, trouble. Always setting people up but maybe not themselves. Renjun agrees, and so he whispers,

"Suits you. An angel."

You stare at him again, only this time around it's soft but startled, and for a brief moment of losing himself, Renjun whispers in his mind — hey, Cupid. Love me, will you?

Instead, in the real world, he gives you the same exact gaze — only fonder. Renjun knows. He knows that you fell in love thrice in this journey; once, with Park Jisung, another, with Lee Jeno, and lastly, with Na Jaemin.

Maybe, just maybe, Renjun wishes that at this tale of Valentine's chapter closed, you'll fall in love with him too.

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hishap · 3 years

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I want information about your "the mimics" fic, but, like, all of it, so choosing a piece to ask about is hard

Let's go with this part:

The Blue Team slept at the Defiant Root inn that night. Well, currently only Wil was sleeping : the other two were talking right outside the room, whispering not to wake their teammate up.

“Does she not realise you're-” Terra started.

“I don't think you fully understand”, Mimi interrupted her. “Ever since the Usurper debacle, the wasps of the Hive... tend to be very wary of mimics. Wil's just trying to protect me. They... can go a bit overboard though.”

“Yeah. Especially when you're not in the Wasp Kingdom anymore. Mimics are just like any other bug here.”

“...I know that's true but it still doesn't feel real when I hear it”, Mimi admitted. “It's gonna take a while to get used to.”

“It doesn't seem fair that you get treated differently because of something someone else did before you were even born”, the beetle pointed out.

The other bug sighed.

“I'm too tired for this”, she said. “Good night, Terra.”

“Good night, Mimi.”

Very early on, when I first thought it would be cool to make my own exploration team, I wanted one of them to be the same species as Hoaxe and explore how they dealt with not being fully accepted by the Wasp Hive very differently than he did.

I also figured that, given that the Roach villagers instantly recognise him as Not A Wasp (they put "wasp" in quotation marks when referring to the Wasp King), and some of them move to the Wasp Kingdom in the post-game, it would eventually become public knowledge in the Wasp Kingdom that Hoaxe was a mimic. And, as mentioned much later in the fic, a lot of wasps latched onto this opportunity to say it wasn't their fault so hard they pretty much threw wasp mimics like Mimi's family under the bus. (Sidenote : when said family first arrived in the Wasp Kingdom, the Usurper debacle was still relatively recent so the guards were still like. Very strung up about mimics in the Hive.)

But really, outside the Wasp Kingdom most bugs don't really care what species the "Wasp King" was.

I wanted the question of whether Wil truly believed Mimi to be a wasp or pretended she did to be a bit ambiguous at first (though it wouldn't stay that way). In this part I established some stuff that would be very important later.

Anyway Mimi is right in saying that Wil's very protective of her. They very much are. She's mistaken in thinking they are that way because she's a mimc, though. In actuality it's because they're friends. Actually, @dreamyyartist had a very good analysis on this after they read chapter 3 : "[Mimi] being a mimic only brought her suffering and she probably assumed that Wil may know that was the reason why they protected her. in a way, it was her wish to be accepted that was reflected in Wil" and like. Wow they really hit the nail on the head with that :O

Also like. In the game, what usually happens when you encounter mimics enemies is 2/3 of the team either is fooled or freaked out by them while Leif is the one to see right through their disguise. With the Blue Team I wanted to inverse this somewhat by having 2/3 spot mimics easily while Wil is the one thembo who doesn't ^^

#Bug Fables #Bug Fables spoilers #Spoilers for my fic I guess #Wil being a thembo has kinda become a running joke between Dreamy and I #In This House We Stan The Thembo Wasp

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burgerpocalypse · 3 years

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Back 4 Blood Beta

It's not good. I don't recommend buying or playing this game. Avoid it. If you like it, you're actually wrong.

I'll be directly comparing Back 4 Blood to Left 4 Dead because it's the same development team (supposedly). I'm also in an especially unforgiving mood, so this will be an outwardly hostile discussion of this terrible product. If you think I'm just being overly negative and want the game to fail because I'm an asshole, well, yeah, I am, but this shoddy product deserves considerable ire and I won't be convinced otherwise.

Some publications and individuals are calling it good, a worthy successor to L4D. They're wrong. L4D was a charming, polished, streamlined game. B4B is passionless, janky, and complicated. It makes mistakes that L4D solved or cleverly avoided, and introduces critical issues that ruin the experience.

Game Feel

Shooting feels weak and unresponsive, slows your movement speed, and requires aim-down-sights to have any accuracy.

Basic movement is slow and plodding. Sprinting drains stamina almost instantly, and is barely faster

Melee attacks rapidly drains stamina and has dubious reach; shoving enemies provides almost no benefit unless you have a specific perk card.

Zombies (or Ridden, a terrible, thoughtless name for zombies) shumble at you like they're competing for the Jank Olympics. One zombie can drain your health bar in seconds through sheer jankitude.

Players will regularly be yeeted, and it will seem like you just experienced an unintended bug or glitch rather than a deliberate force.

You're constantly taking damage from random, unidentifiable sources.

In summary, the game feel of this particular game is woeful.

Characters and Monsters

I hate the player characters. Well, that's a lie. HG, the prepper guy, or whatever his name is, is the only one I don't hate. He doesn't say cringeworthy lines, and he has a definable personality beyond broad emotional traits or bog-standard tropes. Player animations are also jank

The Ridden, which I will reiterate are named terribly, are indistinguishable from each other, players, and the environment. The common zombies are of the same color and height as players, so you're gonna probably be shooting teammates a lot, especially when everyone's covered in blood effects. Special zombies are awfully designed, to the point that I have to complain about them for the rest of this section. They:

are unpredictable, in a bad way

have entirely too much health with easily missed weak points

do far too much damage from unreasonable distances

move faster than the player's default speed, and can charge for extended distances

often appear in multiples and crowd chokepoints

The Hocker operates like the Smoker from L4D, but can lock down multiple players at once, chunk your health from great distances, and repeatedly jump from vantage point to vantage point at random. Its name is also stupid.

The Snitcher calls more zombies if you shoot it, which isn't obvious at all until you end up shooting it and call more zombies. It's also a key mistake that the developers of L4D avoided through rigorous playtesting, which allowed them to see that a similarly designed enemy was completely unfair, resulting in it being cut from the final release. Its name is also stupid.

The big fat guy can douse you in health-draining bile from 50 meters away, is difficult to kill, and has a variant that charge you and explode. This like they took the Boomer and made it worse in uniquely awful ways, just to see if they could. I don't remember the name, but its probably stupid.

The big arm guy can thwack you for 50% of your health bar, pin you in place, is also difficult to kill, and has a variant that is even more difficult to kill. I don't remember his name either, bu its definitely stupid.

The final one I can remember is the one that sits in a flesh pod and ambushes a player that gets too close, pinning them exactly like the Hunter would. The flesh pod blends into the environment in an especially egregious way, and the enemy itself looks stupid. Its names is also probably stupid.

Difficulty

I've cut my teeth on L4D and other coop shooters. I've beaten all the official campaigns on Expert. This game is stupid hard and unforgiving to such a degree that I fully believe that the developers do not understand at all what made L4D fun.

As players lose health, they also accrue trauma, which reduces maximum HP, potentially down to 40 HP. This cannot be recovered, even after respawning at a safe room or midround, unless you find a special medicine locker, which costs copper to use.

Levels are far too long, and there is never, ever any room to breathe. Players are constantly assaulted by zombies from all angles with no sense of rhythm or dramatic tension.

Levels also have no flow. Players will feel as though they are randomly wandering with no sense that they are being led in a particular direction. In L4D, the player characters would constantly be making observations about the environment (i.e. "Up that ladder!" or "We can use X to get across"). While L4D used tooltips to point out important objects, B4B relies entirely upon them.

Players have an elaborate inventory and currency system that is confusing and unreliable. Instead of providing healing and ammo at the start of each level, players have to buy it with copper. Like, literal in-game microtransactions. Each player has a unique wallet, though any copper picked up is given to all players equally. The copper system is an unnecessary addition that serves to slow down the start of a round.

Players can hold one offensive, healing, and support item. Medkits are not given a specific item slot, but instead compete with bandages and pills for inventory space. Guns and melee weapons also have tiers and ranks that are ill-defined. I have an extensive list of gripes I could go on about with this system, but I'll list some key issues:

There are too many items of each type, and they are too plentiful in the environment to be worth spending copper on

Ammo is broken into 4 types, which can leave you with lots of ammo for a weapon type you aren't using and no ammo for the gun you're actually using

Weapon attachments and ammo upgrades do nothing but provide confusion and force you to stop and stare at a stat screen to understand what it is you're adding to your gun. You also can't transfer them between guns, so you'll eventually have to swap a lower-tier gun with great attachments for a higher-tier gun with no attachments

Some offensive items do not behave in the way you expect them to, or provide so little value that they aren't worth using

Bandages and medkits operate identically, offering no interesting decision-making opportunities

The efficacy of healing items in general is needlessly reduced by players being able to heal by killing enemies, as well as trauma reducing max HP to the point that they don't provide any value

The Legacy of Left 4 Dead

Left 4 Dead provided a tightly packaged experience that nearly anyone could pick up on, and has a satisfying core loop that kept me coming back for years in spite of its many obvious glaring flaws. It was not bogged down by unnecessary progression systems or overly complex mechanics.

Since Valve allowed the series to shrivel and die, there has been no refinement of the mechanics that give L4D its magic, only inferior imitations that do not understand why things were they way they were.

Warhammer: Vermintide fails by being too complex, with vast differences between player characters, and an awful gear system that locks players out of higher difficulties with an arbitrary power system and random lootboxes

PAYDAY has zero polish, an unfathomably dull progression system, uninspired characters, awful artificial difficulty, and generally wastes the player's time with crushing amounts of busy work and waiting around

Back 4 Blood could have been great, but it completely misses the point. I'm going to try and play more of it while the beta is open, since I'm a miserable masochist, but also because some small part of me still wants to like it.

I'm sorry that this was so long and uncoordinated. I also apologize if you do enjoy the game. I just hope that I was able to provide a unique perspective of some small value to someone.

Thanks for reading. Sorry there's no interesting art to look at. I only put that comically small cover image there because it made me feel slightly better.

#back 4 blood #turtle rock studios #left 4 dead #video games #review #sorry for the rant

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helloalycia · 5 years

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too much love [one] // kara danvers

summary: Kara is under the influence of Red Kryptonite, and this impacts your relationship with her, seeing as you don't know that she is supergirl.

warning/s: verbal abuse.

part two

"Are you sure you don't want a ride to work? I'm sure it would be much quicker than getting the bus," I offered for the millionth time now, an amused smile on my lips.

I had spent the night at Kara's apartment last night because I fell asleep during our movie marathon; now the two of us were about to head out to work. I insisted that she got a ride from me to work, because I had a car and she didn't, but she was adamant on taking the bus for some odd reason.

Kara chuckled and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose adorably. "Honestly, Y/N, I'm good. I have to grab coffee for Cat anyway. I would only make you late."

I understood how true her words were, seeing as I began earlier than her, yet I still scrunched up my face with fake disgust. "But... the bus."

She laughed melodiously, it echoing around her apartment and sending butterflies to fly a storm in my stomach. "Let's just say that taking the bus is a..." she paused for a moment, before biting her lower lip to contain her amusement, "...a breeze for me."

I furrowed my eyebrows with confusion, not understanding her joke, but whatever it was seemed to humour her, which was enough to make me smile because she was happy. I smiled and pressed a gentle kiss against her cheek. Even though we'd been together for almost a year now, she still flushed an obvious shade of pink whenever I was affectionate to her. It was so cute.

"Come on, weirdo, before you get late and make your boss angry, or whatever she-devils get when their coffee isn't with them on time," I teased, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the front door.

Quickly grabbing her bag from the kitchen counter, she allowed me to pull her along, nudging me in the shoulder in the process, probably for my comment about her boss, Cat.

"She isn't even that bad, Y/N," she defended the successful business woman. "I don't get why you don't like her. Especially when you've never met her."

As we locked her apartment door and headed to the elevator, I explained. "She doesn't treat you as well as she should, and from the sound of it, she doesn't give you any opportunity for growth in your career. You deserve so much better." I gave her a knowing look as she purposely stayed silent. "You know I'm right, Kara. She doesn't even remember your name for crying out loud."

She moved her mouth, searching for a response, before sighing with exasperation, earning laughter from myself. Pouting adorably, she crossed her arms over her chest. I laughed even more, stepping into the elevator as I watched her stay on the other side of the doors.

"Before you explode, you might want to check the time and step in here with me. You're gonna be late, love," I informed her a little too enthusiastically for her liking.

Seeing the time on her wristwatch, her eyes widened, and she decided that racing into the elevator and punching almost every button on the panel was the right thing to do. The doors closed and she started to tap her foot impatiently, making me bite my lip as I watched with amusement.

"Sure you don't want that ride?" I offered once again, finding her current state extremely entertaining.

"Mhm," she hummed, glancing at me before looking straight ahead. "Absolutely."

I shook my head, unable to contain my giggles. I loved her to pieces, but she was so going to be late to work. Honestly. Who did she think she was? Supergirl?

***

"Y/N, this is absolutely amazing!" my boss gushed, his expression showing how impressed he was. It was surprising to see him this excited seeing as he only ever expressed three emotions: anger, annoyance, and hunger. The latter indeed isn't an emotion, but never say that to him or you'll get your own first-hand experience of his anger and annoyance combined.

Despite his implied difficulty as a boss, he was talented at what he did and recognised talent, too. This was another reason I was surprised. He thought I was talented.

"Wow, thank you, sir," I said appreciatively. "That means a lot to me."

And it also took me a whole month to plan and draw, I wanted to add, but didn't dare.

Maybe I should have said by now that I was an architect, and I had been working on a design for a while now. Finally completing it today, I built up the courage to show my boss, and unexpectedly, he was impressed with it.

"I'm gonna look at this in more detail tonight," he told me, shaking the papers in his hand before setting them on his desk. "Is this you done for the day then?"

I glanced at the clock on his wall, it reading almost seven in the evening. "Yeah, if that's okay with you."

Actually smiling at me, he nodded and motioned to the door. "Have a good evening, Y/L/N, you've earned it."

I returned the smile. "Thank you."

Excited to finally be done for the day, I packed up my things and made my rounds before deciding to ring Kara. She rang me earlier, but I was unfortunately too busy to talk for more than five minutes, and all I wanted to do right now was hear her lovely voice.

"Hello?"

"Hey, love," I spoke, a smile subconsciously forming on my lips when I heard her voice. "How was your day?"

"Uhhh...," she seemed unsure of her answer, making me confused. "Good. How was yours?"

Deciding to ignore the confusion, I answered, suddenly feeling all excited because I could share the news with her. "Awesome! The boss man approved of my designs!"

"Y/N, that's amazing!" she exclaimed, and it made me feel even better to know that she was happy for me. It made it feel that extra bit worth it. "I'm so pr-" She was cut off abruptly by a faint 'thud', and I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Kara?"

I heard her groans through the phone, making me stop in my tracks. "Kara? What is it? What was that noise? Are you okay?"

She hummed through the phone, before saying, "Hmm, yeah, sorry..."

"Kara, what the heck was that noise?" I questioned, still not feeling reassured with her answer.

It took her a few seconds to answer. "Oh, I walked into the door. Sorry, I'm just feeling a little dizzy right now. Can I call you later?"

"Of course," I said, though my worry was still evident in my tone of voice. "Kara, shall I come over? Are you feeling okay?"

"No!" she was quick to respond, only furthering my confusion. "Uh, Alex is here with me. I'm okay, Y/N. I think I'm gonna get some rest. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

I didn't feel good knowing she was feeling unwell, but knowing Alex was there eased that feeling just a little bit. "Okay... I love you, Kara. Get some rest."

Her voice was soft and kind, and I could imagine the matching beautiful smile that graced her lips as she said, "I love you, too. Goodnight."

I hung up and tried to ignore the uncertain feeling inside of me. She would be okay. She was probably just tired. Right?

***

Finishing earlier than usual on Fridays was definitely something that got me through the day, but it was different today. Kara hadn't called me this morning, or earlier on, and now it was lunch time and she still hadn't checked in. I had texted her a few times, and gave her a few missed calls, but no response. I was worrying too much, and now that it was lunch time and I was finished for the day, I worried even more.

I attempted to call Alex, several times in fact, but she wasn't responding. I had no idea what could possibly be keeping her busy, but it wasn't making me feel better. Next, I tried visiting Kara's apartment, hoping that maybe she was just sleeping the day away or something. But she wasn't there, and I didn't know what to do. All I could do was wait in my own apartment, hoping to hear something back from either of the Danver sisters.

So, that's where I found myself next.

I pushed open my apartment door and slammed it shut, needing to express my frustration somehow. Sighing heavily, I headed to the fridge in my kitchen, deciding food would potentially make me feel better. However, as my head was dug in the fridge's shelves, searching for something that wasn't out of date, a loud noise made me jump and hit my head on the shelf above.

Pulling myself out of the fridge, I rubbed the top of my head and turned around, wondering what that noise was, but I immediately grinned when I saw Kara standing there.

"Kara!" I raced towards her, only for her to do something unexplainable. She ran? I think? To the other side of the room? But it happened so fast that I barely registered it happening. Only one person could do that...

As I paid closer attention to her, I saw that she was wearing some sort of jumpsuit, with a small 'S' logo printed on it. She wasn't wearing her glasses, and she looked kind of like...

"You're– you're–"

"Supergirl?" she suggested, though her voice was nothing like usual; it was harsh, teasing, mean.

Eyes widened and eyebrows raised, I found myself staring at the girl before me with disbelief. Kara Danvers was Supergirl. But how? She couldn't be. Kara... the cute and clumsy journalist, the girl who couldn't even open the jar of pickles when I asked her to, the girl who grew flustered with the smallest of kisses.

Supergirl performed every action with confidence, and Kara was the complete opposite, stuttering over her words and being her clumsy yet adorable self. They were completely different. But here she was right now. As Supergirl.

"When did this– how did this– huh?" I was practically speechless. I didn't know whether to be amazed that she had all of these powers, or upset that she didn't trust me enough to tell me.

A devious smirk was on her lips as she looked me up and down. "Wow. If I knew you were going to react like this, I would've told you sooner."

I cocked my head to the side. She wasn't acting like Supergirl. She seemed more... malicious. Something wasn't right.

"Kara–"

"Yeah, don't call me that," she interrupted, pursing her lips and beginning to walk in circles around me.

I knitted my eyebrows together, wondering why she was acting how she was. Watching her, I asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She laughed, though it was dry and humourless. "Why would I tell you? So you can treat me like a child even more? Tell me what and what not to do? How to act? Who to be?"

I frowned as she stopped walking and paused in front of me, her eyes darkened with anger as she glared at me. The fact that she was radiating a strange red aura was freaking me out. This wasn't Kara, let alone Supergirl.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, searching her eyes for any sign of the loving, caring girl I had met a year ago, but she wasn't there.

Sensing my mood, her lips curled into an evil smile. "You're pathetic, Y/N. Constantly worrying over me all the time? Whether I'll be safe taking the bus to work? Whether my boss will be mean to me? Ha! Do you know amusing it was to watch you stress about all of these little things? Watching you deem me incapable of looking after myself?"

"Kara, I–"

"Oh, no," she stopped, laughing at my expression. "I'm not done, sweet Y/N. You were treating me like a child, like I couldn't care for myself, when all this time, I had more power in my little finger than you'll ever have in your life. The irony is hilarious, don't you think?"

As I watched her throw her head back in laughter, I couldn't help but feel my throat close up. I knew there was something wrong. This wasn't her. This wasn't my Kara. Yet, the harsh words that were coming from her mouth weren't making me feel any better. She wouldn't say all of this if she didn't mean it. And whether it was really her or not saying these things, they were coming out of her mouth at this very moment, and hearing the woman I love say all of these hurtful things pained me inside.

She stepped forward and rested her hand against my cheek. For a moment, I thought I saw Kara looking back at me. I thought she would tell me that this was a joke. That she didn't mean any of it, but she didn't. Because after patting my cheek slowly, she plastered a sly grin on her lips all over again.

Faking a pout, she said, "It sucks to be you right now, doesn't it?"

My lip quivered as I tried to hide that I was affected by her words, but she obviously knew, and was humoured by the situation.

"You're not Supergirl," I said, my voice wavering nervously. "I don't know what's happened to you, Kara, but you're not yourself. I know you don't mean all of those things."

Once again, she laughed at my words. She laughed so hard that she had to clutch her stomach to keep herself from crying with laughter. She looked like her old self, laughing at a terrible joke or something, but I knew she wasn't. She was laughing at me.

Walking slowly towards me again, her face was inches away from mine, and her eyes were cloudy and blue, murky with an evilness I never imagined she would possess.

"I don't need to be like this to admit how I really feel about you," she spat, and a wicked grin was on her lips. "I'm powerful. I'm smart. I can do anything I please, whenever I want. Why would I want you to hold me back?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. My eyes were filling up with tears, and I felt a sharp pain in my heart when I saw her staring at me like I was nothing in her life. She seemed satisfied with herself.

Stepping back, she began to walk to the window, and I saw as she glanced outside before facing me again. Winking, she said, "I'll see you around, Y/N."

Before she could leave, I extended my arm, about to make a move towards her, before deciding against it. Instead, I said, "Kara, wait!"

With amusement, she turned to meet my glassy eyes. "Oh?"

I sucked up a deep breath and tried to hold back the tears. "This isn't you, Kara. Please, tell me what's happened."

Sighing over-dramatically, she placed her hands on her hips. "This is very much me. But maybe you're not used to me having so much power, right? Being able to look after myself?" I didn't know how to respond, and she smirked. "Well, Y/N, here's my answer to that."

She blew a kiss my way before using her heat vision to blow up my toaster, making me duck immediately. My heart was racing as I turned around, only to see my toaster in flames. Quickly rushing over to put out the fire with my fire blanket, I tried not to think about the fact that Kara had almost killed me!

Once I sorted out the toaster, I looked back to Kara, only to see her winking at me once before flying away. As I watched her go, I felt my heart ache.

Kara was Supergirl. She thought I was too possessive and treated her like a kid. She hated me. I had just lost my girlfriend, and Supergirl had gone mad.

This realisation made the tears finally fall, and I soon found myself sitting on the kitchen floor, leaning against my drawer, sobbing. I missed Kara. The real Kara. I wanted her here with me. But I was sure she was gone. For good.

#kara danvers imagine #kara danvers x reader #kara danvers #supergirl x reader #supergirl imagine #supergirl #melissa benoist

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kpopimaginee · 5 years

Text

"THE BANK MEETING"

●PART 1●

This fanfiction contains violence, guns, knives, and scary things!! So if you don't like it, this fanfiction is not for you!!

If you want to read it- then enjoy!!!

🃏

You have been working in Gotham's bank as a bank clerk for 4 years now. You are known for actively participating in helping with the development of this big bank's company.

You have quite good respect from your co-workers and they are always amazed by your graceful appearance and manner.

Today you have eaten your breakfast and dressed up in your classy knee-length navy blue dress because your work requires an elegant choice of fashion.

You got out of your red car in front of your job building.

As your high heels make tapping sound on the street you said hello to your acquaintances. Walking through a big solid door you sighed and told yourself that it's going to be a good day.

You sat in front of your desk preparing your papers and files while your computer was booting.

There he comes; your boss rushed in your way to greet you.

"Good morning Y/N, how's your day doing"- he said.

"Good morning Mr. Graham, it's going well, I hope you are as good as mine, has something happened?"- you said sensing something bad from your boss's voice.

"Actually yes, we will have an unexpected elementary school trip to our bank. I wanted you to take care of welcoming them and showing them how the work is done here. Of course, you will get raise for this day."- he said seriously.

"Boss, we have so much to do, we get so much phone calls from sales representatives I don-"

"You need to do this or else I will lose trust in you as one of my best employees."

I hate school trips, those children are so comprehensive. Besides, I will need to rush my work and I probably will need to stay after hours to catch up with everything.

But I will not lose my face as a hard-working employee. I will show that I'm capable of multitasking.

With my head high I fastly and with grace returned to my work, I needed to focus as hard as I can to manage to do everything just in time for this school trip.

*After 2 hours*

"Bill, can you hand me those papers about Mrs. Clementine's Cleves loan from June 24, please?"

I was really busy with all this paperwork and customers endlessly coming to our bank. They were all served by me with a smile. I didn't show that I'm in a really big time rush.

"The school trip should be there soon, you should get prepared"- my friend Adam said worriedly.

"Thank you, I'm ending"- I replied.

I ended all the task I needed to complete before this school trip. I'm proud of myself and I started to clean up my deck and place my papers to my folders.

I was almost ready as I heard a loud bang on my right and then a lot of screams.

I turned my head to the right to see what happened as I saw a few men with guns running towards my colleagues and me. They had clown masks, each of them different, and suits with huge bags on their shoulder. Everyone rushed to run and hide somewhere but I was so surprised that I stood there not even flinching focused on the thing that just happened.

When they were getting close to me I heard a huge explosion and I saw a bus halfway in the bank wall.

My first thoughts were- "Bus driver rode into the wall? but how is it possible?!"

It distracted me from those men who they aimed the weapon at Bill and dragged him through his desk.

Then I quickly hide under my desk. They started to rob the bank.

I prayed for safety as they started dragging all my friends near their desks and told them to not move. I started sweating but I did my reality check and I started listening to what's going on and wait for an opportunity to run. My mind was covered in different thoughts and plans. I could hear my heart race.

"Put your hands up!!!!"

"NOOO!!"- my friend Jane screamed in fear.

I couldn't move at all since my hiding place was really small.

"Obviously, we don't want you doing anything with your hands other than holding on for dear life."

I was more and more hopeless as I knew I couldn't run because so heard walking through the whole lobby.

"On the ground, stay on the ground!!!"

I covered behind a huge trash bin under my desk. I heard gun noises that were carried by one of the men near me. I wasn't moving. I forced myself to not breathe. I could feel him looking underneath my desk but I stayed with my head down, not moving, not breathing.

He left. I released my breath.

But he quickly dragged someone underneath my desk too, but the person was so scared that he didn't notice me.

"Don't make me come here, stay down!!!"

*BANG SHOT AND BROKEN GLASS NOISES*

"Someone shot one of the bad guys!"- I thought as I saw one of the clowns quickly hiding next to me behind my desk. I didn't know if he saw me or not so I started to panic. I could literally feel his deep breath as only one piece of thin wood separated us from each other.

I covered my mouth with hands so the person next to me couldn't hear me breathing in case he didn't saw me.

I heard a gun loaded, probably from the one that shot this bad guy just seconds ago.

Then the guy that loaded the gunshot in the direction of the clown that was hiding next to me. It hit my desk and I screamed. The clown runs as I picked through my desk for a split second and I saw Adam walking with the gun chasing the man with a mask.

A couple of more shots were fired as Adam yelled:

"You have any idea who you're stealing from?! You and your friends are dead!!"

I heard one more shotgun shot and than a couple of shots from a much faster shooting gun.

I heard someone fall down.

I was trembling.

"Where 'd you learn to count?!"- I heard someone shouting.

I heard my friend Adam grunting in pain. "Oh no, it must have been Adam who got shot!!", "I need to help him now!!" I thought while I had no time to think really.

"If this guy was so smart he would have had us bring a bigger car."- the same guy from before said.

I'm betting the Joker told you to kill me soon as we loaded the cash."- he added.

I crawled through my hiding spot, trying to sneak unnoticed next to my desk so I could help Adam.

"No. I kill the bus driver."- one man said with a deep voice.

"Bus driver? What bus-" *SHOT*

I was trying to sneak behind to my friend who still was laying on the floor shot.

"What happened to the rest of the guys?"- the third voice said. *SHOTS*

As I was close to coming right behind Adam but I backed as he said to the clown that was earlier running from Adam's gun:

"Think you’re smart, huh? Well, the guy who hired you's just do the same to you . . . " - Adam mumbled.

"Sure he will. Criminals in this town used to believe in things..."

Clown turns back to Adam without saying any words. Crouches over him.

"Honor. Respect. What do you believe, huh? What do you bel-"

Clown slides a grenade into the man's mouth. A purple thread is knotted around the pin.

I wasn't moving, I was just looking shocked.

"I believe that what doesn’t kill you . . ."

Clown pulls off his mask. Adam gasps.

"...simply makes you stranger."

Adams's eyes go wide. Clown rises, strolls towards the bus, the purple thread attached to the grenade. He was ready to go but then I went for a laying gun, run to my friend and screamed:

"NO!"

while I was aiming a gun on a strange looking man who had clown makeup on.

The man turned around.

"Put your hands up"- I screamed.

He put his hands up and started to walk comfortably but silly towards me:

*smack* *smack* *smack*

"Hello, beautiful."- he said to me getting more and more closer to me.

"Aren't you a brave one?"- he mocked me.

I focused the gun on him, I was really scared.

"And you are beautiful. You look nervous- it’s the scars isn’t it?"

I stood there trying to not get carried away. I reloaded the gun.

"Try to shoot"- he said.

"Push the button"

"I bet you can't sweetheart"- he mocked me even more, still with his hands up and walking through my comfort zone.

He stood there and waited. Adam on the floor bleeding grunted:

"Do it Y/N, DO IT!"

The men in front of me smacked his lips and tilted his head to the right.

I pushed the shooting handle but there were no bullets inside.

He quickly grabbed me and pressed a knife across my cheek.

"Wanna know how I got these scars? I had a wife, beautiful like you. Who tells me I worry too much. Who says I need to smile more. Who gambles. And gets in deep with the sharks. One day they carve her face, and we’ve got no money for surgeries. She can’t take it."- he whispered to me.

I tried to push him away but his grip was too tight. He pressed his knife to my cheek even more and started to play with it on my face:

"I just want to see her smile again. I just want her to know I don’t care about the scars. So I put a razor in my mouth and do this to myself . . . And you know what?

(laughing)

She can’t stand the sight of me... "

*He started delicately drawing a smile on my face with his knife*

"l See, now I see the funny side."

"Now I'm always smiling."

*He widely smiled to my face*

His big hands gripped my arm:

"I will take you with me"-he said.

"I think you will be useful in the future"

Then he took me captive to his bus unraveling grenade's pin that was put in Adam's mouth from the purple lining of his jacket as he walks. He climbs into the bus, shuts the rear door, TRAPPING THE PURPLE THREAD...

I screamed.

We drive away.

THE END OF PART 1

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let-it-raines · 6 years

Note

If you're still taking prompts, could you write maybe a Nurse!Killian taking care or badass Emma? You're the best

I remembered I had this prompt started the other day when I got an eerily similar one that was super along the the lines of what I had written. This was supposed to be a small one, but it’s most definitely not. I hope you guys enjoy!

The gif doesn’t really have anything to do with the story’s plot, but how could I pass this opportunity up?

She comes into the emergency room once every few weeks with some kind of minor injury that either needs to be scanned or stitched up. It’s never anything serious, but it’s not minor enough for her to treat herself at home. After her first few visits, he worried that she was in an abusive relationship, the black and blue bruises marking her otherwise smooth skin a clear indication of the signs that she needs help, but after following protocol and asking if she did actually need help, she laughed, her head thrown back and hair cascading down her back while her stomach moved, causing her to cringe from where she thought she might have a broken rib (she didn’t, but it was bruised). She’d then told him that she was a bounty hunter and often got injured while working.

He’d quirked an eyebrow, not entirely believing her story, but then she’d pulled out her phone and shown him proof of what she did, apparently having gone through inquiries like this before. He acquiesced, choosing to believe her but staying wary just in case, before sending for an x-ray and moving on to his next patient.

He’s checking the computer, scanning through the patients when he sees the name Emma Swan in bed seven. He didn’t see her come in, didn’t hear her call for him, and even though he’s only got thirty minutes left on his shift and should be transferring his patients to Ariel, he makes his way over to Emma, slinging the curtain over and finding her laid out in the bed with her leg propped up on a few pillows.

“Hello, Swan,” he greets, grabbing her chart off the end of the bedframe and hooking it over his prothesis, “what’d you do to your ankle?”

“I fell down the stairs while chasing this bastard who would have handled my rent for six months, and he got away while I got,” she motions to her foot, “this. It hurts like hell.”

“Do you think it’s broken or sprained, love?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs, throwing her head back against the bed and closing her eyes while her chest heaves as if she’s controlling her breathing to regulate the pain, “but I’ve never felt anything like it. I usually wouldn’t come in for a little sprain, but I can’t walk.”

“That sounds broken or seriously sprained, but we won’t know until you get some tests done, okay?”

“How long is that going to be?”

“Probably a few hours. We’re a bit backed up tonight despite all of these empty beds, and broken bones aren’t high priority.”

“Fuck that. Can I say my heart hurts to get faster service?”

He chuckles under his breath before sitting down on the rolling stool next to her bed, scooting closer to her and patting her hand, squeezing her soft palm before releasing it. “No, you cannot because that’ll only charge your insurance more, and we don’t want that, love.”

“Jones,” she groans, throwing her head back again and slinging her arm over her eyes, “you’re killing me here.”

“Technically, I’m in the business of saving lives.”

“Okay, McDreamy,” Emma laughs, moving her arm so he can see the green of her eyes that are somehow not washed out by these awful, florescent lights.

“So you think I’m dreamy then, love?”

She rolls her eyes when he waggles his eyebrows, and he feels a little sense of pride getting her to smile. It’s not that they’re all too rare, but she doesn’t give them as freely as a lot of the people he sees. Of course, he works in an emergency room where people are freaking out ninety percent of the time, so he’s usually the one smiling trying to get everyone to calm down and feel better about things that often aren’t okay. He’s just glad that he doesn’t work trauma down here. Even with all that he’s seen while deployed, he doesn’t want to do that day in and day out. He prefers things to be calmer. Fewer car crashes, more fevers.

Mostly, he doesn’t want to see most of the trauma. You’d think that for a man who had his left hand cut clean off, he’d be okay with helping others deal with horrifying events, but the sight of intense traumas make him queasy…which is obviously a great characteristic for a nurse.

“Don’t you have other patients, Jones? I feel like you shouldn’t be sitting here with me when you’re literally not even examining me or whatever.”

“Eh,” he grimaces, reaching up and scratching behind his ear before checking his watch, “I’ve got about ten minutes left on my shift, and I’ve been working twelve-hour shifts for, like, three days, which is definitely not up to code. But someone is buying out the hospital, and everything is a mess.”

“Is that why it’s going to take forever for me to get treated?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” He gets up from the stool and taps her shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Swan. I’m going to go finish out my paperwork and see where you are on the list. How much pain are you in?”

“About a four, but definitely a six if I move or put any pressure on it.”

“Got it.”

He walks out of her curtained area, leaving it open as she’s not having anything done, before walking back to the nurses’ station and sitting down at his desk, finishing checking out and trying to figure out a time estimate for Emma before she gets seen. He’s not supposed to have favorite patients and he really doesn’t, but there are people who come in more frequently than anyone should. He gets to know them whether they like it or not, and that’s pretty much how he’s gotten Emma not to snap at him every time he tries to talk.

That happened for the first six months of her wandering in here, but she’s come around to not despising him.

“Hey, A,” he calls out, grabbing Ariel’s attention from the other end of the station, “I’m off the clock, but can you make sure Emma Swan in bed seven isn’t here for an unnecessarily long time? I’m already pretty sure she just has a bad sprain and not a fracture, but there’s really no way to tell yet.”

“What? You don’t want to stay and take care of your girlfriend?”

He rolls his eyes at Ariel’s teasing before twisting in the chair and scooting over to where she’s sitting and reading over her patients. “She is not my girlfriend, and you are far too cheeky for it to be six in the morning.”

Ariel slants her eyes and looks him up and down before patting his cheek. “You look like shit, Killian. You need to go home and sleep.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, but you keep distracting me.”

“I know, I know,” she laughs, straightening her scrubs. “I’m reading over everything, and I promise I’m going to take care of your girlfriend.”

“Not my girlfriend.”

Ariel winks before rising from her chair and patting him on his shoulder as she walks away. “Whatever you say.”

When he comes back to work two days later, it’s eerily calm. There are no pressing needs to be taken care of, and he’s able to sit down and drink his coffee in the lounge while scrolling through his iPad to see how all of his patients ended up. They’ve either been discharged or admitted to a room, and he makes a note to check on Mrs. Lucas when he gets a break. She’s having issues with her cholesterol even if he keeps telling her to watch how much she snacks on her diner’s food.

It’s damn good food, so he can’t really blame her. Well, he can, but he’d likely do the same surrounded by everything she serves.

He’s just closing out everyone when he gets to the end and sees Emma’s name. He reads through her report, checking all of the tests she had done, and he was right to think that it was a bad strain. But it’s apparently bad enough that she has to stay on crunches and come in for physical therapy. He may not know a lot about her, but he already knows that she’s going to hate that.

He hated his own physical therapy for his prosthetic and his injured leg after the accident, and he likes to think he’s a hell of a lot less stubborn than Emma Swan.

Sure enough, Emma comes wandering down to his station later that afternoon. She’s walking with crutches and a boot, but the most noticeable thing about her is the sour look on her face as she marches (hobbles) right toward him.

“Hi, Swan,” he cheerily greets, bracing himself for whatever it is she has to say.

“Can you take me home?”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

“I’m sorry, what now?”

Emma looks up at the ceiling and clenches her jaw while her fingers fidget over her crutches. “Look, I know that this is a weird request and probably totally inappropriate, but I can’t drive and have no way to get home.”

“Have you ever heard of an Uber or bus?”

“I don’t have a phone. It broke when I got hurt, and I’ve just been using my laptop to text my friends until I get paid again for some old cases. So I can’t use Uber. And the bus stop near my apartment is too far away for me to walk with this damn leg.”

“How’d you get here?”

“My friend best friend’s boyfriend works here, and he gave me a ride. But he’s not getting off until seven tonight, and it’s literally ten in the morning.”

“Ahh,” he sighs, wondering how the hell she hasn’t lost it when she’s seeming to have horrible luck. “Well, I don’t get a lunch break for two more hours. Can you wait until then?”

She nods her head up and down, a small smile gracing her face. “Thank you. Where can I…do you want me to wait in the…waiting room? I feel like that’s a little too on the nose.”

“Well, as long as you’re not on the foot.”

“Wow, that’s horrible,” she groans even as amusement sparkles in her eyes. “So I guess I’ll just go wait in there.”

“Hey…why don’t – you can…Bloody hell, I’m going to get you a chair in here, and I’ll let you keep me company while I go through some discharge paperwork, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

He finds an empty chair and carries it over to the nurses’ station. He’s not technically supposed to let her behind the counter, so he lets her sit right outside while he goes through his paperwork. She’s pretty quiet, but that’s what he expects. They don’t spend much (any) time with each other outside of him treating her when she’s getting hurt, so this is brand new territory.

But after about fifteen minutes she cracks and complains about how the only thing she has to look at is the floor cleaner that’s running up and down the hallway and she needs something to entertain her. Thinking on his feet, he hands her the chain of paperclips he’s been collecting over the years and asks her to unhook them. She looks at him warily, but she eventually accepts. It’s his only solution for her boredom when he really is supposed to be working.

It’s after she’s finished and has all of them divided up into separate piles for the colors that an idea sparks in his mind.

“So, I’m a right idiot for not offering this earlier, but I can call you an Uber or a cab with my phone.”

Her lips part and her cheeks flush a wonderful shade of pink before she covers her face with her hands. “Oh my God. We’re idiots. Seriously. How the hell did we not think of that?”

He chuckles under his breath and shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, I had a beautiful woman asking me to take her home. I wasn’t about to complain.”

Like the mature adult Emma Swan is, she sticks out her tongue at him and grabs a pen off the counter. “I know how to use this pen to hurt you, Jones.”

“What are you going to do? Stab me?”

“Fill out my care card as having bad service. I hear that’s how you guys get your bonuses.”

“Mighty brave of you to threaten a man’s bonus there, Swan.”

“Well, it’s likely not very…big.”

She winks at him, and all he can do is shake his head back and forth in disbelief that they’re even having this conversation. “It can be big when the time calls for it, love, but best of all, I know how to use it.” He returns her wink before adding, “But seriously. Do you want me to call you a car or are you good waiting an hour more? I don’t mind either way.”

Emma seems to take a minute to think about it, weighing her options, and he braces himself for the not surprising disappointment that will come when she asks for him to call her a car. But then maybe he’s surprised in another way. “I can wait. I literally don’t have anything to do. It’s not like I’m working anyways.”

So she stays while he finishes his paperwork and checks on a few patients, requesting tests and administering medicine when needed. There’s a particularly nasty wound he has to clean out from a patient who doesn’t wash himself regularly. It’s gruesome and disgusting, but he deals with other people’s bodily fluids every day. At some point you become immune to certain things.

When it’s time for his lunch break, he makes sure his patients are covered before heading back to the nurses’ station to find Emma and Ariel chatting…which absolutely cannot be a good thing. He and Emma do not have an Izzie and Denny situation (don’t get him started on how inaccurate Grey’s Anatomy is because he may never stop complaining), but they are friends maybe. He’s not really sure. They chat, they tease, they give each other ride’s home…this one time. But it’s completely platonic. It’d be unprofessional otherwise.

But he does like the lass. She’s a spitfire and could kick his ass even with her sprained ankle if he were to ever do something she didn’t appreciate.

“Wait. He brings baked goods in every week? Is he some kind of saint?”

“I don’t think someone can be a saint and flirt with women quite that much, but he makes a damn good peanut butter cookie.”

“Huh,” Emma sighs as he tries to keep his cheeks from going red even if he can already feel them heating, “I guess I’ll have to time my next accident better so I can come in on a baked goods day.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d give you whatever you want no matter what day you come in.”

“Alright then ladies,” he interrupts, clapping his prothesis down on the counter so Ariel will shut the hell up, “I’ve got to get Emma here home because I’m sure my lunch break will somehow get cut short.”

Ariel winks at him while Emma is leaning down to pick up her purse, and his eyes bulge while he mouths for Ariel to shut up. She’s going to be the death of him. If there was any way for her to be embarrassed, he’d do it. And teasing her about being named after The Little Mermaid because she has red hair does not work at all. He would know. He’s tried.

Emma questions him about his goods, baked that is, on the walk to his car. He’s parked a bit far away, but she seems to be handling the crutches well. It’s casual, easy conversation, and it takes out the awkwardness that he thinks would usually surround a situation like this. It’s only about a fifteen minute drive to Emma’s apartment building, and when he pulls up to the street parking, he lets out a low whistle. It’s a nice place in a good area, and he wonders how the hell a bounty hunter affords a place like this when he lives with two roommates in a crappy apartment. Of course, he could live somewhere else, but he kind of likes not having to carry the rent on his own and being able to save up for whatever his future may hold.

“This is a swanky place, Swan.”

She shrugs. “I get a good deal.”

“Wasn’t asking.”

“You were wondering.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I’ve spent hours of my life staring at your face while you stitch me up. You learn to read a guy. It helps that your face is more expressive than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“So you’re staring at my face a lot then, love?”

He waggles his eyebrows, and she rolls her eyes, something he’s seen her do more times that he can count. Two can play at whatever game this is.

“You’re impossible, Jones.” She reaches behind her to get her crutches before opening the door and stepping out. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Wait, do you have a way to get to your next therapy session?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, tapping his open door, “I do. I’m getting a new phone before Friday, so I’ll just call an Uber then.”

“I thought you said you had to wait until you get paid?”

“I get a payment on Thursday. Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll be back to normal in no time. And Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“My favorite kind of dessert is anything with cinnamon.”

He’s not exactly sure when he becomes actual friends with Emma Swan, his favorite frequent flier to the emergency room, but he thinks it happens somewhere between him driving her home and her visiting him after her therapy appointments. Or maybe it’s because he brought in snicker doodle cookies as well as several other dishes with cinnamon in the month where she was visiting the hospital three times a week.

They only really see each other in the hospital, but he does manage to snag her phone number when she asks for the recipe to a cinnamon coffee cake. Most recipes he finds online, but that one is his mother’s, something she left to him before she died, and so it’s at home stored in a box of all of her things. He doesn’t tell Emma all of this, not wanting to load her down with the emotional implications of something as small as a cake, but he does take her number to text her the recipe later.

Actually, that’s probably where their real friendship starts. He texts her the recipe, and she texts back saying thanks. But then a few hours later he gets several texts in a row accompanies by pictures talking about how “fucking awful” baking is and how she never should have tried this. He laughs when he sees them, especially when he opens the picture of Emma with flour spilled down her t-shirt. How the hell did she manage to do that?

So they start texting and stop seeing each other in person. He can’t really complain about that because it means that Emma’s ankle is healing and she’s not getting hurt while at work. He feels like he takes a physical beating after every shift. He has no idea how the hell she manages to take an actual one.

And he’d really hate to see the other guy.

He’s sure that is rough because if he were to describe Emma Swan in one word, it’d be badass.

It’s a Friday evening, one he’s thankfully got off of work, when his phone rings and Emma’s name pops up.

“Hello?”

“I need your help.”

“Are you okay?”

“No. I mean, yes. I’m fine. It’s a…baking emergency.”

He barks out a laugh that causes Will to give him a side eyed glance from his spot on the recliner in front of the TV. He’s not about to anger the beast while he’s watching a football game, so he stands from the couch and walks to his room, shutting the door behind him.

“What the hell is a baking emergency?”

“You’re British. Don’t you watch the Great British Bake Off? They have baking emergencies all of the time.”

“Oi, that’s stereotyping to assume I watch.”

“Killian, you’re British and you bake. There’s a pretty good chance you watch the show.”

“I neither admit or deny anything. I’ve got to keep some parts of me mysterious. Now what’s this so called emergency?”

Emma sighs on the other end of the line before he hears a loud crash and several muttered curses of shit, fuck, shit, fuck, damn. “Okay, so it’s stupid, but my friends and I have this…tradition.”

“Go on, love.”

“It’s…back when we were broke and needed to give each other gifts for holidays, we would make them to save money. And, I mean, we’re older now with a bit of money, but we still do it.”

“And you were trying to bake for your gift?”

“Yep. It’s my friend Ruby’s birthday, and I decided to get a little more complex than cookies and make your cake even though I spectacularly failed the first time. But this one tastes like…it’s inedible, and I need you to talk me through the steps because her party is in three hours.”

An idea forms in his head. It’s kind of risky considering the tentative tight rope he’s walking with her, but as he’s learning, it can’t hurt (or maybe only hurt a little) to ask…or to offer.

“Do you…I can come over to help.”

When she’s silent on the other end of the line, he thinks he’s pushed her too hard, offered too much. But then she sighs and mutters, “you would literally be my savior, Killian Jones.”

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he curses under his breath when he walks into her apartment and sees the mess she’s created as well as inedible cake that’s sitting on the counter. “Why are you always creating such a mess?”

“Because I am a messy person.” She shuts the door behind him and ushers him further inside. “Now tell me what the hell I’m doing wrong.”

He walks into the kitchen and looks over Emma’s mess of a kitchen, and before he does anything else like clean the place, he takes a bite of the cake before immediately spitting it out and into her sink, rinsing out the taste with the water from her faucet. “Good God, that’s awful.”

“I know. I already told you that.”

“But I hadn’t tasted it. That’s…something else.”

“Just help me please.”

They have to clean out all of her bowls and pans first, scrubbing everything down. He doesn’t have his usual kitchen set up, so it’s a bit awkward moving around with Emma and handling things with his prothesis. But they figure it out, and Emma, like always, doesn’t make any kind of deal out of the fact that he only has one hand. Most people aren’t as tactful. They either blatantly stare or just ask what happened. Some patients rude enough will even ask for a new nurse. And maybe that’s one of the things that’s endeared him to Emma. Yeah, she’s a spitfire and keeps him on his toes, but she never makes him feel like less of a human being for only having one hand. She simply treats him as he is, which is something that’s been rare when meeting someone new.

After they clean, he starts the process of baking, walking her through each step even if he’s not one to be much of a teacher. He’s not sure if she actually leans anything, but he easily sticks the cake in the oven while Emma cleans up their mess.

“Um, so,” Emma begins, wiping her hands on her shorts, “I’m going to go get ready for the party. You can make yourself comfortable. I don’t care if you look around.”

He nods while she walks off, her long, tan legs on display to him until she disappears around the corner. He’s always known she was attractive, been attracted to her, but damn. Those shorts have nearly killed him the entire time he’s been here. He’s become pretty acquainted with her kitchen in the past hour, so after checking on the cake, he wanders into her living room. She’s got floor to ceiling windows that look out onto a park, lush green trees decorating the ground. He can’t help but compare it to the way his bedroom looks at an another brick building. Maybe one day he’ll have a view like this if he ever decides he doesn’t want roommates.

All of her furniture is cozy, soft whites and grays covered with plaid blankets and fluffy white pillows. Emma’s got such a hard exterior, but as he’s gotten to know her, he knows those are just walls she’s built up over the years from whatever has happened in her past. But she’s really made this apartment feel like a home, somewhere she can obviously relax. After looking through her bookshelf, he sees a telescope that’s sitting in the corner. He picks it up, the dust on it showing that it’s obviously unused, before adjusting the scope and looking out at the park.

“You see anything you like, Jones?” Emma asks, her voice shocking him so that he nearly drops the telescope. But he doesn’t, catching it and turning to see Emma bending over and slipping into a pair of heels that extend her legs in the black skinny jeans that she’s got on. Her tank top dips down, showing the tops of her breasts, and he has to look away before he does something stupid.

Something stupid like kissing her.

He knows she’s talking about his view with the telescope, but all he can think about is that he very much likes how Emma looks…that he likes Emma. Gulping, he pushes all of his thoughts down while trying not to look like an idiot. “I was just…you’re fantastic. I mean, this is fantastic. The view. With the telescope. Not you. Though you do look fantastic.”

Yeah, there goes the not looking like an idiot thing.

“Thank you, Killian.” She seems to hesitate for a minute, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth. “Look, so I know this might be a bit awkward, but you just came over and helped me, which is something you didn’t have to do. So, like, if you’re not busy, would you like to come with me to my friend’s party? It’s super low key. It’s just at her boyfriend’s house. You might know him. Victor Whale?”

Heat rises to his cheeks at the prospect of spending the night with Emma. He should say no and go home, but he wants to go, to spend more time with her. The past hour has been wonderful, and he’s not sure if he’s quite ready to give up her company.

“Aye, I do know him, and I’d love that.”

“No, I’m serious,” Killian laughs, taking another sip of his beer while Emma does the same. They’re sitting in Victor’s living room with all of Emma’s friends who he’s gotten a crash course in over the past few hours. “The craziest thing I’ve ever seen at work was a man with a python head attached to his side.”

“Where the hell was the body?” David asks, his voice incredulous. It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe this is a true story, but he thinks David might just be naturally suspicious. He’s been eyeballing him all night.

“The guy cut it off to try to get the snake to let go. Obviously it didn’t work.”

“And this dude just had a freaking python as a pet?”

“Yep.” He takes another slow sip of his beer, letting the liquid wash down his throat, while wrapping his arm around the back of the couch so that his prosthetic lands on Emma’s bare shoulder. He swears that she leans in a bit closer to him, their thighs already touching, but he’s probably imagining it. “There’s some weird shit that happens.”

“Why don’t you work trauma, Jones?” Victor asks. “You’re a hell of a nurse. You’d be fantastic at it.”

He gulps, not prepared for this question. He’s never had to explain his reasoning to anyone, and he doesn’t want to explain to a group of perfect (almost, he has known them for a few hours now) strangers. So he shrugs and fakes a smile. “It’s not something that I want. I prefer broken bones and cut fingers with the occasional snake head. I like to be low key.”

Emma must hear something in his voice because her hand finds his knee and squeezes before she speaks. “So Rubes, let’s talk about that rock on your finger. That was not there yesterday, and I can’t believe you haven’t been squealing about being freaking engaged all night long.”

He and Emma have both sobered up by the time Ruby’s birthday party is over, his cinnamon coffee cake (which was much more edible than Emma’s) soaking up the little alcohol they’ve had, so she drives him back to her apartment, finding a spot just behind his car. They don’t linger while inside of her bug, but they do when they are both get out and wait next to his.

“Thanks for tonight,” Emma finally says, swaying into his space. Her heels make them nearly the same height, and he can still smell the cinnamon on her breath. “For the cake and for coming to the party.”

He sways a bit into her space as well, feeling bolder than usual when it comes to her. “Perhaps gratitude is in order.” He’s not sure what possesses him to tap his lips, but he does.

Emma snickers under her breath. “That’s what the thank you was for.”

“Is that all saving you from a baking emergency is worth?”

“Please,” Emma laughs, her voice lighthearted even as they move closer into each other’s space, “you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Emma’s grabbing onto his jacket collar and smashing her lips into his before he can take a breath. It wouldn’t matter anyways because she steals his breath from him with the way her lips move over his and her body melds into his. Her lips are soft and warm, and he can taste her Chapstick when he finally returns the kiss and slides his hand into her hair while his prosthetic rests on her waist just under her shirt. Her hair is just as soft as her lips, if not softer, and the little groan she emits stirs him on to run his tongue over her bottom lip.

This is everything he didn’t know he wanted. Or really, he did know he wanted it, but he never really allowed himself to think of being with Emma as anything other than a fantasy. It’s been a long time since he’s been with a woman he actually cared about, and as they really begin to settle into the kiss, their lips moving in harsh but perfect sync, he knows that he wants to be with Emma Swan more than he’s ever wanted to be with anyone.

And that’s exactly what makes it so hard when she says her next words.

“That was – ” he stutters, trying to catch his breath while his forehead presses against hers.

“A one time thing.” She pulls back, taking a step away from him, “Goodnight.”

And then she’s practically sprinting into her building and out of sight all while he wonders about how many ways Emma Swan can steal his breath away.

“What’s up with you today, Jonesy?”

“You know I hate when you call me that, Lil’.”

“Yeah, well, you know I hate when you make fun of my name.” Ariel knocks her shoulder into his. “Seriously, Killian. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he lies, eating another forkful of his salad. “I’m fine.”

“I have worked with you for half a decade, and you only get all dark and broody a couple times a year. It’s not one of your usual times.”

“You’ve been watching me too closely, A.”

“It’s what friends are for.” She puts her hand on his hand then, squeezing and encouraging him to look up at her. He does, and all he can see is kindness in her eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I kissed Emma.”“What?” she basically screams, excitement dancing across her features that he’s going to have to crush her spirit. “When? Was it good? I bet it was good. You guys are a very attractive couple, so I imagine the making out is fantastic. Not the I was really imagining it.”

“Ariel,” he sighs, managing to chuckle under his breath, “calm down.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She’s still bouncing in her chair, and he wonders how one person can be so bubbly. “I’m just excited.”

“Don’t be. It was a month ago, and we haven’t talked since.”

Her face and spirit immediately deflates, but there’s no way she can feel worse than he does. “Why?”

“She told me it was a one time thing and then walked away. I’ve tried texting her, but she doesn’t respond. So I guess she’s just cutting off communication.”“Well, I think she’s awesome, but if she’s going to lose a catch like you, she’s probably fighting some kind of internal battle. Does she have a bad history with people?”

“I don’t know actually.”“Jones, that’s something you’ve got to find out about people you’re dating.”“We weren’t dating.”

“You were basically dating.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Maybe, I don’t know…maybe text her today, ask if you can talk. You might not have been dating, but you deserve some answers.”

“Aye,” he agrees, even if he’s sure he won’t actually text her, not wanting another text to go unanswered. And he’s not even sure if he really deserves any answers. Emma doesn’t owe him anything.

But he’s a bloody fool, and he does end up texting Emma again despite every organ in his body telling him not to. If his organs could talk. They can’t. He knows this, but the rapid beating of his heart is obviously telling him something.

Killian: Hey, Swan. I know you probably won’t answer this, but I was wondering if you’d be willing to talk. Hope work is going well.

His day goes on as usual, patient after patient and pile of paperwork after pile of paperwork. He stands so much that his feet ache and his prosthesis is rubbing into his skin to the point of discomfort. All he wants is to go home, but he’s got another two hours before his shift is over.

The hours pass as slowly as they ever have, and no amount of coffee is helping him stay awake. He’s removing his gloves after seeing a patient when Ariel taps on his shoulder with a timid smile on her face.

“Whatever favor you need, just go ahead and ask, okay?”

“I don’t need a favor. It’s…Emma’s here.”

He sighs, looking up at the ceiling and pinching the bridge of his nose. “What does she need? Stitches, an X-ray? Can you work with her? I really don’t want to deal with her right now.”

“That’s the thing, Killian,” Ariel sighs. “She’s not in our sector. She came in with a shot to her shoulder and is up in recovery. She had to have surgery.”

His legs wobble beneath him, but he refuses to fall or feel weak. He can already feel his throat closing in on itself, emotions blocking his airway, and all he can think about is that he needs to see her. He has no right to, but he needs to.

“Is she okay?”

“Ashley is her nurse. Told me she’s fine, but she’s still a bit groggy from the anesthesia. You should go see her.”

“I don’t think she’d want me there.”

“Just go, Killian. Room 736.”

He nods before walking toward the elevator, pressing the button before deciding to take the stairs. He needs time to think, to breathe. He doesn’t know what he and Emma are to each other, if they’re even anything, but he needs to see that she’s okay with his own eyes. She may kick him out the moment he walks in her room, but at least he’ll know she’s okay.

His breathing is heavy by the time he makes it to the seventh floor, and when he gets to room 736, he pauses, taking a deep breath and calming himself down. She’s alone when he walks in the room, and he wonders where her friends are. Even after only knowing them for a night, he knows they’d drop everything to be here with her if she’s hurt. She’s only hooked up to a few machines, and as much as he’s used to her being hooked to an IV, this is different, especially with the heavy strapping over her right shoulder.

“Hi,” she croaks, her voice harsh, when she sees him. It’s too late to turn back now. “Water. Can I have water?”

He nods as he checks her chart, making sure it’s okay, before grabbing the cup and filling it up in the bathroom sink. When he hands it to her, her hand is a little shaky, the anesthesia and painkillers obviously having an effect on her.

“Thank you,” she sighs, her voice stronger even though she looks weak.

“You’re welcome.” He moves to sit in the chair that’s next to her bed, scooting it as close as possible so she doesn’t have to yell. “What the hell happened, love?”

“I got shot.”

“Obviously,” he laughs, shaking his head from side to side. “How did you get shot? How badly are you hurt?”

“I was distracted, not paying enough attention to my mark, and he shot me. And it fucking hurts. I’m not entirely sure what’s been done. I know I had surgery, but that’s about it.”“That’s all I know too. Your chart doesn’t say much. I’ll ask when your doctor comes into check on you.”

“Okay,” she sighs, closing her eyes and falling back against her pillow. He thinks she might have fallen back asleep when she speaks again, “I’m sorry I ran, Killian.”“Swan, don’t worry about it. Now is not the time.”

“You’re here. I’m here. I think it’s the perfect time.”

“You’ve just had surgery. You need to rest.”

“I can talk, Jones. I’m…I’m fucked up. I don’t trust a lot of guys, but I trust you.”

“I…why?”

“Why to which part?”

“Both, I guess.”

Emma laughs a little, a small smile twitching on her face. “When I was sixteen, I ran away from my foster home. I was done with it, and as luck would have it, I met a guy. He was sweet, charming, older, and he taught me all of these things about living on the run. The thing I didn’t realize was that he, Neal, was going to run away from me and frame me for the watches he stole. So I go to jail with a broken heart, broken spirit, and a criminal record that has stuck with me for over a decade now.”

His fist curls in his lap, his skin likely marked with red crescent moons from his nails, but he has to control his emotions here. He has to be calm. Emma’s been through a lot, and not just the surgery. He has too, and that’s precisely how he knows why getting upset over the past won’t do either of them any good right now.

“He sounds like a bloody bastard. You deserve better than that.”

“I know that. But my point is, I am hard to love. Or to like, really. I’m not always broken. I can be a friend, but anything more than that terrifies me. So I run. And I ran from you.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Yes, you do.” She rolls her eyes. He missed that. He missed her. “The only reason you’re even in here now is because I got shot. I’ve avoided you for weeks.”

“I care about you, Emma. That hasn’t changed.”

“It should have.”

“Hey,” he soothes, getting up from his chair and gently sitting down on the edge of her bed, taking her hand and putting it in between his hand and his prosthetic, knowing she won’t be bothered by the foreign plastic feeling, “Emma, if you think I’m not fucked up too, you’re wrong. I get running. I’ve run my entire life.”

“Does the running have to do with why you don’t work in trauma?”

If he can read her like an open book, she can do the same. “Aye.”

“What happened?”

“I was…in the Navy. With my brother actually, and there was an accident on our ship. We crashed, and my hand got jammed in crushed metal. So I lost my brother and my hand all in one day. And I lost my girlfriend two weeks later because she didn’t want to be with someone with one hand.”“Well, she sounds like a bloody bastard too,” Emma jokes, obviously uncomfortable with what he’s said, the tragedy of it all. “I’m sorry, Killian. I can’t imagine going through something like that.”

“Sometimes I don’t believe that it was real. But yeah, that’s why I have one hand and no brother and an aversion to trauma. And to women who aren’t you.”

Silence settles between the two of them while everything they just said sinks in. He’s still got no bloody clue what’s happening, but he never really has with Emma. Like always, he goes with it, seeing what happens and hoping for the best.

He can’t hope for anything else because at this point, he’s halfway in love with the woman despite everything.

Or maybe because of everything.

Emma’s released from the hospital two days later, and he stops by her apartment with baked goods after his shifts. He’s not entirely sure how Emma getting shot gets them back on the track of wherever they were before, but it does. While she recovers, he stays with her as much as possible, Ruby and Mary Margaret popping in as well, and they all binge the Great British Bake Off, leaning into the stereotypes of his roots.

Nothing is quite as heavy as the two of them spilling their guts to each other in the quietness of a hospital room, machines buzzing in the background while sneakers squeak out in the hallways. It’s more lighthearted, like it was before their kiss, and he can’t say that he hates it.

Eventually she recovers fully and goes back to work. He can’t blame her. It’s her job, and she’s damn good at it. But he’s seen every injury she’s gotten from it in the past two years, and the last one was the worst of all. But she keeps him updated when she travels to catch someone, and when she gets back home, he’s one of the first to know. Usually she just shows up at his apartment, much to the chagrin of Will and Jeff but to the delight of him. She’ll plop down next to him on the couch and cuddle into his side, her hair always smelling of the different hotel shampoos when it doesn’t smell of her regular vanilla.

He grows used to her being around and by his side. Sometimes she’ll stay over at his place despite him living in a small apartment with two other guys who don’t always clean up after themselves. Those nights are his favorite, he thinks. She’ll tell him goodnight before wrapping her body around his and falling asleep with her cheek pressing into his chest. He’s got no bloody clue what they are, but he doesn’t care. He likes it, even if he wants more.

But Emma is different in all of the best ways, and he’ll take her allowing him back in at her pace.

He wakes one morning to her hair in his face and her legs stuck in between his calves. Emma Swan is a cuddler, something he never would have expected, but again, he’s not complaining. He likes waking up with her even if he’s got to get up before the crack of dawn to go to work. He slowly slides out of bed, untangling their legs and leaving her softly breathing into his vacated space while he heads into her bathroom and hops in the shower, quickly washing himself before getting out and dressing in the scrubs he left here last week.

“Hey,” Emma mumbles when he walks back into her bedroom. Her hair is mused on one side, and she’s got pillow creases marking her cheeks. “Do you have to go to work?”

“I do. You want to get dinner tonight?”

She hums in affirmation before stretching her hands above her head, her tank top lifting all the way up to show off the hard lines of her stomach. He’s not complaining about their weird friendship, but things like her showing that much skin do make it a tad bit difficult, especially when his scrubs show absolutely everything.

The fact that he wakes in the morning with an erection pressed into her skin probably doesn’t help either.

“Actually, I was thinking we could go on a date.”

His legs feel like Jell-O beneath him when her words sink in. Is she delusional? Is she talking in her sleep? Is he delusional? Is this all a dream?

“You okay there, Jones?”

He shakes himself out of it, looking down at Emma who is timidly smiling up at him. “I’m, uh, what…you want to go on a date?”

She shrugs her shoulders while biting at her bottom lip. “Why not? I mean, hell, Killian. I can’t remember the last time we didn’t stay with the other person. It’s weird don’t you think? That we’re not dating.”

“I was just going along with what I thought you wanted.”

“I want to go on a date. Don’t you?”

He takes several steps forward and bends his knees, gently cupping her face and running his fingers over her left cheek, before slanting his lips overs hers. It’s slow and soft, and when Emma hums into it, he nearly groans at the vibrations and feeling her lips against his after so long.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“So we’re exactly are we going, darling?”

They’re walking the streets of downtown Portland, and Emma’s leading him with her hand on his prosthetic. He’ll never get over how naturally comfortable she is with it or his blunted end. It took awhile, but in their weeks of spending the night together, he eventually became comfortable taking it off and letting her see the rough edges and red scars. His heart legitimately stuttered, something that was not healthy in the slightest, but then at the same time, a lot of things settled for him.

“We, my extra special man friend, are going on a food tour.”

“Bloody hell. Why?”

She shrugs, a smile stretching across her face. “I thought it would be fun to be a tourist for a few hours. I mean, how often do you get to explore a city you’ve been living in for years?”

“Unless the exploring happens within the walls of the hospital, never.”

“Exactly, so since I asked you out, I took the liberty of googling touristy things to do in Portland and paid for us to follow around a group of other tourists while eating. Just so you know, we’re Emma and Killian from Buffalo, New York.”

“Why Buffalo?”

“Because people would ask about Manhattan. No one cares about Buffalo.”

Emma’s right when she says people don’t care about Buffalo. No one in their group asks or seems to care, walking down the street in their weirdly white sneakers that look like they’ve never been worn and in, he swears, actual fanny packs. If he’d known he had to dress the part of a tourist, he totally would have broken out the Hawaiian shirt he has from a party he went to a few years ago…it was not his best moment. But they’re guided around downtown, walking along the port and on cobblestone streets before stopping in small hole in the wall restaurants that he’s walked by but never gone in.

There’s a hell of a lot of lobster (it is a Maine tour after all), but it’s mixed in with other foods. He likes it with the macaroni and cheese even if Emma complains that she wants regular macaroni and cheese. The lobster rolls are honestly pretty good as well, but mostly he likes when they stop in a bakery and can pick anything they want. This is more up Emma’s alley, especially when they find a cinnamon coffee cake. But Emma tells him she doesn’t want that because it could never compare to his.

“It was my mother’s recipe, you know?”

“Yeah?” she questions while looking into a display case of cupcakes.

“Yep. She left it to me when she died because she knew that I liked to bake. I’d always help her when I was a kid.”

Emma turns to look at him then, twisting on her toes and pressing up to quickly slant her lips over his. His eyes flutter closed at that contact, and he can feel her smile into it.

“Swan, the date isn’t even over yet. It is against my delicate sensibilities for your lips to touch mine.”

“Well, you screwed the pooch on that one this morning when you stuck your tongue down my throat.”

“What a horrible saying.”

He buys Emma a box of s’mores cupcakes that they carry with them for the rest of the tour. She leaves them behind in one of the pubs they walk into, but she quickly remembers and runs back to it, meeting him and the group with sweat beading at her temples and her chest heaving up and down. It’s possibly the most light-hearted he’s ever seen her when she gets back at his side and wraps her arm around his elbow, holding on tight.

The entire night is cheesy and a tad bit ridiculous, but it’s by far the best date he’s ever had.

It probably helps that he’s in love with the woman who’s been his companion for it.

So when they get back to her apartment and she asks if he wants to come up for a cupcake, he obviously says yes.

It doesn’t take long for his lips to find hers again. The moment they’re inside he backs Emma into her front door and presses their bodies together so that he can feel every inch of her while their lips move together in a slow, passionate kiss. Emma’s hands find his back pockets, squeezing his ass, and his hand rests in her hair. He bloody loves her hair.

When her tongue finds its way into his mouth, a slick wet slide of cinnamon and beer, he groans and feels the sensations all the way to his toes. When Emma makes a similar sound, he nearly loses it right there. Instead he controls himself and rolls his hips into her, making her mouth fall way from his as he traces the skin of her jaw and her neck with his mouth.

His mind is blurry with lust (and love), but he takes the time to learn what she likes. For two people who share an intimacy that he’s never quite experienced before, they don’t know much about what the other enjoys. But they learn quickly as he nibbles on her ear and she throws her head back against the wood while her hands brush against the front of his jeans.

And as they slowly but surely make their way into her bedroom, they slowly but surely learn more about each other. Emma’s glorious as she moves above him later that night, her breasts bouncing and hair falling down her bare back while she smiles down at him. He lets her control the pace as he’s always done. It’s what they both want, how they both like things to be, and he’s got absolutely nothing to be complaining about.

It’s lovemaking if he’s ever experienced it, and when he flips them over, slipping out of her for just a second, he thinks he might see love in Emma’s eyes. But then he’s sliding back into her while her legs wrap around his ass and her hands find his, and it’s forgotten as he drowns in the pleasure of it all.

He’s nearly drowned before, but in this way, he doesn’t mind.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against her lips while he thrusts into her in slow, long movements.

“You are too,” she smiles, squeezing his hand while her other hand holds onto his blunted wrist. “I…”

She never finishes her sentence because he releases her hand and rubs at where they’re joined, letting her find her pleasure before he finds his. But as he falls apart above her and within her, he does wonder what it is she was going to say.

There’s no fooling around with what they are after that night. They’re together, officially and unequivocally, and he can’t remember the last time he was this happy. He’s got a partner in all that he does. If he has a bad day at work, she’s there to comfort him, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing whatever skin she can find before listening to him spew his troubles, never judging him for how he feels. The same goes for her, though he learns that comforting Emma depends on the situation. Sometimes she likes to be held in silence, only his hand moving up and down her arm while his lips kiss her hair to make her feel better. Sometimes she needs a rough, quick fuck only to open up about what she’s feeling in the afterglow.

But she’s not just around for the bad times. She’s there for the good as well. Their living situation never really changed. They’re always together, so on mornings where he doesn’t have to be at work at six, they’ll wake up and make breakfast while blaring music from Emma’s phone (she claims that she has better taste in music, and while she does, he’s not going to admit that quite yet). Even on the days when he pops toast in the oven and Emma’s not having any of his soft kisses behind her ear or his tendency to like to talk a lot in the morning, he loves those moments. There are likely a million reasons they’re together, but really, he thinks he owes it to his mum’s cinnamon coffee cake.

When she told him she’d be looking out for him always, he didn’t quite think it would be in this way.

They’ve officially been together for four months when they’re lounging in his bed, having stumbled home there after a night out instead of going back to her place, and he can hear Jeff and Will sitting in the living room mumbling over whatever it is they’re watching. Emma’s tracing his chest her with her finger, curling it around her skin, while she breathes out onto his neck.

“I love you,” she whispers into his skin, and his breath hitches, chest noticeably moving beneath her. “I have for a while now. I’m sorry for not saying it.”

He gulps, trying to keep away the tears in his eyes. He’s loved Emma for a long time now, but really, no one has told him they loved him in years and that hits harder than he expected. She said the words. She means the words. And he feels freer than ever once his breathing settles.

His finger finds her chin, bringing her gaze up to him before he dips down and brushes his lips over hers, once, twice, three times. “I love you, Emma. More than anything.”

She smiles then, his words not pushing her over the edge, and everything in his life settles.

Eventually he does move out of his apartment, not seeing the point in staying there when they mostly stay at Emma’s for the privacy. Like everything with them, there are often rocky starts, but things progress as naturally as possible. They fit together. Maybe not perfectly, but he doesn’t think anyone truly is a perfect fit for another. But where his edges are jagged, she knows how to soothe, and where Emma is hardened, he knows how to be soft. So they work, plain and simple, and he chooses not to question any of it.

And after a year together, he buys a ring and Emma finally learns how to make the cinnamon coffee cake.

The third time is obviously the charm.

#cs prompt #cs fic #cs ff #what is a simple prompt #I don't know anymore #anyways here's a thing

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punkscowardschampions · 5 years

Text

Ali & Ro

Ali: One of your kids is here??? Ro: Oh no! Ro: I double checked everyone was aware of the cancellations and everything Ali: You know what people are like, probably received but didn't actually read/listen to the message, like Ali: I'll quickly get in before ma can be her charming self any harder Ro: Thank you Ali: [allow time for that] Ali: Done Ali: Why'd you have to cancel anyway? Ro: Sadly I have yet to master being able to be in two places at once, especially when one of those places is so ridiculously far away Ro: What's more surprising though is that you've remained at home for long enough shepherd my pupil in and out for me without assumedly cursing Tess Ali: Ugh, I feel that Ali: until we're blessed with time-turners, we'll all have to muddle through Ali: and I've been there enough myself to guess where you are, so I won't pout about any potential adventures you could've been on Ali: everyone is DOA and MIA today, plus if I let her shout at me for long enough she might not ground me forever 🤞 Ro: Indeed Ro: Well, I can't deny that would be very much appreciated as I've been subjected to plenty of pouting already as things stand Ro: You can let her know that I'll be making my grand return soon enough which will at the very least give her another target should she desire one Ali: You can probably ignore him, he's just feeling the ill-effects of a 3-day bender, like Ali: some hydration and vitamin c and he'll be over it Ali: can't say the same of mother but my sins definitely outweigh yours Ali: though the offer is appreciated 💚 Ro: He's very much fine in that regard I'd been assured prior to my arrival and of course did my part to truly make it so by making him a late lunch or early dinner once I got there Ro: Regrettably, that offer was taken very much not in the manner it was intended Ro: The tally of my sins therefore apparently exceed the number of yours, in Drew's eyes at any rate Ali: Sounds like Drew Ali: you spoil him Ali: Caleb's mum made him work today, as he was too sick for school Ro: All I've spoilt is his afternoon seemingly Ro: Yet again, I'm a waste of time Ali: Hey Ali: don't take on his bad mood just 'cos he's mad he didn't get what he wanted Ali: you know it's bullshit Ro: None of his grievances are unfounded Ro: I shouldn't break promises Ro: Even if I did make them for less than ideal reasons Ali: No, but you know Ali: you have those reasons regardless Ro: And he has his own reasons to be upset Ali: Which you're clearly giving a fuck about Ali: so he owes you the same in return, yeah Ro: Of course, but his anger is fuelled by how much he does care, obviously Ro: It's because he likes me so much that he wants to take things further than they are Ali: Partly Ali: but I don't think anyone can say that that's all it is Ali: not to discredit how he feels in any way Ali: if anything, it takes into consideration all aspects Ro: He is the only one who can address that with any degree of clarity but its a conversation we're unlikely to have for a while Ali: I'm sure it won't be anything like that long Ro: That almost sounds as if you are in fact discrediting how he feels but I have no desire to get into a disagreement with you about the one I just had with him Ali: No, I'm saying he's nothing if not persistent Ali: trust me, he'll get over it if he has any sense Ro: It's less about the sense he possesses and more about the degree to which my own has abandoned me Ali: Do you regret the fact you didn't or regret the fact you were considering it? Ro: Both regrets somehow exist side by side and I have no idea how that can be Ro: Or which of the many internal voices vocalising my many mistakes I should begin to listen to Ali: Sounds about right Ali: are you in love with him? Ro: Yes Ali: Yeah Ali: it's Ali: the worst kind of headfuck Ali: amongst many other things Ro: What would you do in my place? Ali: About what Ali: specifically Ro: My next move Ro: He says I won't lose him but I know it's more likely than not Ro: Especially now that Carly has her own caravan to host in Ali: You shouldn't do it if that's the only reason why Ali: doing it because you're fearful of any outcome is just a bad idea Ali: it should always be primarily that you want to Ro: I do want to but I also don't want to Ro: It's complicated Ali: It is Ali: it might stop being complicated Ali: or you might do it before it does Ali: either of those is fine and valid Ro: What if it doesn't and I can't? Ali: You will Ali: if you want to, then you will Ali: I said it was the most important factor but definitely not the only, not even close Ali: it's complex but you know, like most things, stressing upon it will never make it less so Ro: I suppose Ali: It's like all this stuff isn't it Ali: thinking you'll never get your period and then it just happens Ali: we've all got our own pace for all of it Ro: And my pace is several steps behind always Ro: Maybe next time I should just go to the party Ali: Well his is coming up so Ali: you will be at that one Ro: Oh my god, don't remind me I haven't even begun brainstorming gifts yet Ali: 😂 Ali: you do have time Ali: but it might distract you from this worry so have at it Ro: You're so fortunate that Caleb's is ages away Ali: I know Ali: so much of me cannot hack that, I'd actually die Ro: After emerging from Carly's mostly unscathed, you could be forgiven for believing yourself immortal, I'm sure Ali: It was pretty hectic Ali: not sure if I'd say life-threateningly so but keep that between us Ali: could tell ma though Ali: keep her from hysteria Ro: I'll use that as my conversational opener when I come in if you'd like Ali: Subtle, cheers Ali: tell her there were no recreational drugs or pre-maritial relations too, whilst you're at it Ro: Carly would appreciate the lack of, I'm certain Ro: More so than Tess would my attempts at such a clearly crafted lie Ali: Can't win with her, like Ali: don't lead with that though Ali: even if that's a truth Ro: It's the kind of day I'm having Ro: I'll simply wish on everything possible that the losses extend to calories as well Ali: Don't waste the magic Ali: I know you skipped lunch Ro: You know because I told you I was busy running around after Drew Ali: Exactly Ro: Nonetheless, I've spent more time on this bus than anything else Ro: It's a pity I can't transfigure my bike here Ali: it seems like a good idea until it starts chucking it down halfway Ro: True, I'd be unlikely to garner any sympathy or permission for more time off from Tess even if I caught my death Ali: Seriously Ali: if she has to see any of us tomorrow at all, she might actually lose it completely Ali: what with Bea and Fraze being their delightful selves all weekend too Ali: the only ones not on the shit list rn are Tommy and Joe and that's only through absence Ro: Precisely Ro: Much like how the idea of finding birthday gifts for Drew is favorable after the nightmarish pursuit we all have to endure in order to provide something that Bea will undoubtedly dislike and return where possible Ali: 😂 s'why I kick it homemade Ali: good luck finding any takers for my sentimental tat, babe Ali: bless Ro: Alas the memory of my childish homemade cards finding their way to the recycling bin earlier than I feel necessary haunts me still Ro: Did Carly like what you made for her though? Ali: 😞 Ali: Yes, thankfully she's far more receptive and forthcoming with her thanks Ali: and the caravan looks amazing Ali: looked, I HOPE everyone kept out Ro: It would be difficult for her not to be, Bea, of course, is without competition in that regard Ro: I was impressed by the pictures despite being well aware of your artistic eye and resourcefulness in gathering materials Ro: Perhaps you should take and utilise all the magic yourself immediately Ro: Protection spells have been employed and succeeded for less Ali: True Ali: and a good idea to boot Ali: I better do it remotely Ali: aside from me leaving the house for anything but school and work rn being a deathwish, I'm not sure of the state I'd find the residents in, like Ro: Hm, yes arguably that is an even better idea Ali: Obviously, I do not plan to be her prisoner for long Ali: but for a great escape, I need even greater plans on the outside Ro: It would be my pleasure to extend such an offer, dear sister, but my own flight of fancy earlier did little else but backfire so it's best I stay under lock and key until I feel suitably chastised Ro: Either by Tess or myself Ali: Self-flagellation is next to godliness, of course Ali: I'll think of something Ro: I have no doubt that you will Ro: But whilst the subject of faltering has been raised, can I ask you something? Ali: of course Ali: scientia potentia est Ro: I was just wondering if you spent much time with Drew this weekend, that's all Ali: Not a huge amount Ali: but I saw him about, doing his thing Ali: if I saw anything like that I would've kicked his arse and told you Ali: in that exact order Ro: Okay Ro: Well, thank you Ali: Of course Ali: sisterhood before everything Ali: especially boys Ro: My favorite religion and the one to which I've been devoted to for the longest and most faithfully Ali: 💚 Ali: What's your ETA? Ro: 13 and a half minutes Ali: Ooh precise Ali: that'll please the jailer Ali: tell her 15 and you'll be back in the good books when you're arse is up the table without her even having to shout up the stairs Ali: 👍 Ro: I already told her 21 minutes so I have enough time to fix my face somewhere that isn't a very full bus Ro: She doesn't need to know that I've been crying Ali: 😕 Ali: Cold water fixes all Ali: we can talk about it properly after Ali: feels like forever Ro: It's not too late to pray for a summer storm Ro: Though it seems everyone misses me until they get the opportunity to spend time with me, so I might be wise to adjust my prayers accordingly actually Ali: Not everyone Ali: just him Ali: and just because he's mad Ali: we'll tea and talk, promise Ro: As long as you share too Ali: I gotcha Ali: you wanna hear all the fantastical and sordid exploits Ro: Fantastical yes, sordid not so much Ali: 😂 Ali: I'll do my best to spin the yarn into something comfortable and befitting Ali: don't worry Ro: Being guaranteed one less thing to overthink about will forever be appreciated Ali: That's my job Ali: one of Ali: labour of love, really Ro: tá mé i ngrá leat freisin Ali: 💚💚💚 Ali: right, I got a table to set Ali: not gonna know what's hit her Ali: Rock even agreed not to throw any spaghetti up the wall Ali: providing I buy him sweets for a week Ro: I'm in awe of your power whether or not she will be Ali: whether a six-year-old can stick to a deal is another thing Ali: did threaten him with a broken pinkie so 🤞 Ro: I'll likewise threaten him with the type of hex befitting a 6 year old promise breaker if needs be Ali: 💀🐸🐀🕯🥀💀 Ro: Our minds have always worked in similar ways, that's a truth which deserves to be universally acknowledged Ro: But for now, go Ro: There will be plenty of time for talking later

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alittlefrenchtree · 6 years

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You're probably getting a ton of these but when you have a chance.... CMBYN asks! 🍑 1, 8, 9, 13, 23, 31

Hahaha sorry, it took me a little bit of time to get to your questions but here we go !1—Which one came to you first? The book or the movie? Would you have preferred the other way?

I saw the movie first. It was the most random thing and not intentional at all but I’m very happy it happens this way. First because I’m sure I would have struggle a lot more with Elio’s voice if I didn’t love him already thanks to the movie. Second, because it allows me to make the promise to myself to always give the priority to Timothée’s work. Each time he’ll work on a story based on a book, I’ll wait to see the movie first before reading the source material – as I did for Beautiful Boy/Tweak. I like the idea of being introduced to a character by him and see it through his understanding on the story before making my own. I haven’t made a decision for Armie’s work yet, but I’ll probably do the same.

8—The detail/quote/moment that shows Elio’s feelings for Oliver with the more accuracy? (in the book and/or in the movie)

I’ve already answered this one here but for the sake of playing, I’m going to look for another quote. ..Oh I’m going to choose a quote/a moment from the movie since it’s the same one :

“I think he was better me.”

Breaks my heart every time.

9—The detail/quote/moment that shows Oliver’s feelings for Elio with the more accuracy? (in the book and/or in the movie)I’ve answered this one here but I’m going to take the opportunity to highlight this quote :

“You never did forgive me, did you ?”

It’s Oliver’s first theory to explain why Elio can’t come to his place, you know ? He spent the last 15 years thinking Elio was angry at him and that he had ruined/broken him, on way or another ? You imagine ? Living your life while thinking the most precious human being in your heart kinda hate you and still caring about what you may have done wrong with him 15 years later ? I don’t know if it’s really showing Oliver’s feeling for Elio but it breaks my heart all the same for him.

13—Something fanfiction writers should write more often about?

Oliver and Vimini’s relationship. I feel like there is an literal HIGHWAY of things to be written about them (and about Oliver’s feelings and feelings for Elio) and I don’t think I’ve seen many (even a few) stories about them. I don’t blame anyone since I myself still haven’t find a way to approach the topic but if anyone has recommandations about them, please (please, please) send them to me !!

23—One scene you REALLY want to see in the sequel (as a flashback or from the last part of the book)

I really like my first answer to that question so I’m going to stick with that one :The fifteen years later scene with the reunion and the heart-to-heart talk during drinks. I want a freaking long and slow scene where Timmy and Armie show to the face of the whole world what talent, chemistry and love actually look like without having to even touch each other. I want something even the idiots for the Academy will not be able to miss or ignore and I want a scene everybody will talk about for decades.

31—Favorite Elio/Oliver scene when they aren’t kissing?I was going to say “GOOD QUESTION” but I’m the one who wrote it so, never mind. I don’t know how to choose between the bus ride, the climbing on the Alpi Orobie and the laughing/nuzzling/wrestling moment in the hotel room. All of them are… everything.

Thank you so much for sending numbers !! 💙

#cmbyn ask #ask #I'M ALMOST DONE PEOPLE

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hencethebravery · 7 years

Note

If you're interested I'd love some fic commentary for Alive.

Oh, yes, very much so. btw, sorry to take so long answering this. I was far and away this weekend. If you’d like to read “Alive,” without my obnoxious commentary you can do so here. xo

I’m (still) doing author commentary!

One day, I plan to love so loudly, my body abandons every demon harvesting me. — Arati Warrier, “Alive”

A/N: I didn’t mean for this to happen, but this fic turned into an exploration of trauma and anxiety. The Killian in this soon-to-be universe ended up being a war veteran with OCD and illogical, rampaging thoughts and I ended up choosing the poem after the fact.

It’s a tricky thing. Once you’ve known the taste of someone’s lips and found it to be a far more momentous occasion than you had initially anticipated. Beforehand, one might think you’ll only know it the one time, and the odds of it happening again are unlikely, so… you do it, aye? Curious. How do you not do it again? That’s the question, isn’t it? Especially if it was a little bit unexpected, let’s say—it had failed to show up on the calendar for the month of June, and now the rest of your life is totally fucked to hell.

It’s not possible that anyone else’s lips could throw such a wrench into his schedule. Not even much of one, to be fair. Working freelance as he did, odd hours and odd jobs, one unexpected, life-altering kiss does not a fucked up schedule make. If anything, there was an added flair to his rather mundane existence that hadn’t been there earlier. Spike the coffee, eat an egg, walk the dog, kiss your mate, do the shopping—and what was that last thing?

You: “What was the what thing?”

Your Brother: “Kiss your who?”

Doesn’t matter. Point is, when you’re talking to your brother about sharing an all too brief kiss with the bloke you once rode the bus with, you try and keep it casual. After all, Liam Jones has no reason to know that you’ve circled June the 5th in an expensive black ink that’s bled through the page—all the way through to August, in fact, when there’s supposed to be a boat trip scheduled for the whole lot of you, and you have to ask yourself, “How do you not do it again?”

A/N: I’m really excited, because I’m in the middle of writing a tiny prequel to this fic (quite by accident), and having the opportunity to provide commentary on this is super helpful. Anyway, a lot of the anxiety and OCD-esque thoughts seen here often show up in my own brain, which is why they show up here. Sometimes if my schedule gets disrupted, even a little bit, it’ll ruin the rest of the week or the month or the year or whatever, so I ended up relying on the whole “schedule” thing a few times. Making it vaguely humorous is the only way to deal, hence, Killian treating his own coping strategies as objectively silly is a common enough mechanism.

The answer to that question is that you bloody well don’t. You keep that tongue of yours firmly ensconced inside your own mouth unless you’re shouting down bar maids or showing up your know-it-all brother at trivia night. You manage to live your life for a whole two months without screwing anything up. Well done, you.

You manage to abide by the calendar you’ve kept since naval training—the calendar that, for all intents and purposes, saved your life once upon a time. Being the roughed up, dramatic younger brother had its perks, but in the end, rampant alcoholism, a suspicious rash, and a series of exceptionally burned bridges had taught him the benefits of following a careful schedule. It hasn’t managed to buff out all the sharp corners; rum tastes too sweet and his memory is a little too good, but no price is too high when you’re trying to avoid the odd skin allergy. Which is what it was.

Regardless, August arrives and it’s hotter than the East Coast has any right to be. He’s quite confident in his assertions that even Afghanistan wasn’t this hot, and considering the fact that Afghanistan was actually hell, he’s not sure what to make of the temper tantrum that the state of Maine seems to be currently throwing.

“Just last week you were complaining about how cold it was,” comes David’s muffled voice from below deck, “enjoy it.”

David Nolan is of an optimism so profound it’s certain not to be believed. The man has thought exceedingly well of almost everyone and everything in their lives since they were children, which, to Killian’s mind, can only end badly. He’s not written it down, but it has been inscribed within the gelatinous valleys of his brain somewhere, this unspoken responsibility—don’t let it ruin him. Having people like David Nolan in the world is a very important thing, and the only way to keep them around is to have people like Killian picking up the pessimistic slack.

A/N: Killian as a black sheep has become a common trope in a lot of my OUAT fic where he makes an appearance. I love his brash selfishness in contrast with the “Charming” family’s own tendency to be selfless. I love that he probably sees it as his responsibility to use his darker impulses to help those people who have managed to retain their own lighter impulses. God. I love him so much.

“It’s my boat, mate,” Killian shouts down the hatch, “I’ll complain where I like.”

On the side of his monthly calendars there’s a designated “Notes” section, set aside for various odds and ends. He’s been known to put some poetry there on occasion, either verses he’s written or found, a phone number or two, an exceptional cocktail, what have you. For the month of August there’s a sailboat at the top (nothing too fancy), followed by wave, after wave, after wave, and then, down at the bottom, there’s a capsized sailboat. Hence, pessimism.

The heat is physically uncomfortable, to be sure, but it’s also demanding. For example, it demands that two men working on a boat out in the hot sun remove some of their clothing in order to avoid fainting or otherwise feeling ill in such unreasonable weather. This, however, requires him to confront the somewhat uncomfortable question of how he avoids doing the thing he had done only the once—with no intention of repeating said thing. His calendar said so.

A/N: @phiralovesloki loves “His calendar said so,” and I love her because she loves it so much. It’s like an endless cycle of love.

David Nolan in a t-shirt is not unlike David Nolan wearing nothing at all. If anything, it might be worse. Without the shirt, it’s almost as if he’s existing in a moment of unreality, wherein there’s nothing especially remarkable about that chest over there other than the fact that it is one. He’s got one of those too—if anything, his is better, covered in a masculine dusting of hair as it is. David’s white t-shirt looks like it’s been run through the wash a couple hundred times. There are barely-there tears at the sleeves and around the collar. Today it is stained with sweat beneath his arms and lower back.

A/N: Josh and Colin are two of the most aesthetically pleasing humans I have been #blessed to witness. I know this seems kind of like a female Gaze moment, but whatever, we deserve it. Women get “Gazed” at everyday of our lives, so it’s only fair that I write a poetical fanfiction wherein I get to think about two handsome men on a boat in tight, ratty t-shirts. Leave me alone.

The heat is overwhelming, like the desert, only there’s a wetness in the air that makes it harder to breathe. For a moment, he misses the feeling of having a gun in his hand so he grabs a beer from the cooler and holds it against his neck, his pulse tapping against the glass like machine gun fire. Interrupt.

A/N: To use the word “interrupt” in the middle of obsessive thoughts is something my therapist taught me. The more you know.

“You see those clouds?”

David’s voice is soft at his side, his own mouth wrapped around the lip of a bottle and he has to say that no, he hadn’t even noticed. The poorly drawn “ship” sailing on the pages of his calendar starts to sink in the wake of poor weather and his heart aches—keeps beating quickly in his chest and he knows a panic attack when he feels one. Inconvenient things, they seem to be.

“Killian,” David says, apparently for the second time, and he puts a hand on his shoulder. Definitely not in the calendar.

Killian doesn’t much feel like answering. Killian wants to write about the sky in his notebook. Not any sky, mind you. This sky, because it’s somewhat of a nightmare to behold. Even with the boat tied to the dock and the sight of safe, dry land in the distance, the sky at this moment is a wild thing. Moments ago, the air smelled like salt and bubbling yeast. The sun was a large, imposing spotlight on the deck of his ship, making the wood warm, their skin sweat.

In June the air smells like earth. Certain parts of the farm are freshly turned at this time of year, and no matter where you go, it emanates over the property. Through the fields, over the lake, between the trees. Over hill, over dale, point made. June is new. They are, the both of them, new. When Killian kisses David, it’s because he can no longer bear it.

“The wanting.” Answering the question, what was it he could no longer bear? Because he was starving in his little house by the sea full of dry, winter air that had given him nosebleeds. It was probably all that dirt in the air—all those trees in bloom. All that pollen in his hair, the perpetually dirty state of his hands.

The answer is a little bit dramatic, but David seems to take it in stride, either because he’s known Killian for most of his life, or maybe because he understands, either way, he smiles. When David smiles it’s a thing you don’t need to see, and sure, you should, of course you should, but Killian is exceedingly grateful that in this moment, he doesn’t need to open his eyes.

A/N: When Josh Dallas smiles it is literally like looking into the sun. That’s what this is about.

It’s his gut that’s empty, not his gaze. He is, quite frankly, sick of opening his eyes. All he needs to do is feel it, and he knows that his friend “wants” too—just as frantically, as hungrily, as poetically. He plays the follow-up question in his head on a tortuous loop the next few days. He even writes it down so he can stare at the shape of the letters and hate himself even more than he already does.

“How is it you smell like that?”

Because it is something… indescribable. He can wax poetic on the state of the air in June all he likes, he has words on words on words to describe it, but all of a sudden, the smell of this man is the scent of which he cannot seem to describe. And he answers, “Like what?” and Killian can only answer with his mouth against his, because it’s not about the words suddenly—it’s about the breath. It’s about David’s forehead against his, their lips barely touching, and he answers with a kiss because he’s a fucking idiot.

August doesn’t smell new. It smells tired. Or maybe he’s just tired. Either way, the bright, overbearing sun is lost behind a sky of heavy, dark clouds and the man at his shoulder smells like beer and sweat. Like the moth-eaten blankets he had kept below deck all winter. The trees are gone but he can still feel the bark against the skin of his back.

“We’ve got to tie the lot of this down,” he answers suddenly. He had wanted to avoid the inevitability of turning around to face him, the tree at his back—with that concerned look on his face. Killian smiles, but it’s not like David’s in June. You’d have to see it, or you wouldn’t even know it was there. “She’ll be fine tied to the dock, but I don’t want to lose any of this gear.”

He’d savor the refreshing feeling of the breeze if there were any time for it, but they seem to have run out of it, and thankfully for him, David seems to have adopted a similar sense of urgency. Moving around deck as he is, his hands wrapped deftly around thick rope, one knot after another. The thunder continues on in the distance, unperturbed, and there’s a flash of lightening that leaves an echo across a purple sky.

There’s another crack followed by a second flash, and the sky opens. Despite the maddening anxiety he has contended with all day, there is something undeniably satisfying about knowing he was right about the “shirt on being worse” thing. David pauses in his run about the deck to enjoy the torrent of rain that’s been unleashed on the two of them, a loud yell of relief passing his lips, and Killian wonders what they taste like in August. At sea, in a storm—like salt? Like rain? Like the beer they’d been drinking earlier. Like dirt, like himself, lingering on his tongue for months.

When David dashes across the deck, clothes clinging to his form, every muscle carved beneath wet fabric as if he were a statue, Killian is busy trying to forget about the sinking ship in his calendar. He’s trying to remember what it was his therapist had said about “being in the moment,” and suddenly David’s lips don’t taste like June. They taste like August, in the rain. Wet and messy and just as hungry as before.

“Aren’t you sick of it,” David not quite shouts against his lips, the rain and wind lashing against the deck, “that ‘wanting?’” He’s smiling again, that wide, sunshine-smile that he has worn everyday of his life and Killian can see it out of the corner of his eye. In between the heavy, wet drops hanging from his lashes and the hair falling against his forehead—of course he can see it.

“Yes!” Killian shouts over yet another thunder clap, both of their faces turned towards a manic sky. “Bloody exhausted!”

A/N: For all my talk about Killian Jones being a black sheep he’s also a dramatic garbage human and someone needs to make fun of him sometimes. Re: David, calling out Killian’s Extra™ ass, mumbling about “wanting,” when it’s just a kiss and he needs to fucking relax.

The sound of the storm is softer below deck, as if it were a record playing in another room. The ship tugs on her moors but she’s steady, tied against the dock as she is. The only other sound is that of the air heaving in and out of their lungs, heavy with anticipation and adrenaline.

“You smell good too,” David admits between each, tired breath, “I’m sorry I made you wait.”

“Sometimes the waiting is the best part,” Killian answers gently, and there’s something in his tone, a note of understanding that he’s impressed to find he actually believes. “I’m good at waiting.”

As David moves closer he peels the wet t-shirt off his back and chuckles, shaking his head. “No, you’re really not.” The shirt falls with a decisive, wet splat against the ground, but Killian is too distracted by the return of David’s forehead, his hand against his neck. His fingernails are short and blunt against his skin, the scratch of an almost, but he feels his skin prickle all the same. Standing still in wet clothes, the warmth of the sun a fleeting memory, he knows he should feel cold but there’s this heat inside of him—flickering and alive.

A/N: Canon tells us that Killian Jones can wait, but does he do it well? idk about that. Dude turned Emma Swan into a ship for a year.

“If that’s the case,” he whispers, his own hands hovering at his sides, “what are you waiting for?”

The kiss is gentler this time, the shelter of the cabin urging slowness, carefulness. Here, they are beyond the reach of the whipping wind and stinging rain. The gaze of a seaside town, the towering pines. Their breath is softer, less like they’re running out of time, and there’s a drag between each pass of his lips. He feels as if he’s being savored and it’s not a thing that you deny yourself a second time.

“You should—” David’s voice is rough, like he hasn’t spoken in years and Killian’s pride does a little victory dance at the thought of its return, “You should change.”

Logically, Killian knows that David means “change clothes,” he knows this unequivocally. But he also has a tendency to err on the side of unnecessarily meaningful and he takes it to mean something else. Not in a negative way, he does not, by any means, feel that David wants him to be somebody else. This he also knows, unequivocally. What he also knows, what he has come to learn, is that his heart in its current state? It’s not sustainable. “You should change,” his heart speaks in David’s voice, “you need not want quite so much, when you can so easily have it.”

A/N: That was basically a long-winded way of saying that you should stop getting in your own way, which is usually my main problem.

He shivers at the sensation of cool air hitting his bare flesh, but there’s hardly a moment to feel uncomfortable. There’s David’s hand against the soft skin of his stomach, his fingers trailing through the fine hair beneath his belly button, and the warmth, it feels as if he’s slipping into a soaking tub. The rain continues it’s harsh pitter-pattering against the side of the boat as they move towards the small bed, clumsy step after clumsy step.

It smells like dust as they land, like the attic in the farmhouse, but the pile of blankets manages to catch them just fine. The cotton, washed one too many times, coming up to swallow their legs and shoulders, keeping them in a soft, dry place. He secures his own lips against David’s jaw, that sharp corner just beneath his ear and the moan that follows is more of a feeling than a sound—more of a sob than a gasp.

When he returns to his lips to catch yet another, quiet moan, it tastes even better than it had in June, then it had above deck moments earlier. Again, indescribable, and he feels a bit frustrated by the fact that words might fail him sometimes. After all, they do sit so well on his tongue, they feel manageable in a way that his thoughts don’t, that his heart doesn’t, and without them he worries that he’ll lose any sense of control he might have.

At some point the rain must stop, but it’s hard to notice, what with the hands and the lips and the feeling of his stomach as it moves against his own, in and out with every breath, sometimes quick and sometimes so slowly he’s worried that he’s holding it. At some point, in between the feeling of David’s lips against his rib cage and his hands at the button of his jeans, the sun very briefly returns before evening falls.

It’s his favorite time of day, those few moments before twilight. The rich, buttery light of the setting sun falls through the porthole over the bed, warming their entwined bodies atop the mussed blankets. The darkness behind Killian’s closed eyes turns a muted red color, and he can feel the warmth of the sun as it slowly sets against his skin, the fleeting light of day a gentle goodbye.

The water is calm against the boat, rocking them carefully back and forth, and his mind has never been quieter. The steady torture of a mind that refuses to settle, that must be shaken up and poured out over each and every month, everyday—that must be considered and thought over and applied and re-applied. Where no one means what they say, where he rarely means what he even says, but here, in this moment between sleeping and waking, it is blessedly silent.

He hears David mutter something against the back of his neck, and he knows, even without being able to see. He smiles.

A/N: I really hope that this fic was familiar to people who live with anxiety everyday, because it was certainly familiar to me as I was writing it. I know it’s also Captain Charming and CC is magical to be sure, but I still hope all the anxiety-related stuff was interesting for people.

#@hencethewriter #attn blogging #yayimallamaagain

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