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let-it-raines · 5 years

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Catch Me If You Can (5/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/N: It’s been a day, my friends, and when it’s been a day I like to give you guys chapters earlier than I expected. But also because I’m sitting on chapters and want to get to the good stuff! Our favorite duo really start to interact from now on, so the slow burn you guys are feeling is speeding up!!!

As always, thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke❤️

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Tag list: @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @emmas-storybook @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera@jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @galaxyzxstark @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

“How hot is it in Texas right now?”

“Hotter than here, but not all that bad. Seventies, I think.”

“Well, that’s probably because that weird heat wave is over, and it’s back to being fifty degrees outside.”

“True,” Ruby sighs, pulling a dress out of Emma’s closet. “You should wear this dress. It makes your ass look fantastic.”

“No one sees my ass.” She walks over to Ruby and grabs the red dress anyways, folding it up since she knows that it won’t wrinkle. She pulls up the weather app on her phone, scrolling through the thirty cities she has saved, and finds the week’s forecast for Houston, seeing that the high is indeed mostly going to be mid-seventies. That’s good. That’s far better than it is when they have to travel during the summer. “Should I bring heels or embrace flats for the week?”

“Bring your nude pair.” Ruby chunks them at the bed, about two feet away from taking Emma’s eye out. “Oh, and the turquoise if you’re going to wear that green pencil skirt.”

“You just want to borrow them if we go out, don’t you?”

Ruby pulls her turquoise pumps out of her closet, which really needs to be organized but that’s a story for another time, and tosses them on the bed before she grabs several more shirts and pants for Emma. “You know me so well, even if we mostly go out in Texas simply to eat their food.”

“Ugh,” she groans just thinking about it. “If we’re going to do that, I need to bring looser clothing. I don’t want everyone to think I’m pregnant when it’s just a food baby.”

“I bet you everyone would think it’s Jones’s baby.”

Her eyes cut over to Ruby as she picks up her turquoise heels and places them on her striped chair. How can someone be both the worst and the best friend? “For that, I’m not bringing these heels.”

“You’re evil.”

“You shouldn’t be mean to me if you want to borrow my shoes.”

“Being mean is kind of in her wheelhouse,” Graham adds in as he pokes his head through her bedroom door, eyes glancing over the mess that’s currently happening. He’s totally judging. “Do you two realize that your flight is at six in the morning, and you’re up at two in the morning packing?”

“Do you realize that it’s two in the morning, and you have to take us to the airport at four?” Graham rolls his eyes before Ruby walks toward him and presses up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck and slide her lips over his. “Thank you for doing that, by the way.”

He presses down to kiss her once more. “You’re going to be gone for three days. I’m going to miss you.”

“Cheesy,” Emma grumbles, tossing a rolled-up sock at the back of Ruby’s head. They’ve really got to stop throwing clothes. She’s never going to be able to find anything. “Can’t you two go make out in your room or something?”

“I kind of like that idea.”

“Me too. Ems, pack the damn turquoise shoes and some spanx so that you can eat and people won’t think you’re having Jones’s baby.”

“Wait, what?” Graham mutters. “You’re having Jones’s baby?”

“No one is having anyone’s baby, and it better stay that way. Use protection.”

“Pack the shoes.”

“I still don’t understand what’s going on.”

“You’re not supposed to, babe,” Ruby laughs, backing Graham out of the room and pulling Emma’s door shut behind her.

Those two are ridiculous, and if she didn’t love them so much, living with them would be nearly impossible. Seriously.

Emma gets an hour of sleep after she finishes packing (thanks late night games and early morning flights), and she’s basically a zombie as she and Ruby load into the back of Graham’s squad car as he drives them to JFK. She knows that it takes awhile to get there, but she’s pretty sure that she slept the whole time because before she even realizes it, she and Ruby are checking into their flight at the kiosk and going through security. It’s the emptiest she’s ever seen the place, and she would know. She spends far too much time in airports for her job.

When the team travels, she travels. Most of the time. Some trips she doesn’t work, and it’s glorious.

It used to not be that way. She’d only travel for the games that were actually shown on ESPN or sometimes Fox, but now that ESPN has an entire online streaming service, she’s traveling nine games out of ten and working all home games. It’s exhausting, to a point, but she has a hell of a lot of travel miles and rewards programs that she gets to keep even though the network pays for her flights and hotels. Sometimes that means she gets six am flights when she doesn’t have to be in Houston until seven in the evening, but it’s not always that bad.

And one day she’s going to use those points to travel to Italy or something.

Pasta would be really good right now.

So would coffee, but if she has coffee, she won’t sleep on the plane. And sleeping on the plane is kind of important if she wants to not look like a zombie tonight. Her face may look like a zombie, but at least her ass will look great.

She doesn’t want anyone to comment on the state of her ass. She’s the only one allowed to do that.

Okay, she’s lost her mind.

-/-

The Yankees win their sixth game of the season that night.

She eats the best barbecue sandwich she’s ever had, and a clip of her eating ends up on Sports Center.

Sometimes she wonders if people actually watch baseball for the game or if they simply watch because there’s always something weird going on in the crowd.

The sandwich was worth it.

-/-

Emma’s feet hit against the treadmill as Queen blares in her headphones and a tennis match in Monte Carlo plays on the television in front of her, Rafael Nadal sliding back and forth on the clay as he absolutely dominates his opponent. If every athlete was as good as Rafa is on clay, they’d all be dominant, but that’s likely a story for another day.

She’s got twenty-three minutes left on her run, especially since she’s going at a slow pace with a slight incline, but she can already feel the incline starting to kill her, her calves burning the slightest bit with each step that she takes. Her face is red, her hairline slicked back with sweat, and she can already tell that getting her sports bra off is going to be an impossible task. She gets that it’s for the support and all, but there should really be an easier way for her to free her boobs from their confines.

Free the boob.

Unless she’s running or walking down stairs or doing anything more than some light walking.

Her phone buzzes on the machine, and the man on the treadmill looks over at her like he’s annoyed by the fact that her phone made some kind of noise. It’s not her fault that he didn’t bring any headphones, and really, if he’s so bothered by her, he can move two treadmills down. This hotel gym is plenty big enough.

Ruth: I saw you eating a sandwich on TV last night! That’s too funny!

Ruth: I hope you’re having fun!

Ruth: I miss you, sweetie!!!

For Ruth to be sixty-five, she has a fantastic grip on technology. She knows that it’s because she and David have taught her how to text and find clips of their segments and articles online, but still. She knows how to use emojis and gifs and even has an Instagram, which is only slightly terrifying most of the time. But she knows it’s simply to keep up with she and David’s lives since they don’t always tell her everything.

Okay, that’s mostly her.

But David has a much better relationship with Ruth, which makes sense considering she’s his mother. She’s Emma’s…quasi mother. She’s never been too sure how to go about it. Calling David her brother is much easier than calling Ruth her mom, and she knows it’s because the word mom has more heavy meaning behind it.

Emma: It was a good sandwich! Only a little time for fun since I’m here for work. I miss you too!

Ruth: There’s always time for fun!

Ruth: David and MM are driving up to visit me next weekend for the holidays. Are you coming too?

Emma: I don’t get vacation days like David does, so I’ll be in LA. I wish I could.

Her music stops between songs, and she hears the roar of the crowd on the television, seeing that the match just ended, and her treadmill starts to slow down, the time ticking down past five minutes so that it’s time for her to cool down with a slow walk while she keeps texting Ruth about the fact that she’s working over Easter weekend. She pretty much doesn’t have days off, except for days the team has off, until the season is over in October. Or early November. It depends. And then she’s back working in the office writing articles and doing prep work and occasionally having to suffer through covering basketball.

Bills must be paid, but at what cost to her having to listen to sneakers squeaking?

Ruth never seems to understand that because she thinks that she and David have the same job even though David has never once been on camera. He’s behind the scenes all the way.

When her treadmill time officially runs out, she steps off and gathers her things before finding a towel to wipe down the handles from where she touched them. Angry man is still eyeing her as she cleans up, and she seriously hopes that he is not going to be there tomorrow.

If he is, maybe he’ll be happier.

She doubts it.

He seems to just be one of those people who is particularly unpleasant all the time.

Sweat sticks to her skin as she walks through the hotel hallways, casually airing out her tank top and wiping sweat back into her hair to get it off of her face, and she very nearly walks up the stairs to go back to she and Ruby’s room when she sees people milling around the dining room with breakfast on their plates.

Breakfast would be good.

Mostly water. And coffee. She’s not entirely sure if she’s recovered from her lack of sleep yesterday, which made her question her sanity when her alarm went off for the gym this morning, but she knew if she didn’t work out then, she wouldn’t work out at all. And she needs that push of adrenaline and endorphins.

Grabbing a plate from the buffet line, she walks through and fills her plate with fruit and scrambled eggs, even if she knows they’re from a bag and not a shell, and a half of a waffle from the waffle maker. She always loves when they have those at hotels. Good continental breakfasts are her jam…especially if they have jam.

“Got enough toppings there?”

Emma nearly drops her plate when she hears his voice, and when she twists her head to the side, she sees Killian Jones standing next to her, his own plate full of food in his hand. Seriously. Why is she always running into him when she’s eating?

And sweaty.

“Not enough if you ask me.”

He adjusts his hat, a Vanderbilt one that is very obviously a decade old. “I was asking you.”

“I like toppings,” she sighs, putting some more fruit onto her waffle before grabbing the whipped cream can and spraying some of it onto her food. Her workout is yelling at her for this. “What’s the point of a waffle if you’re not going to load it down with toppings?”

“I’m more of a pancake man myself.” He reaches into the buffet and grabs a yogurt, which is definitely not a waffle or pancake. “But considering I’m playing tonight, I’m supposed to be watching what I eat.”

“You have an entire plate of eggs.”

“Protein, Swan, protein. You would know all about that with all that barbecue you ate last night.”

Just let her sink into a hole right now and never come back up. The internet is ruining her life.

“Weren’t you supposed to be tracking Roseman’s pitches last night or something?”

She turns on her heel and walks away from the buffet to a table, knowing that Killian is walking behind her. They have the weirdest relationship. It doesn’t even feel right to call it that, but they’re somewhere between a working relationship and reluctant friends, and the fact that he’s placing his plate down on the table across from hers makes her lean more toward reluctant friends who see each other occasionally enough to have a bit of a rapport.

Her life gets weirder every day.

Killian Jones has one brave set of balls.

Baseball, testicles, whatever. Both work. At least, she thinks.

“You can eat right after you work out?” he questions, twisting the knob on one coffee machine while she does it with the other, the promise of caffeine already invigorating her.

“How do you know I was working out?”

He raises a brow before his eyes look over her, lingering a second too long at her breasts, before a slow smile creeps from one side of his lips to another that has her stomach twisting inside. “Well, it’s not because of your outfit. People dress more like they’re working out when they’re not every day, but the sweat still soaked into your clothes and in your hair are kind of a dead giveaway. Your face is flushed as well.”

“Observant.”

“I try, but it’s easy when you’re an open book.”

Totally not acknowledging that one.

She twists the knob on the machine and reaches over for the hazelnut creamer while Killian simply puts the top on his. He drinks black coffee? That’s disgusting. “Black coffee? Do you not have taste buds?”

He shrugs. “I don’t like to drink my calories. You want a water?”

She nods her head, and he grabs two bottles before following her to sit back down at her booth like it’s totally normal for them to be sharing a meal together. They’ve done it before, but that’s because she was working with him. It was not because they’re staying at the same hotel and happened to run into each other at the buffet.

Weird.

But she’s not about to be bitchy and ask him to leave when she has no reason to other than her own reluctance to talk to people before noon.

They sit in semi-awkward silence as they work through their plates. She definitely overloaded her waffle, but she would never admit that after earlier. That would be admitting defeat, and she doesn’t take too kindly to admitting defeat. Killian eats at lightning speed, scarfing down eggs and sausage, his yogurt untouched, and she wonders what it must be like to be a professional athlete and eat more than the average human being, even if it’s not all good food like pizza and onion rings and loaded down waffles filled with chocolate chips.

Her phone buzzes on the table, and she leans over to read the text from Ruth still trying to convince her to come home for the weekend when she’s already explained that she cannot.

“Boyfriend?”

“Huh?” she hums, texting a message before looking up and seeing Killian staring down at her, his eyes shaded under his cap. She’s so distracted by the fact that he asked her if she was talking to her boyfriend that she doesn’t pay attention to her answer. “Oh, no boyfriend. It’s my…um, quasi mom.”

“Quasi mom?”

Shit. She should have just said Mom. Maybe she’s a little flustered by all of this.

“She was my foster mom,” Emma explains, stuffing some eggs into her own mouth to give her some more time to talk, “when I was a teenager, but we’re still in touch because her son, David, is kind of like this big brother to me. I work with him and am close to his wife and kid and all.”

That was word vomit that she should not have shared. That is not information that she should just give out, and yet here she is. Obviously, all of the blood hasn’t returned to her brain since her run. Hopefully it’ll all come back soon so she can stop looking like an idiot with a messed up past who shares too much at a breakfast.

“David Nolan, right?”

“Y-yeah. How do you know that?”

He shrugs his right shoulder before taking another forkful of eggs, chewing and smiling in a way that reminds her of that scene in Thor where Chris Hemsworth is in the diner and throws the mug down asking for another one. Why the hell did they dye his eyebrows and his beard in that movie? That was a mistake.

“Ariel, my manager, is super hands on with me. She’s talkative, like extremely, and she shares all kinds of information that I never need to know. So, I’ve heard a bunch of random shit that I literally never need to know about. David sends her a hell of a lot of emails that I get forwarded.”

“So, do you just know my entire life story then?”

“If you’re entire life story involves you liking pretzels and waffles, and being asked out by a jackass on live television, then yeah.”

She barks out a laugh, her lips curving upward, and reaches down to take a sip of her coffee. “I mean, that’s it. There’s nothing else to know about me.”

“You sure about that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The smile on his lips fall into a straight line, his gaze intense, and he lifts the bill of his hat up before adjusting it back down. “Perhaps I would.”

“So, nosy,” she starts, still a little annoyed that he asked if she had a boyfriend and most definitely trying to lighten the conversation up again, “I’m going to be very self-indulgent and ask if you liked your segment. I want a more truthful answer than the one I got in the hallway.”

His lips curve up, pretty much taking up his entire face, and she can see the crinkle of his eyes as his long lashes land on his cheeks before opening back up to show his baby blues. Damn his eyes are blue. How is that even possible? Maybe they’re contacts or something.

No, that would be ridiculous.

“I freaking loved it. I mean, it was great. It was so simple, you know? You didn’t try to create some other angle, didn’t try to paint me as anything other than a normal guy. I really appreciate that. You have no idea,” he chuckles, reaching up to scratch beneath his ear. Is he nervous? Why the hell is he nervous? “I saw afterward, your cohost, he was a bit of a dick, wasn’t he? I know we talked about it a bit, but it seems like you just…well, it seems like the shit show is never ending for you.”

That is – that is not what she was expecting at all. She figured his apology was a one and done and that she’d never hear about it again.

“With my friends,” she starts, tapping her nail against the table, “I don’t mind. It’s funny. It’s something we can joke about, that I, myself, joke about, but when it happens in my professional life, it pisses me off. So many men have seen me as a joke in the past, have tried to tear me down that way, and it’s not something I like having to deal with now. I mean, it’s not like I can go off on them. That’s a great way for me to lose my job because I’m no longer,” she holds her fingers up and does air quotes, “likable.”

Killian lets out a low whistle as her heart hammers in her chest, her annoyance at this whole thing making her cheeks heat. It’s all so dumb, and really, she should hate him for it. She doesn’t though. She’s not always his biggest fan, but he apologized and obviously feels actual remorse. How was he supposed to know it would be like this?

And if she knows all of this to be true, why does she still get slightly irked by him sometimes?

Is that just because she’s so damn stubborn herself?

“Is there anything I can do to make it better for you? I mean, I put you into this situation. The very least I can do is try to get you out of it.”

“Nah, there’s nothing you can do more than treat me like a professional and go on as if you didn’t make an ass out of the both of us with millions of people watching.”

“I think I can do that. However I can’t promise not to keep making an ass out of myself though. My brother tells me it’s my natural state of being.”

“Your brother sounds like a smart man.”

“He likes to think so. His patients sure as hell hopes that he is.”

“I mean, I would hope so. Does he get to come to a lot of games?”

“He and Elsa and the girls try to make it to some of them, but it usually depends on if Liam is on call or if the game is too late, so it interferes with the girls’ bedtimes and school. But no matter what I always have a string of texts waiting for me afterwards.”

“They sound great. Your nieces are so cute. Like, adorable. When you posted that photo of the two of them wearing your jersey, my heart melted. That was cute, twenty-nine.”

“Twenty-nine?”

“Your number,” she says slowly, looking him over.

“Aye, I know. It’s just that I’m not used to being called that.”

“Oh, sorry.” She covers her mouth and takes a sip of her coffee. She’s never going to finish her food if they keep talking like this. “I call most of you guys by your numbers half the time. It’s faster, sometimes, for our stat-keepers. It’s a force of habit from back before the Yankees had names on their jerseys.”

“I like it,” he smiles. “You ever play any sports?”

“Nothing official. Why?”

“Just looking to see if you have a number I can call you, love.”

“Ooh, for a second I thought you were going to ask for my number, so that was a nice save.”

“Well, I mean, I could,” he shrugs, flashing that winning smile again.

“Not going to happen, twenty-nine.”

“Damn, I thought I’d stumbled myself into something. I guess that’s strike two for me.”

“Do you always speak in baseball puns?”

“Says the woman who made a joke about oral sex using a baseball pun.”

“Never claimed that I didn’t use them. I’m a fan of a good pun. If you can make it a clever innuendo, all the better.”

“I do love a good innuendo.”

“Yeah, I can tell with the whole tall, dark, and broody thing that you’ve got going on half the time before you whip out a smirk and do that thing with your eyebrows.”

“Why, Swan,” he sighs, waggling those damn eyebrows, “have you been watching me?”

“It’s literally my job.” He does his eyebrows again, and she flicks an apple chunk at him. “Shut it, twenty-nine.”

They sit in the booth and talk, the both of them going through two cups of coffee, before Killian gets a call that he needs to be on the bus to Minute Maid Park, which they both agree is an awful name for a stadium. It’s on the tip of her tongue to start naming off other awful names and major sponsors, but she doesn’t, holding that back as he gathers their plates and walks over to put them all in the bin, his mind seemingly having switched from casual conversation to baseball. She wonders how often he does something like that, just turning everything off to focus on his job.

She can do the same.

“So, Swan,” he sighs as they both walk toward the lobby, Killian to get on the bus and for her to walk toward the elevators, “you going to be around to interview me tonight when I walk off the field?”

“Only if my producer thinks that we need an interview from you.”

“Does this mean I need to play a damn good game?”

“Or a really bad one.”

“I’ll try for one of those.”

“Okay,” she laughs, backing away from him as she sees Scarlet and Fisher walk down into the lobby, “break a leg then.”

He raises a brow. “I’m not sure if that works in sports.”

“Guess you’ll be the first to try it out.”

Emma raises her hand to wave to him, before turning on her heel and walking toward the elevator, her mind trying to piece together all of the elements of her morning while her heart keeps beating like she’s still on the treadmill and not like she’s been sitting in a booth eating for the past two hours.

What the hell just happened?

When she gets back to her room, she quietly opens the door, not knowing if Ruby is awake or not yet, but as soon as she’s inside the room she sees Ruby sitting on the floor with her laptop in front of her with some kind of hair tutorial video on the screen. And whatever it is, Ruby is not succeeding at it, which is pretty much an impossibility with how good Ruby is with hair.

“What’d you do? Run to Manhattan and back? You’ve been gone for forever.”

Putting her phone and hotel key down on the dresser, she slides down onto the floor to sit with Ruby. Her legs are starting to ache, and she desperately needs a shower. She got a look at herself in the mirror in the elevator, and damn does she look rough.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Well, I woke up when you got up because you’re not quiet,” she huffs, tugging at her braid, “and then I woke up an hour ago. You’ve been gone for, like, three hours.”

“I spent a long time at the gym.” That’s not a lie, not really, but it’s not exactly the full truth. She’s not sure why she’s not being honest with Ruby, but it’s…it’s just what her brain has apparently decided on. That breakfast didn’t mean anything, right? So why would she hide it? Probably so no more jokes will be made about them. Yeah, that’s it. That has to be it. “And then I ate breakfast.”

“And you didn’t bring me anything?”

“Not supposed to take the food out of the restaurant area.”

“You could have stolen a banana.”

“Sorry?”

Ruby groans, twists her hair into another braid as the video ends, and then closes her laptop before looking at her, her eyes scanning over her outfit. “Let’s go get something from a café or something. What was that place we went to last time we were here?”

“Snooze, maybe?”

“Yes,” she hums, falling back against the floor before she very obviously remembers her slightly okay braided hair, “let’s go there.”

“I just ate, Rubes.”

“You can keep me company while I eat, and then we’ll go shopping before we have to come back and get ready for work.”

“Can I at least take a shower first?”

“I would prefer if you didn’t smell, so yeah.”

Emma reaches forward and slaps Ruby’s shoulder before getting up. “You’re the worst.”

“But I’m your best friend.”

“Unfortunately.”

“No, very fortunately.”

“Will you do my hair for tonight’s game?” she asks as she strips out of her tank top, sweat having practically dried it to her skin.

“If you let me wear your turquoise pumps.”

“You were going to wear them anyways.”

“Semantics.” Ruby waves her away. “Go take a shower. I’m starving, and I will absolutely perish if I don’t have food in my stomach in the next hour.”

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic

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nataliesewell · 6 years

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monster prom pop quiz results

I was bored, so I decided to try and record all the questions and answers in Monster Prom’s Stupidest Pop Quiz Ever(tm). It’s really likely I haven’t found them all, so I’ll come back and add to this from time to time.

The pop quiz consists of three questions; the first two go towards determining your highest stats at the beginning of the game, while the third chooses your possible prom date (this isn’t set in stone; you can still try to pursue a different character in the actual game). The order of the questions is randomized.

Other links: Vera Walkthrough

You can find the questions and their results under the cut!

stat questions

What is your spirit emoji?

a. Caucasian guy with a turban because fuck stereotypes. +CREATIVITY

b. Octopus emoji. Best animal on Earth. I know 5 mixed drinks, 3 drug cocktails, and 17 sex positions that involve one or several octupi. +FUN

c. Snowman, because that motherfucker is in the middle of a blizzard and he’s fuckin’ smiling. He doesn’t give a fuck about blizzards. And he has a kickass hat. +BOLD

It’s your chance to fix global warming. Go ahead!

a. Global warming isn’t real. I invented it, and now science is claiming authorship because science is a lame copycat with no original ideas. +CREATIVITY

b. Nah, the world is doomed. But I’ll start investing in ships and start a profitable business for the “soon to be covered by water” world. +WEALTH

c. It’s time to be a real hero: I’ll lead a mission to the sun in order to... invite the sun to the party of its life! We’ll have so many hilarious misadventures that the sun will eventually become... cooler. ;) +FUN

Be a visionary: what will the next big social media craze be?

a. Bull$hit: it’s Facebook, but each time someone shares news that isn’t supported by real facts, they’re taxed, and the money goes to the people exposed to that bullshit. +WEALTH

b. Greek Agoras: like literal Greek agoras re-instated in our cities. Places where philosophy and arts are discussed by the greater minds. That’s the social media I want to log into! +SMARTS

c. Rbert: from now on, a socially awkward guy named Robert will do everything he’s commanded to do through the app by its users! +CHARM

You wish you were raised by...

a. A mysterious old man who saved me from the streets in order to raise me as his disciple in the ancient ways of rad DJing! +FUN

b. A pack of wild wolves... who also happens to be tech moguls who own some of the most profitable companies of Silicon Valley. They would be kick-ass role models AND wild wolves! Sick! +WEALTH

c. A really progressive marriage between a kick-ass venomous snake and... actual fire. I love fire and I see no issue with being raised by it. +BOLD

You build a 100ft statue commemorating an event so that in 1000 years archaeologists can learn something about the people of our time. What does the statue represent?

a. That glorious instant when your friend stopped you from texting embarrassing stuff to your ex while hella drunk. +FUN

b. That mind-blowing twist in your favourite TV show that clearly changed the life of everyone forever, unlike all that boring stuff they show on the news. +CREATIVITY

c. Your least favourite political figure... being devoured by rabid rhinoceri... which are also covered in badass tattoos. +BOLD

Which is the coolest mythological creature?

a. The invisible hand of the free market. +WEALTH

b. A sphinx... who’s super turnt up and ready to party! And she raps all her riddles (she still kills you if you don’t answer them correctly... but she raps the riddles)! +FUN

c. This weird creature I drew when I was six and which is clearly super derivative from other mythological creatures... but it’s super cool and it’s my OC and my spirit animal, okay? +CREATIVITY

You’re elected president for a day. What’s the first law you pass?

a. You can deduct taxes by writing sonnets instead. Amount of taxes deducted are calculated based on the beauty of the sonnets. +CREATIVITY

b. Trivia fact: presidents don’t pass laws... so is this a trick question or are you just being an idiot? +SMARTS

c. One dollar bills will now include a picture of me and the inscription “Beware: Too Much Awesomeness.” My presidency might last a day, but my fame will last forever! +CHARM

A radioactive possum just bit you... what superpowers did you get?

a. The superpower of always choosing the right combination of emojis to get the desired reaction from all people: seducing my loved ones, burning my enemies, settling an argument, and even conveying complex emotional thoughts. +CHARM

b. Uh, probably rabies? I’d go to a hospital immediately. +SMARTS

c. The incredible power of writing fanfiction so compelling that the actual creators of the TV shows decide to go with my ideas and crazy ships. +CREATIVITY

School is outdated and lame. We need a new school subject asap!

a. Critical thought. I mean... damn, this country could really use a subject like that in schools. +SMARTS

b. Turning people into your puppets through emotional warfare and deception 101. +CHARM

c. How to correctly punch a crocodile without terrible consequences. +BOLD

If you had to have sex with animal... which animal would it be?

(You don’t get six answers; the three answers you get are randomized.)

a. A great white shark. I have to fuck an animal, let’s at least make it a story worth telling! +CHARM

b. A swan. They’re classy. Plus it reminds me of that myth of Leda and the Swan, so at least by bestiality standards it has a certain chic appeal. +CREATIVITY

c. A human being, because I’m the kind of douchebag who loves to find loopholes in stupid questions like this one. +SMARTS

d. A purebred horse. At least I can keep his semen and sell it. It’s worth a lot! Who said there was no silver lining to bestiality? +WEALTH

e. A dolphin. They’re the only other animal that fucks just for pleasure, so at least we can both do our best to have a good time, right? +FUN

f. No on can make me fuck an animal. If I fucked an animal, it’d be of my own free will. As a matter of fact, I already have fucked an animal, so the joke’s on you, pal. +BOLD

The coolest reality show would be...

a. Twelve experts on the various arts of seduction live in a house where they must face a common challenge: seducing a potato into marriage... somehow. +CHARM

b. Eight rich people fight in weekly challenges to see who’s the best at giving money to you. +WEALTH

c. People in various positions of power must face all sorts of questions relevant to their field, and if they fail, they lose their jobs... and society wins. +SMARTS

You get the chance to produce a movie. It’s based on...

a. The most influential Russian novelists of the XIX century... have gone nuts! They don’t remember anything about last night and now they can’t find the manuscript of The Brothers Karamazov; and Dostoyevsky has to deliver it TODAY! +FUN

b. Two cool guys walking away from rad explosions. And they don’t look at the explosions. THEY DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE EXPLOSIONS! They reflect on life and love... AND IT IS SUPER DOPE AND KICK-ASS BECAUSE THEY DO SO WALKING AWAY FROM NEVER-ENDING EXPLOSIONS! +BOLD

c. Something about superheroes, but with a love triangle between a beauty yet somehow relatable girl (maybe she’s always stating she’s a mess?) and two of the super hot superheroes, which are also like vampires or pirates or both. Instant hit! +WEALTH

Democracy is just broken. What would be the best way of choosing the leaders of modern society?

a. Whoever can play the most heartbreaking violin solo wins. +CREATIVITY

b. You put all the candidates in an empty room... with a wild grizzly bear. Whoever kills the bear should be our president. If everyone dies, then it’s obvious: the bear should be our president. +BOLD

c. We create a reality show called “America’s Next Top President” where the candidates compete in all kinds of physical and mental challenges. Voter turnout would increase and we would turn a profit on it! +FUN

If you could put a curse on your worst enemy, what would it do?

a. I’d curse them to fall in love with a wonderful person and be happily married before they realize that all this time... their partner was a wild panther in disguise! Then the panther viciously devours my enemy. Classic! +BOLD

b. The curse of always meeting obnoxious people at parties who are super into new fad diets that feel the need to explain them in detail. +CHARM

c. You can’t rely on the effectiveness of a curse. I prefer to take care of my enemies the old-fashioned way: by exposing them to unsafe doses of radiation over the course of several years. +SMARTS

What would be the coolest prize you could find in your box of cereal?

a. A tiny piece of sharp metal, so every scoop will be full of thrill and danger! +BOLD

b. The phone number of the sexy tiger on the front of the box. He’s so passionate about breakfast and health that he’s surely also a grrreat lover. +CHARM

c. A sample of a more nutritious breakfast option, so people are encouraged to stop eating that colorful crap. +SMARTS

What inanimate object do you think would make the best girlfriend or boyfriend, provided you went criminally insane?

a. A human-size pillow depicting a character created by myself. As a matter of fact, I have all the needed paperwork and I’m only waiting for the conservative narrow-minded laws of our country to finally step forward into waifu and husbando territory, as was clearly intended by God. +CREATIVITY

b. A dildo, duh. +FUN

c. An ATM. Sugar baby life, here I come! +WEALTH

Which god do you pray to each night before sleeping?

a. Praying is kind of lame. I have a group text set up with some deities: Dionysus, Bastet, Loki... coolest cats in town. +CHARM

b. Praying is for fools. I took some compromising pics of a god molesting a tree, and now I blackmail him for whatever I want. A lot more effective. +SMARTS

c. Oh, I pray to all kinds of gods. I have this business where people pay me to deliver their prayers every night. I’ve even started to look for a Chinese factory to outsource the prayers. +WEALTH

prom date questions

What is the sexiest type of knowledge a lover can have?

a. How to set stuff on fire. ❤️DAMIEN

b. All the principles to build a financial empire. ❤️VERA

c. Lyrics to all Disney songs. ❤️MIRANDA

d. Obscure 80s movie trivia. ❤️LIAM

e. Sports things. ❤️SCOTT

f. How to make a killer cocktail out of anything. ❤️POLLY

Your partner just gave you a cool gift for your anniversary but you totally forgot! Quick, come up with an idea for a great gift!

a. The head of their fiercest enemy. ❤️VERA

b. A silly toy that makes silly noises. ❤️SCOTT

c. The abstract concept of gratefulness. ❤️LIAM

d. A pony. Always a pony. ❤️MIRANDA

e. Anything on fire. Or a weapon. No, no: a weapon on fire. ❤️DAMIEN

f. Anything capable of leading them to an overdose of some sorts. ❤️POLLY

What would be a deal-breaker for a potential lover?

a. The person lacks taste. ❤️LIAM

b. The person is mediocre. ❤��VERA

c. The person is a coward. ❤️DAMIEN

d. The person is boring. ❤️POLLY

e. The person hates the outdoors. ❤️SCOTT

f. The person lacks manners. ❤️MIRANDA

What would be a killer accessory?

a. Sunglasses... at night. ❤️POLLY

b. A fabulous purse made from the skin of your worst enemy. ❤️VERA

c. Coolness itself. ❤️LIAM

d. Fancy brass knuckles. ❤️DAMIEN

e. A necklace with your own name... in case you forget! ❤️SCOTT

f. Shiny armor. ❤️MIRANDA

The world will end tomorrow... What will you do today?

a. Nobody ends the world but me! I’ll end the world today. ❤️DAMIEN

b. It’s okay! We invented the apocalypse to take care of the overpopulation of commoners. ❤️MIRANDA

c. I’ll finish my novel... whoever comes after the end should know my legacy! ❤️LIAM

d. 100 push-ups... no, no 200 push-ups! ❤️SCOTT

e. They always tell you the world is ending... I’ll profit on other people’s hysteria. ❤️VERA

f. I always party as if there were no tomorrow... so who cares? ❤️POLLY

Which criteria would you use to name your children?

a. Meh... no name? It’s just too much work! ❤️POLLY

b. I will research for a name that is pun-proof and joke-proof. No one will pick on them. ❤️VERA

c. A non-heteronormative name to give them freedom to define themselves on their own terms. ❤️LIAM

d. Just a swear word. ❤️DAMIEN

e. My name + “II” (the Second). ❤️MIRANDA

f. Something simple and friendly, like Bobby or Mary. ❤️SCOTT

If you were an ice cream... which flavour would you be?

a. Double creme de la Gruyere and meringues. ❤️LIAM

b. Spicy chocolate. No... chocolate on FIRE! ❤️DAMIEN

c. Success. ❤️VERA

d. Tequila and coke. ;) ❤️POLLY

e. Rainbows and gummy bears. ❤️MIRANDA

f. Meat! ❤️SCOTT

What would be your dream first date?

a. An art exhibition experimental enough to give you a seizure. ❤️LIAM

b. A sweaty and manly wrestling match. ❤️SCOTT

c. A professional meeting where you charm your date with some astonishing business advice! ❤️VERA

d. A wild party in international waters. ❤️POLLY

e. A lovely walk in the forest... after rescuing your date from a dragon! ❤️MIRANDA

f. Crimes. ❤️DAMIEN

You find a genie in a bottle. You can ask for whatever you want. What do you ask for?

a. A rainbow that you can eat! ❤️MIRANDA

b. I don’t ask for anything. I drink the genie from the bottle. I can grant my own wishes! ❤️DAMIEN

c. Before asking for anything, you try to negotiate up to the three standard wishes. ❤️VERA

d. Infinite confetti! ❤️POLLY

e. ...His friendship! ❤️SCOTT

f. Him to not be so cliched. Genies and wishes... so mainstream! ❤️LIAM

What would be the most appealing in a love partner?

a. A big... horn. ❤️DAMIEN

b. Sharp wits. ❤️LIAM

c. Kawaii eyes. ❤️MIRANDA

d. A very tsundere personality. ❤️VERA

e. Soft fur. ❤️SCOTT

f. A taste for party. ❤️POLLY

#monster prom #damien lavey #polly geist #vera oberlin #miranda vanderbilt #i'm also trying to do a 'walkthrough' for the events #i've only done like vera's and it's.... A Lot lads #long post for ts

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years

Text

Caught in Your Light (4/4)

Forever. It’s been forever. Or, possibly, longer.

It might honestly be longer.

Killian can’t remember a moment when he wasn’t hopelessly, head over heels in love with Emma. And it’s kind of becoming a problem. Because it’s been forever and they’ve always been friends, but now things are changing and traditions are ending and there’s just one more weekend.

This is it. So it’s time to do something about it. In Boston. With all their friends watching. It’ll be fine.

Rating: Mature. Swearing. Kissing. Rinse and repeat. Word Count: Seriously way too many. 9.3 this chapter. Lolz. AN: Here it is! This is the final part of my @csficformal gift for @idristardis. This story was such a delight to write and I can’t thank you guys enough for continuing to enjoy when I slam keys and spew words at the internet. There are more baseball jokes and pop culture references and you should probably listen to Counting Stars by Augustana because that’s where the title comes from and I want everyone to love Augustana as much as I have since 2006. Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

It takes him, approximately, forty-seven seconds to exhale.

He’s holding his breath, hoarding it like that will, somehow, make his brain work quicker or fire the appropriate neurons and the room is spinning a little bit. That might be because he’s not breathing properly.

Killian drags a hand over his face, licking his lips and he winces when his head snaps towards the door. Still closed. Or closed again. It doesn’t matter.

The only thing that does matter is that he’s standing alone in the middle of his apartment and he can’t seem to catch his breath.

He tries not to come up with another Marathon joke.

It doesn’t work.

And he’s not really sure what sound seems to just fall out of him, a mix of actual laughter and disbelief and something that feels almost like joy because he can’t seem to stop replaying Emma’s words in his head.

They echo in between horrible jokes and slightly bad puns and I love you seems to brand itself on the inside of his eyelids every time he blinks.

He keeps blinking – like that will make the scene change or prove that he’s still asleep and possibly dreaming, but if he were either one of those things he’d still be in bed with his arm wrapped around Emma’s waist and, really, that’s not all that bad of an alternative.

Killian sighs again, a rush of oxygen that probably deserved a little more time in his body if the burning in his lungs is any indication, and the room continues to shift on several different axises.

I love you.

His legs wobble a bit when he takes a step forward, not entirely sure where he’s going, but positive he needs to move. He has no idea where his phone is and half of Emma’s stuff is still strewn across his bedroom because she’s kind of a mess sometimes, but only when she’s comfortable and he’s always kind of loved that about her and--

“Oh fuck,” Killian breathes.

He throws his right hand out, a flash of pain rushing up his forearm and he’s only slightly concerned about the dent he’s left in whatever the goddamn wall is made out of because he’s fairly positive that won’t be covered in the renter’s insurance he absolutely has.

I love you.

And he stood there.

She kept talking and ranting and pacing and he stood there like a fucking statute staring at her while his mind tried to latch onto the idea that this could actually be reality.

He’s alone in his apartment and there’s still a frame sitting in the corner of his couch.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Killian mutters. He’s going to fix this. He’s going to...do something big and important and both of those things will probably freak Emma out so he can’t do either one, but he has to do something and just screaming I’ve loved you forever in her face probably isn’t the best course of action either.

He needs eighty-two mimosas and several plates of home fries.

Emma has a habit of stealing his home fries.

“God fucking hell, shit, damn,” Killian curses, nearly tripping over his own feet to get down his hallway and this whole weekend is some kind of complete disaster.

It’s not the quickest shower he’s ever taken, but it’s pretty close – the water barely getting hot before he’s out and trying to find a shirt and socks that match. He gives up on the sock thing in, like, ten seconds flat.

He’s half a step away from the door, mind racing and pulse racing and he knows Emma isn’t going to come back here – home, he called it home and she called it home and he wants to call it home together in a collective way that means something and maybe he should lead with that when he finds her – but his phone is buzzing in his pocket and it feels as if his heart has leapt into his throat and fallen to his feet at the same time.

It’s not the worst feeling in the world, honestly.

His phone buzzes again.

And it’s not the name he’s expecting, or hoping, to see.

David Nolan, 1:05 p.m.: Do we need to stage a search and rescue? I’m not putting out an APB, so either you guys tell me where you are or I’m going to be super annoyed.

Killian squeezes the phone tight enough he’s only slightly worried about doing damage to it, but then it’s making more noise and Ruby has written a goddamn novel.

Ruby Lucas, 1:06 p.m.: Dear Detective David Nolan. CALM DOWN. You know the T runs weird on Sundays and we are not really that late. This cannot possibly be good for your blood pressure. Order something to drink. Come up with some reasons why the Red Sox are going to win the AL East this year to antagonize Jones. Drink the drink you ordered. Stare longingly at your wife. Rinse and repeat until the Boston public transportation system decides to stop being a massive dick on the weekends.

Killian laughs in spite of himself and his body’s seeming inability to do two things at once – like walk and read text messages at the same time. And there are already dots on his screen in the group text that will never end.

Merida Broch, 1:07 p.m.: Killian and Emma aren’t here yet.

Ruby Lucas, 1:07 p.m.: !!!

Ruby Lucas, 1:07 p.m.: WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!

Mulan Fa, 1:08 p.m.: You should see her face. She’s doing an almost admirable job of looking genuinely surprised.

Merida Brock, 1:09 p.m.: A for effort, right M’s?

Mary Margaret Nolan, 1:10 p.m.: No comment.

Ruby Lucas, 1:10 p.m.: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? WHAT. DOES. THAT MEAN?!

Killian’s not sure if it’s just his hand that’s shaking or his entire arm or, possibly, his entire being and it might be all three, but he’s not breathing again and that joy he’d felt before was obviously fleeting, inching closer to what feels like fury.

And frustration.

That’s less dramatic than fury.

Ruby Lucas, 1:12 p.m.: Why is no one answering me? We are three stops away. I need updates. I need information. Mary Margaret, I know things about you! I was there the first time you got drunk freshman and tried to do the hand jive in the middle of Beacon Street.

Merida Brock, 1:13 p.m.: The hand jive? David Nolan, 1:14 p.m.: From Grease. Ruby, stop talking.

Ruby sends back a string of emojis that are equal parts immature and impressive in their double entendres, but Killian’s legs have finally decided to be a functioning part of his body and he’s too busy jogging towards the stairwell to spend too much time lingering on meanings.

Or the hand jive.

He’d like to see Mary Margaret drunkenly do the hand jive some time.

If only to tell the story to future Nolan at some indeterminate point in the future.

That, however, will probably revoke his recently granted godparent’dom and maybe he should discuss his ideas with Emma first – just to double check. Or whatever. God damn.

David Nolan, 1:15 p.m.: Killian and Emma if you are not here in ten minutes, we’re going to order without you and I’m not going to let you get mimosas.

Mary Margaret Nolan, 1:16 p.m.: That’s not true. You can have all the mimosas you want. As many as you need.

Killian rolls his eyes, another door slamming behind him and he almost runs into a small family when he rounds the corner outside his apartment building. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, holding both hands up and they stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

He kind of has.

And his phone doesn’t vibrate immediately, staying silent in his hand as he all but sprints towards the T a few blocks away. There appears to be an oxygen shortage in his neighborhood, a stitch in his side that feels as if it’s growing every second he stands on the platform.

He will, eventually, blame that for what he does next.

I’m going to order a mimosa every other minute and then I’m going to dump out every glass David tries to drink and make him pay for both of our meals.

It’s probably not the best response immediately following emotional declarations in his apartment or overly interfering friends, but he knows Emma and neither one of them responded to the group text.

So Killian waits – for the train and a response and several other things that he probably should have dealt with by now, but that would require any of them to act like adults and David was making mimosa-based threats a few minutes before, so by comparison, he feels like he’s doing a pretty ok job.

He’s not counting seconds or stops, but his heel taps impatiently, tucked into the corner of a car to avoid the influx of tourists because some website in February claimed Back Bay was an undiscovered and underexplored neighborhood and Killian nearly takes out a guy with his elbow when his phone makes noise.

Emma Swan, 1:24 p.m.: That’s a lot of mimosas. Can you get alcohol poisoning from shitty champagne?

Killian Jones, 1:25 p.m.: Don’t let Mary Margaret hear you call it shitty champagne. She’ll take umbrage at that and assume it’s an insult to her entire schedule and her questionable decision to pick brunch as her Final Jam choice.

Emma Swan, 1:25 p.m.: Good word.

Emma Swan, 1:27 p.m.: And it’s because Mary Margaret knows we all appreciate brunch, so she gave up her choice so we could have this plus everything else we wanted to do. Presumably because she’s a better person than all of us combined.

Killian Jones, 1:28 p.m.: I’m not disagreeing with you. Emma Swan: 1:29 p.m.: No? Killian Jones, 1:29 p.m.: I don’t think there are many things I’d disagree with you on, love.

He needs to stop breathing through his mouth – quiet sighs and not-so-quiet sighs and he’s going to sue that website because the tourists on the train keep shooting him slightly concerned glances when he can’t seem to stop making noise.

But his pulse is doing something medically impossible in his veins and he can almost hear Emma’s voice in his head, the way her eyes flicker up when she’s trying to make a joke and he wants to be anywhere except going to brunch.

Even if the champagne is good.

Mary Margaret wouldn’t pick a restaurant with shitty champagne.

The train lurches to a stop, tourists grumbling and everyone should be required to take a class on how to maintain their center of balance before getting on public transportation. Killian pushes his way through the door, doing his best to avoid toes and shoes and only kind of doing either, jogging down the stairs towards the restaurant he’s only slightly certain is the right one.

He hopes it’s the right one.

The half-formed plan in the back of his mind is not going to work if he shows up at the wrong restaurant.

Killian will never actually admit to running down Sudbury Street, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t, at least, jog briskly, weaving around people and families and one particularly large stroller making it way towards the patch of green masquerading as a park a few blocks away.

They’re sitting by the window – Merida’s hair making it all impossible to miss them, Ruby’s laugh a close second – and David waves his arms like Killian’s ignoring them and not just waiting for the light to turn.

“Where have you been?” David shouts. “I was almost genuinely worried.”

“Almost genuinely being the operative words here,” Mulan mutters, grinning despite the glare she gets in response and Ruby is fiddling with her phone.

She curses under her breath when the thing doesn’t do what she, apparently, wants it to, bumping a salt shaker in the process and Mary Margaret mumbles something about shoulders and good luck. “We don’t have time for that, M’s,” Ruby says, but Killian is more distracted by the music coming out of her phone.

“What the hell are you doing, Lucas?” It’s that song. Not the Dropkick Murphys, but some other song from the early 2000s about this city and sunsets and Emma absolutely knows all the lyrics.

Killian knows she knows all the lyrics.

She’ll never admit to knowing all the lyrics.

Ruby blinks, twisting her neck and looking for something that obviously isn’t there. Her shoulders sag noticeably. “What is going on?” she asks sharply, narrowing her eyes at Killian like any of this is his fault.

Ok, so some of it is his fault and he really should have said something back to Emma, but now he’s got, at least, three quarters of a plan and he’s going to fix it.

All of it.

In some great, big life-altering kind of way.

“I have no idea what you’re asking me, Lucas,” Killian admits and he’s still standing on the sidewalk. He has absolutely no intention of going in the restaurant.

“How is that possible? What did you do?” “Was it bad?” Mary Margaret asks, apparently joining the conversation that makes no sense whatsoever. “After we left, I mean? It looked like it could be ok. I had a good feeling.” “Wait, you guys saw Emma and Killian already?” Mulan asks. “This morning?” “We had some stuff.” “Stuff.” “Stuff,” David repeats intently and Killian makes a mental note to tell Emma about dad voice and the list of things he has to do keeps growing. “Seriously, Lucas, what is this music? You’re going to get us kicked out of the restaurant before we can order.” Ruby rolls her eyes, her gaze, somehow, never leaving Killian and if he felt like he was going to get grounded with Mary Margaret and David, he kind of feels like he’s going to get reprimanded for every decision he’s ever made now.

“Is this seriously not the moment?” Ruby sighs. “Because I have been waiting for this forever. Years. Actual years. I have schedules for this moment. Outlines.” “It’s been discussed,” Mulan adds, a smile on her face and Mary Margaret looks like she’s about start crying again. “In detail. More than once.” Merida tilts her head, eyeing them both over the top of a glass that is filled with something other than mimosa. “Is that weird? It feels like it should be weird.” “Please, you’re the one who wanted to bet on it.” “What?” Killian shouts, scaring several different members of the waitstaff. He’s fairly certain the hostess is actively trying to get someone else to come outside and ask him to sit down. “Bet on what, exactly?” David does his best to turn his laughter into a convincing cough, but he’s also trying to drink mimosa at the same time and it ends with him nearly choking and Merida cackling and Ruby must have that goddamn song on repeat.

Killian’s not sure if the heat on his cheeks is from the questionable amount of sun or something slightly more emotional.

Emma’s not there.

“Alright, alright,” Ruby says quickly, hooking her chin over Mulan’s still-shaking shoulders. “Tell me, honestly, were you not late because you were fine-tuning your speech? Where’s Emma?” “What speech?” Killian asks. “And I’m only about ninety-two percent certain about that second question.” Mary Margaret blinks, confusion obvious, which is fair. Killian tries to ignore her stare boring into the side of his face. Or David’s. He’s already got his phone out.

“The speech,” Ruby continues, like that makes any sense at all. “The big one. The important one. Where you tell us that you and Emma have been actually dating this entire time and we’re all not insane.” “I mean…” “Do not finish that sentence, Jones.”

He flashes her a smile, a strange twist of muscles and feeling considering the small tempest of emotions currently sitting in the pit of his stomach. Ruby looks stunned. Killian adds that to the list as well.

“I really thought this was the moment,” Ruby grumbles. “The mutual pining was cute for a while, but now it’s just starting to get kind of obnoxious.”

“It’s not obnoxious,” Mary Margaret corrects, but Ruby gags and Mulan mutters ehhhh under her breath and Killian’s not entirely sure where that other voice is coming from.

It might be Merida’s phone.

It is definitely Merida’s phone.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Killian admits, another lie that doesn’t entirely feel right on his tongue and he really needs to start coming up with more concise schedules if he’s going to keep having these kinds of conversations.

“Oh, that was bad,” Mulan mutters. “It didn’t even sound like you were trying.” Ruby hums knowingly. “That’s because he wasn’t. Something happened. Something big. With M’s and David and they’re all lying to us. To our faces. During Final Jam. That’s rude, Jones.” “What happened after we left?” David asks, another attempt at dad voice that falls a little short because Killian is not, in fact, a kid. Just possibly a lovesick teenager, for the last ten years, because he might have actually been in love with Emma for the last ten years and his friends have known the entire time.

Killian doesn’t answer immediately and it’s more than enough time for Ruby’s eyes to dart towards Mary Margaret, a smile curling on her mouth and her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek and it’s, suddenly, almost believable that she has a schedule for this conversation.

“Just tell me one thing,” she says. “Have you guys been dating the whole time? Or just, like, recently? You’re not secretly married are you?” “I thought they were married,” the voice on the phone, which is definitely Mac, says and several different people at the table groan dramatically.

Killian closes his eyes. “Not married. Not dating. Friends.” “That’s a worse lie than the last one,” Mulan chuckles.

“And not entirely true,” Mary Margaret adds. Killian’s eyes snap open. “Oh, c’mon,” she says, disbelief in every letter and she sounds genuinely stunned. Ruby’s started laughing again. “Are you kidding me?” “That was almost close to being an insult,” Merida mumbles, most of her drink already gone. “He’s just slow on the uptake.” “I’m standing right here,” Killian hisses. “And you guys are fucking this up.” Ruby makes a noise that is somewhere between a guffaw and the sound a rocket makes when it takes off, leaping out of her chair and the salt is a lost cause at that point. “Did you tell her you’re stupid, crazy in love with her yet? I mean, not like in a Beyonce way, a you way. Is that why she’s not here? Is that why you weren’t here? Was I totally right?”

“What was it like?” Mary Margaret adds. “Epic? Romantic? Slightly cautious and vulnerable, but also incredibly sweet?” Killian’s slightly worried his face is going to freeze this way – twisted into surprise and concern at just how much thought his friends have put into this and he needs Mary Margaret to explain what the hell she meant before.

He doesn’t get the chance. “Oh my God, Mary Margaret, now is not the time,” Mulan says. “Look at him. He’s dying out there. He’s loitering and dying and probably thinking all kinds of things that aren’t true.”

“Ruby brought a soundtrack!” “To be fair, he hasn’t actually said anything,” David points out, earning several hums of agreement and Killian has dislocated his jaw. He’s positive. “But Mary Margaret is right. The friends thing is a joke. It’s been a joke forever, right? I mean since--” He cuts himself off, clamping his lips together tight enough that they all but disappear from his face. Ruby curses again.

The goddamn song won’t stop playing.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Killian asks and he’s not entirely sure who he’s directing the question to. He’s still not entirely sure the entire goddamn day hasn't been a very lucid and slightly convoluted dream. “I need someone to answer me right now. In complete sentences.” “Shit, I feel like I’m getting detention,” Ruby mutters.

“You get a lot of detention in high school, Lucas?” She flips him off, Mary Margaret mumbling oh my God as she tries to pull Ruby’s hand down and they’re going to have to leave a tip to every single person working in that restaurant. Killian’s eyes flit towards David, several empty mimosa glasses around him and both of them try to take a deep breath.

It doesn’t work.

“You’re an idiot,” David accuses. “Both of you are, but you’re the only one here so you can take the brunt of my insults.” “I”m not sure that’s how it works.”

“Too bad. Did anything else happen after that one Final Jam?” Killian’s entire body sags forward, like he’s been punched in the gut and had his legs kicked out from underneath him and David smiles smugly because he’s also an idiot. “Yeah, I figured,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think she remembers she told me. It was years ago and she’d gotten into some scrape with a skip and you didn’t answer your phone. There was morphine involved.” “And you never brought it up?”

“Why would I?”’

“What did she say?” “I’m not telling you that,” David says, sitting up straighter and slinging an arm around Mary Margaret’s shoulders. Killian doesn’t try to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “But what I am telling you is that you both have been idiots for years. The pining thing has been as stupid as any of the stupid shit we’ve all done. You’ve convinced yourselves you’re friends when you want to spend most of your time making out in public places again.” “What?” Ruby screams. Mary Margaret’s eyes widen to a size that cannot be appropriate for normal humans. Merida knocks over what’s left of her drink. Mulan appears to have frozen.

“I’m going to say something,” Mary Margaret warns. “And it’s going to be sentimental. So I don’t want to hear any over the top groaning or anything like that, everyone understand?”

“Understood, Mrs. Nolan,” Killian mutters, mock saluting with two fingers.

“You two have been in love with each other forever. Before forever. But neither one of you is very good with maybe or what if. The thing is, though, neither one of you realized you were both dealing with definitely.” “These are not the complete sentences I demanded a few seconds ago.” “Then try and listen for a change. You love her. She loves you. It’s easy.”

“That’s stupid romantic, M’s,” Ruby grins and she’s got her arm around Mulan now as well, a smile on her face that could probably cut glass or something. Killian really needs to stop making all these science jokes when he doesn’t understand the facts behind them.

And his mind is still jumping from question to question, a string of hopes and optimism and a distinct lack of either because his phone has been almost painfully silent the entire time he’s been loitering on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, it is,” Mary Margaret agrees. “But Killian stares at Emma like she’s the center of the universe and she does the same thing right back, so maybe we’re all due for a little sweeping romance in our lives.” Ruby nods. “See, that’s why I was playing the song. You going to go sweep, Jones?”

He digs his teeth into his lower lip, tugging in a breath through is nose and Ruby only looks momentarily put out by the whole thing.

“Seriously,” David shrugs. “Mac’s not the only one who thinks you guys are married when he sees you. Most cognizant people think that. We’ve been waiting for you two to catch up for years. Have you?” It feels a little bit like a threat and a little bit like several different life-lessons from half a dozen different TV dad’s, the music actually swelling in the background like they’re living life to an early 2000s soundtrack. And Killian’s not entirely sure what the right answer is, standing in the middle of the sidewalk with the sun beating down on the back of his neck and cautious optimism surging through every inch of him.

But then he feels himself nodding and almost smiling and there are tears on Mary Margaret’s face. “Yeah, I think so,” Killian says. Mac actually whoops. Maybe they should invite him to Final Jam from now on. “Alright, listen, I’ve got, like, half a plan and several demands and then I’m done listening to you guys and your shitty sentence structure, ok?”

He doesn’t pause or give any of them a chance to interrupt, grabbing one of the mimosas a slightly frightened waiter leaves on the table when his mouth goes dry. Killian just keeps talking and drinking and there are a few nods and shared, slightly knowing smiles because he’s absolutely been staring at Emma like she’s the center of several different universes for the better part of the last decade.

Mac cheers when he finishes.

Killian grins, taking another swig of mimosa before nodding once and running away – again.

Only this time he feels like he’s running towards something and someone and, hopefully, everything, so that feels like an important distinction.

There is no jogging this time around.

It’s a flat-out sprint, past museums and monuments and he almost breaks both his ankles when his shoes refuse to find any traction on cobblestones.

There are so many cobblestones in Boston.

The entire goddamn city is a bit of a contradiction – as historic as America can get, really, the start of several different moments Killian can recite from memory and a major, metropolitan space with skyscrapers and fancy bridges that several different engineering shows Emma secretly likes to watch on the History Channel have claimed are modern marvels. It’s old and new and tradition and not and it feels like the metaphors are stabbing Killian in the side by the time he leaves the cobblestones behind, stepping on the incredibly green grass in Boston Common.

There are more tourists here – kites and picnic blankets and camera shutters – but he barely gives himself a chance to get his bearings or consider just how quickly he’s run half a mile, before he’s moving again.

It seems to take a small eternity and several lifetimes to cross the Common, eyes darting every direction on the off chance that he’s wrong. And it’s kind of pointless.

Killian knows he’s not wrong.

He knows exactly where Emma is.

There’s a huge line in front of the swan boats – kids shouting and screaming and slightly flustered parents trying to calm them, mixed in with disgruntled teenagers and grandparents and more camera shutters snapping – and he sees her before she realizes he’s standing there.

She’s leaning against the tree closest to the water, hair tugged over one of her shoulders and Killian can just make out the headphones stuck in her ears. They look oddly familiar. Probably because they’re his.

The realization does something stupid to every single facet of his being, standing stock-still in the middle of the pathway while he tries to remember a single letter of the English language.

A kid nearby shouts something, snapping Emma’s attention away from the phone in her hand and her eyes widen when she notices him standing there, lips parting almost audibly. Her shoulders shift slightly, like she’s trying to stay comfortable against the tree or, just, in general and Killian forgets any reason for any of the nerves he’s had all weekend.

She was right.

It was stupid. Is stupid.

Anything that isn’t telling her the absolute truth is stupidest thing he could possibly be doing.

That’s not a word.

“Hey,” she mutters, tugging one headphone out. “You’re uh...how’d you know I was here?”

Killian shakes his head and she’s got no idea.

She has no idea he loves her back.

“Shit,” Killian breathes, which is really not what he hoped to say at all. “Damnit, that’s not..Swan, where else were you going to go?”

Emma’s mouth snaps closed and a minimum-wage employee of the city of Boston is announcing that it’s time to all aboard before this Swan floats away. It draws a laugh out of both of them, eyes flitting towards each other and his feet are moving as soon as the thought lands in the back of his brain.

She’s still sitting when he moves into her space and Killian can just barely make out the NESN announcers coming through the headphone resting on her thigh. He’s going to keep laughing for the rest of the day.

Maybe after he kisses Emma.

He really, really wants to kiss Emma again.

“Are they winning?” Killian asks, nodding towards the phone and the game he can now see playing on her screen.

“Up four, zip and just about to start the second. The Red Sox offense is ridiculous.” “Or the Rays are really bad at pitching.” “Yeah, that too,” Emma says. She hasn’t tried to get up. Killian isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing. He’s also not sure if his knees will actually bend to sit next to her. “How come we didn’t make fun of Craig Kimbrel?” “What?” “Craig Kimbrel,” she repeats. “I feel like we missed a prime opportunity with that one. His windup is ridiculous and absurd and, honestly, just asking to be made fun of. Even with that wicked fastball.” Her eyes flash when she realizes what she’s said and Killian’s smile, somehow, gets even wider. “Ok, do not start,” Emma mutters. “That’s just part of city-wide vernacular.” “Pahrk the cah in Hahvard yahrd,” Killian says, exaggerating every vowel and adding in a few more for good measure.

Emma laughs.

It feels like a walk-off home run.

“That’s not funny,” she growls, but her eyes are still bright and he’s still jogging around the metaphorical bases. Emma huffs when his laughter doesn’t fade immediately, wringing her hands together and Killian is pleasantly surprised to find his knees do, in fact, still work.

Her hands are warm when he tugs her fingers apart, crouched in front of her with his own fingers laced through hers.

“It’s a little funny.” “You think way too highly of your own brand of humor.”

“Got you to almost laugh though, so…” Killian trails off, lifting his eyebrows and hoping and the Rays go down in order in the top of the second.

“We really should have made fun of Craig Kimbrel,” Emma whispers. “It’s so easy. I can’t believe we didn’t think about it.” He’s not an English teacher so he’s not entirely qualified to dissect the deeper meaning behind emotional conversations, but if Killian were writing an essay this would be the part of the story he’d highlight and critique.

Because Emma doesn’t let go of his hand and he’s balancing most of his weight on his heels, but neither one of them can pull their gaze away from the other and the next words out of his mouth feel almost poetic.

“Because it wasn’t a save situation, love. They didn’t need to bring in the closer if they were already winning.” Emma’s answering laugh seems to sink into every inch of him, and, selfishly, Killian hopes he hears that sound every day for the rest of his life because it might be his favorite sound in all of documented history.

He’s good at history.

Or so say several degrees and that one award he got three years ago when Emma flew in to be at the ceremony.

And he’s never really sure how he doesn’t fall on top of her, but Killian surges forward and Emma’s free hand flies into his hair and kissing her, for the third time, and it's better than the first two combined, plus some.

They move against each other like they’ve been doing this for years, a rhythm that’s new and not and as easy as hitting against the Tampa Bay Rays on bullpen day. Killian tilts his head, not entirely sure what he’s trying to get, but certain it’s just more in some kind of overwhelming way.

His hand shifts, brushing against Emma’s side until she’s sighing into his mouth and her whole body flinches when he brushes his tongue over her lower lip.

There’s a goddamn tree root digging into his left knee and Emma’s phone has, somehow, ended up perpendicular between both of them, but it’s as close to perfect as making out in public can be. Killian’s fairly certain they’ve scandalized the tourists.

He doesn’t care.

And Emma’s fingers in his hair might be his second-favorite thing – behind her laugh because, honestly, that’s just other-level.

She shifts, phone falling to the ground in the process, but then her arms are around his neck and they’re going to get arrested for public indecency.

It would probably be worth it.

David would bail them out. Probably.

Killian stops thinking about jail time, nipping at Emma’s lip instead and that manages to work a totally different sound out of her and maybe he’s an enormous creep because he likes that one a lot and might be making some kind of list of noise-type sounds.

“What?”

He blinks at the question, not sure how either one of them is breathing enough to actually form words, but Emma leans back slightly and Killian can’t help but smile at the look on her face – pupils blown wide and the other headphone has fallen out, the cord hanging over her left shoulder, and she kind of looks how he feels.

“You said words,” Emma says and for one jarring moment he’s legitimately worried this is all a dream. “I was just...I couldn’t really hear. I was…” “Preoccupied?” “Yeah, exactly.”

Killian shakes his head, trying to brush away anything that isn’t her and this and them and he dimly wonders if they can get kicked out of Boston Common. He ducks his head to kiss her first, appreciating the way she follows after him and maybe they’ll just stay in Boston Common forever.

“I love you,” he says and it’s the easiest sentence he’s uttered in his entire life. Emma’s breath hitches, tongue darting out between her lips and that's only slightly distracting, but his calves are, finally, starting to cramp and he’s got a plan. He’s going to stick to it.

“I love you....enough to make my head spin sometimes,” Killian continues, brushing his thumb over Emma’s cheek and just below the lip she’s still biting. “I have for as long as I can remember. I honestly can’t remember a time when I didn’t. And I don’t want to not be doing that.”

“God, that’s the worst English I’ve ever heard.” “Swan, I’m trying to get you to swoon here, love.”

She blushes, closing her eyes like she’s trying to preserve the moment, which, honestly is kind of silly because Killian has every intention of this moment just continuing for the rest of their lives, but it’s also kind of endearing and a little adorable and he keeps getting sidetracked by kissing her.

That seems to bode well for the future.

Their future.

As a collective unit.

“Ah, right, of course,” Emma laughs. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Killian makes a face – one side of his mouth tugging up and eyebrows shifting and he’s fairly certain the blush in Emma’s cheeks gets stronger. This whole moment is doing ridiculous things to his ego. “I love you,” he says again, like he’s been saying it and promising it forever and it’s only a little insane that he hasn’t. “And, uh...none of this is ending.” Emma narrows her eyes. “What?” “That’s kind of why I was late. I would have been here two seconds after you left otherwise, but I had, like, seven-eighths of a plan and--” “Seven-eighths? Good thing you’re not a math teacher.” “That’s an appropriate fraction, Swan. And a pretty hefty amount of plan.” “I can’t believe you just used the word hefty in actual conversation.” “Because you keep interrupting,” Killian says, tapping lightly on her chin. “That makes it difficult to stay on point.” She inhales sharply and the makeouts had done a good job of fogging some of his more recent memories. Like the one where she’d walked out of his apartment an hour before. “I’m sorry,” Emma whispers, meeting his wide-eyed stare with one of her own. “No, no, I’m...I know I’m interrupting and I promise I really am swooning here, but I just want to explain. So, let me explain ok?” Killian nods slowly, giving his calves some reprieve when he twists his legs to sit next to Emma. Her hand finds his almost immediately – or the other way around.

The semantics don’t matter.

English is a dumb language anyway.

“I meant it,” Emma starts. “The...whole emotional outburst and blowup and those are really horrible words for it, but I meant it. And that’s terrifying. Because I meant the other parts too. You’re you and you’re my best friend, don’t tell Mary Margaret that either though, but she probably knows already and it’s totally true and now Final Jam is going to end and things are going to change and I can’t cope with that and then you were…”

She takes a deep breath, licking her lips and it’s like the whole world takes a moment to give them this, sitting a few feet away from the swan boats with the sun and the breeze and the incredibly bright blue sky.

So naturally Emma surprises him.

“We are really, really good at making out,” she says, laugh shaky at best when Killian nearly chokes on a sudden surplus of oxygen. “It’s ridiculous how good we are at it.” “With room for improvement, I hope,” Killian mutters and they’re going to draw more curious stares for their inappropriate laughter than anything else.

“That’s not even a good line.” “Yeah, but I think you still want to make out with me, so…” Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat, but then there’s more kissing and it almost feels like he’s trying to breathe her in and his whole brain stops working for a moment. “It wasn’t fair of me,” she whispers, letting her forehead rest against his. There’s hair brushing against his lips. “Because I was scared of what would happen when this was gone and there weren’t any more schedules or plans and it’s exactly what happened the first time. I just wanted you to be mine for a second.”

Killian can just make out her slightly tremulous smile, eyes a bit glossier than normal and she turns her face into his palm when he rests it against her cheek.

It feels like his heart is going to explode.

“For as long as I can remember, Swan,” Killian says and the world pauses again, or possibly shifts slightly and everything seems to audibly fall into place.

It’s the best metaphor he’s come up with all weekend.

“But you never said.” “Yeah, well, neither did you.” Emma sighs, scrunching her nose. “That’s where the whole this is so stupid rant came from. It was like something snapped in my brain this morning. I woke up and you are freakishly warm, did you know that?” “I did not.” “You are! Crazy warm and it was all so easy and you didn’t argue about anything.” “Swan, if you think I’m ever going to argue about making out with you in my apartment or falling asleep next to you, despite your propensity to stealing blankets, then maybe this is as stupid as you keep saying it is.” “Are you just trying to impress me with your vocabulary at this point?” Killian shrugs. “Maybe. Is it working?” “Maybe.” “How come you came here, Swan?” “How come you knew I came here?” “Nuh uh,” Killian objects. “That’s not how this works. You can’t answer a question with another question. We’ve got to go point to point or we’re never going to get to everything else.” “What else is there?” “I told you, I had seven-eighths of a plan. It became a complete eighth when everyone else agreed with me.” Emma’s eyes widen in curiosity, but Killian shakes his head again. “Nope. An answer. Why’d you come here, love?” If she notices the change in endearment she doesn’t say anything, but her eyebrows shift slightly and her thumb hasn’t stopped moving since his hand found hers again. “You said it first, actually. And I really don’t think I steal blankets.” “You do. I said what?”

“Stick around.” Killian eyebrows pull low, confusion flashing down his spine and he’s been flying the seat of several metaphorical pants all morning, but he genuinely has no idea what the hell she’s talking about. Emma groans.

“Seriously?” she sighs. “You really don’t remember? Was it because you were having so much fun being a giant history nerd?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I'm not a history nerd.” “You teach history!” “That does not, by default, make me a nerd.”

“Oh my God.” Emma shakes her head, twisting her lips and she kisses him quick enough that he hopes he didn’t imagine it. She’s smiling when she pulls away. “You were talking about Paul Revere and the Boston Massacre and you told me to stick around and I could learn more history facts, but I got kind of stuck on the first part and, well,” she shrugs, “did you mean it?” David was right. They are the world’s two biggest idiots.

Emma’s staring at him, lips pressed together and breathing shallow, but the muscles in Killian’s face are starting to ache from overuse. “Of course I did,” he says and every sentence is easier to say than the last.

He’s only slightly frustrated he hasn’t been saying them for the last ten years.

“Yeah, yes, fuck, Emma,” Killian continues. He has to take a breath before he says anything else, the weight of emotion pressing down on every inch of him and it’s absurd and probably impossible, but it’s felt like that kind of day. He’s only slightly positive he doesn’t shout in her face. “Stay here,” he says. “You can...I want you to stay here.”

The whole center of the universe joke has never felt more apt.

Something, something...like Killian is looking right into the sun.

“I really don’t want to go back to Chicago,” Emma says.

“So don’t.” “It’s not that easy.” “Why not?” She blinks. And blinks again. “It shouldn’t be, right? There’s got to be more than that.” “There’s not, Swan, I promise. We’ve already done enough of everything else, I think we should get some easy at this point, don’t you?” “Ah, well, when you put it like that.” “Exactly,” Killian says, reaching up to brush a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Not touching her is insane. “Still swooning?” “Not when you have to double check on it. What are all eight parts of the plan?” “There aren’t eight parts. Just one.” “Which is?” “We’re uncancelling Final Jam.”

They’re loading another boat full of tourists and there’s a toddler having a complete meltdown over something a few feet away, but Killian doesn’t pull his gaze away from Emma – watching every shift in her expression as she realizes what he’s said.

He’s going to set some kind of record for continuous smiling in one emotionally-charged conversation.

“It doesn’t have to end, Swan,” Killian says. “Or, more to the point, it shouldn't end. None of us really want it to. We just kind of assumed it would, but that’s ridiculous and so I’ve decided we’re not.” “You’ve decided?” “Yeah.” “And that’s, like, Final Jam law now?” “Eventually we’ll decide that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said,” he laughs, catching Emma around the wrist when she swats at his chest. “And, no, that’s where I was. The rest of them agreed. It might be different and we might not be able to do the same weekend every year, but it’ll happen and we’ve got everything else too.” Emma quirks an eyebrow. “Everything else?” “I’m fairly positive we did agree to joint godparent’dom a few hours ago, love. And that’ll probably be easier if you’re in the same city, learning some incredibly not nerd-like history facts.”

“It’s not the worst plan I’ve ever heard.” “That’s definitely what I was aiming for.” She laughs, easier than it was at any point all weekend, like she’s breathing out at the same time and Killian’s optimism is just that, no lingering caution or unnecessary precursors. He kisses her – mostly because he can’t come up with a reason not to and because they’ve already wasted so much goddamn time.

And they’re really, really good at kissing each other.

“I love you,” Emma says, mumbling the words against his lips. Killian’s going to smile forever. “And I’m also crazy hungry.” They draw a few more stares and few glances when Killian’s entire body shakes from laughing, but he’s so goddamn happy it’s easy to ignore anything that isn’t how easily he and Emma fall back into normal. It is, some reasonable part of his mind is quick to point out, probably because they’ve been doing this forever.

David’s going to be insufferable.

“We can fix that, Swan,” Killian grins, standing up and holding his hand out. She takes it without a word.

They go to Dunkin Donuts, which is only slightly stereotypical Boston, but it’s still, technically, Final Jam and Killian’s kind of hungry too. They split an entire box of Munchkins and he mutters you’re going to burn your tongue when Emma tries to down her Dunkaccino in four gulps.

She sticks her tongue out at him.

And they’re definitely late by the time the Uber gets to the final event on the not-so-Final Final Jam schedule – Killian’s arm around Emma’s shoulders when they try and sneak into the tour group at Harpoon Brewery without anyone noticing.

Mary Margaret notices. It might be the least surprising thing that’s happened in the last seventy-two hours.

She barely contains her screech, one hand flying to her mouth while the other one swats at David’s side and Killian can feel Emma’s grin when she turns into his side. “Deep breaths, M’s,” Emma mutters, but it does no good and they’ve drawn another crowd.

The tour guide looks personally offended that they’ve shown up half an hour late.

“Aw, c’mon,” Ruby shouts. “We’re doing this now? Seriously?” “Play the music, Rubes,” Mary Margaret says, Emma mumbling what under her breath.

Killian rolls his eyes. And wonders if he can make up for the lack of mimosas that afternoon with a copious amount of craft beer samples. “Ignore them,” he says. “We’re not running on a schedule anymore.” “Living on the edge, huh, Jones?” Mulan asks. She’s already got an empty plastic cup in her hand while Merida is, clearly, trying to distract the tour guide by asking questions about hops that no one has ever even considered asking before.

“Something like that.” David is suspiciously silent, eyes darting from Emma back to Killian quickly enough that he’s probably going to give himself a headache. Emma doesn’t appear to be breathing.

“Everything ok there, Detective?”

His eyebrows jump up his forehead. “You tell me. I need to yell anymore?” “Did you yell before?” “He strongly implied,” Killian says. “I think he was trying to parent us a little bit.” “Ah, well, he’s got to practice on someone, I guess. Although I wouldn’t be totally opposed to him not doing that again.” David smiles – it’s not entirely what Killian expects and he’s not entirely opposed to it. Mary Margaret’s sniffle sounds impossibly loud in the middle of a brewery tour they’re ruining and whatever song Ruby’s tiny phone speakers are playing.

“Yeah, ok,” David says. “But if you guys are stupid again, I’m going to be really annoyed.” Mary Margaret sighs, eyes closed lightly and one hand on her stomach and the whole thing is so goddamn domestic it’s almost painful. Emma’s head is resting on Killian’s shoulder.

“What song is that?” she asks and half the tour has already moved on to a different part of the brewery.

“That ‘Boston’ band,” Ruby answers. “You know they were still making music in 2011?” “They’re actually called Boston band?” “No, no, I have no idea what their name is, but the music’s not half bad and it’s whatever was next on the YouTube playlist because you guys ruined my plans for the initial romantic sweep.” “I don’t think any of those words made sense in that order.” Ruby sighs. “You done deflecting? Because it’s been kind of annoying having to text both you and Jones.” “We’re still two different people, Lucas,” Killian mutters, but neither he nor Emma have voiced any actual objections to the new text message procedures. And Ruby totally knows.

“I made no claims otherwise. My point still stands” He glances at Emma, rolling his shoulder slightly to meet her eyes. She presses up on her toes, tugging lightly on the front of his shirt and Mary Margaret actually gets a good amount of air on her jump when she sees it. The blood visibly rushes out of David’s face.

“So, uh,” Merida laughs. “That seems like it’s ok to joint text then.” Killian nods. “Yeah, it’s ok. But, Nolan, seriously, stop jumping up and down. David’s going to pass out.” “Don’t you have CPR training?” David asks.

“Are you asking me to perform CPR on you?” “I mean, you know, in the event of an emergency. And I’ll feel better trusting you with my kid if you know CPR.” “This is the most morbid conversation anyone has ever had in a brewery,” Ruby says. “Shouldn’t we be getting drunk? Or at least buzzed? Sorry, M’s.” Mary Margaret waves a dismissive hand, the other still resting on her stomach and Killian feels Emma’s laugh before he hears it. He assumes there’s a scientific meaning for that. He does not care. “I know CPR too,” she says. “You know, just for the record.” David practically beams. “Noted. And, listen, Em’s, I’ve been thinking about that time vortex in Jones’ hallway and I realized we totally forgot a fandom for name ideas.” “Ah yeah, Doctor Who, God, how did we miss that?” “Because Luthien was better,” Killian mumbles, winking at Mary Margaret when she immediately starts to dispute the idea. “What do you think about T.A.R.D.I.S. as a name, Nolan?” “Didn’t she have a name in that one episode?” Merida asks. They’ve completely separated from the group now. “The one good part of that one season.” “Whoa, harsh opinion,” Ruby laughs.

“Don’t get me started.” “Idris,” Emma answers. “The T.A.R.D.I.S. in human form was named Idris. Idris Nolan? Not bad. Sounds kind of like a warrior princess.” Her eyes flit towards Mary Margaret, something in the back of Killian’s brain sparking with visions and wants and optimism that he’s nothing short of certain of now. He presses a kiss to Emma’s temple.

“We’ll consider it,” Mary Margaret promises.

They do, as Ruby suggested, get incredibly buzzed on free beer samples and the quiet happiness that comes from knowing things are changing, but still, somehow, staying the same. There are goodbyes eventually – Merida has to go save New York and Mulan’s already in the process of moving, which leads Ruby to almost giggling out loud in the middle of Fort Point – but Emma smiles when she tells David and Mary Margaret she’s going to stick around for awhile and Killian nearly slams his thumb through his phone trying to order an Uber back to his apartment.

They make out in the backseat.

It probably affects his rider rating.

But then they’re climbing out of the car and Emma’s hands are everywhere and they barely make it in the front door before Killian’s turning on her, lips dragging across her jaw and the side of her neck and they stand in the foyer for a solid fifteen minutes.

It’s some kind of race after that – stumbling their way up the stairs and getting another door open and Killian’s belt is half off by the time they make it into his apartment.

He can’t stop kissing her. Or the other way around.

They’re a mess of limbs and lips and laughter and the alliteration is absurd, a line of clothes left in their wake as they try to get back to his bedroom without dislocating or snapping anything.

It’s awfully close, the bed creaking underneath them when they both collapse on it, but there’s more laughter and more smiles and there’s so much skin between them it makes Killian’s heart sputter in his chest.

“Still with me?” Emma asks softly, trailing a finger across his arm. He can’t quite nod when he’s laying on top of a large pile of pillows, but Killian makes an admirable effort and everything feels so normal it’s like they’ve just woken up and settled into their lives.

He hopes that’s exactly what’s happened.

“Consistently, Swan,” he says. Emma doesn’t answer – he swears her eyes get greener, though, a fact he would have voiced if she didn’t catch his lips with hers, slinging a leg over his hips and, suddenly, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The noise he makes when Emma rocks her hips is probably embarrassing, but he’s so far gone for her already it doesn’t make much of a difference. It’s easy and perfect and them in some kind of grand, sweeping way that he’s been waiting for since the very first day he saw her.

He might mutter I love you into her hair and under her jaw and the curve of her shoulder, a mantra that sounds even better when Emma repeats it.

More than once.

They order Chinese food eventually and eat it on his couch with Return of the King playing. Emma’s wearing one of his shirts.

And it’s easy to fall asleep, but exponentially harder to wake up – all of the blankets tugged to her side of the bed and tucked under her chin.

“C’mon, don’t move,” Emma mumbles, cracking one eye open when he slides out of bed. “You were so warm.” “How could you tell through your mountain of stolen blankets?” “Shut up.”

Killian chuckles, brushing his lips over the few inches of her that isn’t covered. It’s mostly hair. “I’ve got to go to work. Mold young minds and whatnot. Explain how fucked up the legislative branch of government is.” “You going to use that exact phrasing, then?” “Probably.” Emma opens her other eye, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips. “Yeah, that’s definitely the right plan of attack. They’re all going to pass their AP exams, for sure.” “I’ll take even your sarcastic vote of confidence, love. Go back to sleep. I’ll be back later.” “I’ll be here,” she mutters, burrowing further into the blankets and Killian has to move or he’s never going to leave. “I’ll probably break your coffee maker, though.”

She is.

The coffee maker, meanwhile, is unscathed.

It makes him smile every time – settling into this life and this future and, eventually, when the boxes are unpacked and there’s a job lined up for her with David’s connections at Boston PD, they hang some frames on the wall.

There are only three, but Emma says they’re a good start and the one in the middle is his favorite. The sign’s still a little ripped, but there’s some tape involved and it looks pretty fantastic on the wall, the hand-written sentiment truer than ever.

Welcome home, Swan.

And they finally, both, are.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs #cs fic #captain swan ff #caught in your light #seriously craig kimbrel's wind up is so weird #it makes me laugh every single time #baseball puns with deeper true love meaning

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ibroughtthisonmyselfpixels · 6 years

Text

Intermission 2 Replies

I don’t think I’m gonna be getting any more replies on the intermission, and there’s only so long i can leave this until i do, so here’s the reply-to-existing-replies batch now. but first:

@bountifulberries replied to your photoset “So because I have no restraint, I made a very smol tiny Sim called...”

I think a paid surrogate mother would be a very interesting contestant / sim in general!

It’d certainly put a new stamp on the 100bc, that’s for sure

@sevenleafsimblr replied to your photo

“FORMER BC ORGANISER FOUND DEAD IN HOME A once-prominent figure in the...”

��

he died before his prime

sevenleafsimblr replied to your photo “A sweet or agreeable succession or arrangement of sounds.”

it completely flew over my head during the Melody Reveal that "melody" is also a music term and im mad @ myself

Un Der Standable

@jackssims replied to your photoset “Deacon: “…spinning?” ”

It looks like she’s t-posing to asset her dominance

Lissa said by PM:

This is a little silly to mention but -- I think it's kind of cool how you're incorporating old stuff again? Like, between the Wilkersons and a tie to Charlie and stuff. I know that old stuff can be hard for you sometimes, so I Just Think It's Neat ^^

i said at the time that it’s more out of necessity some of it than anything else to flesh out the neighbourhood, but you know what? i change my answer. it’s not that the old stuff isn’t hard for me, it’s that the new stuff is just as hard. i want my being good back

@tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “But back then, when I didn’t have to hide… the Wilkersons and I - we...”

I am terrified of what comes next but I am actually so happy that she has a good support network

without that system in place who knows where she would be. somewhere you wouldn’t wanna read, i’ll bet

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “At first I liked Jase best, just because he was so quiet and strange...”

They must be very good friends. They survived using the blue shell on one another

Cid is a good dad and won’t ground Lauro for that. Now if he’d used that lightning on him, he might’ve thought about it - that fucking lightning bolt’s the fucking worst

jackssims replied to your photoset “¦it wasnâ€™t always good. Not those times. But that wasnâ€™t because of...”

Those blondes... �� (unless of course I’m reading too much into this, then I redact my eyes emoji, but I’ll wait and see)

That’s true; we never did get a real answer for that, did we?

tosimornottosim replied to the same:

B I t c h e s

Well, yes, that applies regardless

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Lynn: “You’ve got it riiiight here! BLEH!!” Melody: “U-under my eyes?...”

Lynn is such a good person..............................;;;;;;

Lynn makes you cry from all six of your eyes. strexgnome

jackssims replied to your photoset “And t- then there was the one that worried everyone… the - I got a,...”

��

tosimornottosim replied to the same:

:eyes:

sevenleafsimblr replied to the same:

uh oh.....

I will only say this: it’s fortunate that the girlfriend didn’t make everything totally and utterly worse for her

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Lavandar: *wide-eyed* “Y-you - you dated your own bully?!”...”

I don't trust you Blonde Scarlet and Viola

O KA y whether they’re who you think they are or not that description is fucking hilarious

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Estelle: “…Oh god, Melody. Are you okay?” Melody: *shaking* “Please…”...”

Don’t touch her you fucker. Don’t touch her

‘Limp’ is very specific and deliberate consistently-abused-child language, at least to me. If you don’t put up a fight, it doesn’t hurt as much.

jackssims replied to your photoset “Estelle: “…Melody? Melody, can you look at Mommy please?” Melody: “…”...”

Fuck Estelle

tosimornottosim replied to the same:

I want her to die

sevenleafsimblr replied to the same:

estelle can you be a good girl and get some sleep and not wake up

It isn’t wrong, but it is interesting that ‘can you be a good girl’ is what a lot of you replied to throughout this. is it because it’s the most convenient place, being at the end; because it feels weird commenting on the actual violence; or because the emotional manipulation is the straw that breaks the camel’s back?

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Lavandar: “Noooope! No no no no, no. It doesn’t work that way,...”

PREACH IT LAV IM SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU LAV

As you well know, this is something I have to work hard to convince myself, hence the soapbox. (Can it be a soapbox if you have trouble holding the soapbox’s beliefs?) It doesn’t help that I do charity work at a bookstore, and Torey Hayden / Cathy Glass / other trauma-porn books come in on the regular - it’s hard to be confident in the legitimacy of how Mum’s affected me when stories that feature kids who’ve been utterly decimated and forgotten over the years are in my line of sight that often.

Incidentally, I hope I haven’t crossed the line to trauma-porn here. This is intended to be an explanation for part of Lorelei’s backstory and why she has a lot of the mannerisms she does (plus a few hints for down the road, but that first thing first and foremost) - obviously making you sad is a goal too, but not to an exploitative extent, you know?

@cafesimming replied to your photoset “Lorelei: “I… I’m sorry. I won’t say it again, I’m sor–”...”

i havent been replying but i just got s chance to read sll this and i love lorelei and i love lavandar and i love this story and im quite literally on the verge of tears reading all this rn and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa love

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

bountifulberries replied to your photoset “Lavandar: *shrinks back, curling up onto herself, breathing shakily* ...”

All of this is making me so sad but it’s so well done!! I literally didn’t wanna go to bed last night bc I wanted to keep waiting for updates to post

get some sleep Kasey. if you’re going back to school you need all the sleep you can get. i can be awake for you and get in trouble for it

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “I really am sorry, you know. Lavandar. That I’m p- that I’m putting...”

It wasn’t a lack of bravery. You were so brave

there’s two kinds of bravery: to confront, and to endure. Lyra has the confrontational bravery covered. Lorelei is the endurance.

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “He looked at my arm. He looked at me. H-he… looked at me, like Lyra...”

Zeus bless Jase. In all truthfulness

give him the happiest of marriages and the least of links to that box with the finger in it...

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “¦He didnâ€™t say a wordâ€¦ to me.â€ Jase:Â â€œâ€¦â€ Pal:Â â€œPoor fucking Melody....”

is. is he gonna make himself talk to help her. is. is he gonna do that. because if he does i'm fucking gonna cry

He!! Did that!!

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “But I’ll… even with everything… I’ll forever be grateful that he...”

god what a hero

the hero we need but we don’t deserve

jackssims replied to the same:

Good. This is good (I hope)

It was a mixed blessing

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “I didn’t put two and two together until Jase told me later… but Mom...”

You weren't bad. You weren't bad

Lorelei knows that. Melody does not.

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “¦what happened after that, Lorelei? Did sheâ€“?â€ â€œShe was held for a...”

oh colby...

I’m not sure where else to put this yet, but designing Estelle was almost as much - not necessarily fun, but it took about as much thought as designing Amelia did back in the day. I think she’s quite handsome, but it’s ruined by her looking almost perpetually sour/disgruntled. I even employed another Enid Blyton trick: her eyes are closer together compared to my other Sims, and a pale blue, much like Prudence from another St Clare’s book. Until they (Prudence’s) turned brown in a later scene in one of the few legitimate continuity errors I’ve seen from Enid but that’s neither here nor there

I’d also like to emphasise an actually salient point: if it wasn’t clear, Estelle isn’t mentally ill in any way that I know of. There may be neuroses there that never got diagnosed, but they're not the root of her behaviour even if there are. She’s reprehensible enough without chemical imbalances there to influence it.

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “We tried to be safe. She tried to… let us be a normal family. A happy...”

I understand rationally that Colby is a victim of abuse but /damn/ does he make my blood boil rn

I in turn understand why you’d be angry at him - he allowed a very volatile influence back into Lorelei’s life - but honestly I mostly feel pity for him. He’s a bit like, um... what’s a good comparison...? Charlie Swan feels like the closest analogue, though the circumstances are different there. He can try to lay down some rules and speak the truth of it, but when the largest female influence in the house is this dominant, this domineering, and cares more about what he can do for her than what he chooses to do for himself, what chance does he have?

It doesn’t help that being willing to please and put his own neck on the line to keep other people happy is kind of a core part of his personality - he’s the person from whom Lorelei inherited the Good trait (much like Amelia got Perfectionist from Maus), but his manifestation of Good leans more towards Doormat than Empathetic, if you see what I mean. It becomes especially clear if I reveal and then you consider he dropped out of college at twenty halfway through a tech degree specifically to marry Estelle so that she could have someone to keep her company at medical school. Self sabotage for the boosting of others.

(Estelle’s two years and a few months Colby’s senior, by the way)

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “I was a wreck at home, and a - even worse, at school. I kept my mouth...”

I wish there was a word for like, SHSL Mom. Because that's what Lynn is. She's like a Double Mom

maxi extreme ultra Mom

Vid incidentally got very upset at around the Jase Pal break-up post, for good reason: these people are just kids. this stuff is much too big for them, they didn’t deserve this.

@geezsims liked your photoset “¦to Bridgeport.â€ â€œGod. All by yourself? No one-?â€Â â€œThe journey, y-...”

Han. Han. I admire the like, Han, but I feel like you’ve missed, like, nine tenths of the story here

tosimornottosim replied to the same:

See Colby /this/ is how you Dad

by dying your hair, or sending your kid to a safe place? i’m not sure the intended message here

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “¦Lorelei Kessler.”

My hero

I need a Lorelei; I’m holding out for a Lorelei til the end of the etc

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Lorelei: “I trust you, Lavandar. I trust you. I trust you. N- no...”

Lavender: *a gentleman's guide to love and murder playing* I've decided to marry you! I've decided to marry you!

Blessed Image

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “Lorelei: “Lyra?! Uh- um -” *clambers up* “You’re - you’re back?” ...”

Man I’m happy you’re going to be here, Ly, but what a buzzkill We almost had a confession!

Like I said in the end credits, we almost had a lot of things ;)

tosimornottosim replied to your photoset “¦ *crunch* *click* *crunch*Â â€¦ Lyra:Â â€œâ€¦okay, and - open.â€ â€“ End of...”

Now you’re the cockblock, Dub

bountifulberries replied to the same:

RUDE

jackssims replied to your photoset “¦ *crunch* *click* *crunch*Â â€¦ Lyra:Â â€œâ€¦okay, and - open.â€ â€“ End of...”

Ending it with a tease, eh?

Okay y’all I understand but like y’all, y’all. y’all. this part of SoS is ultimately Lorelei’s story. If I’d ended it with the full Lyra reveal, it would become Lyra’s story again too much, and a lot of the impact of what Lor’s been talking about would’ve been lost. I felt like I was pushing it as it is

jackssims replied to your post “Intermission 2: Melody End Credits”

This interlude-update was amazing. It made me feel stuff like never before, and I was always refreshing my dash for it. Great job!

holy hell thank!!!! I’ll try to maintain that quality, or at least a small fraction of it, into the rest of the project going forward!

#bountifulberries #toxoplasmajuice #harmoniouspixels #berriesandbrownsugar #tosimornottosim #autistichatkid #geezsims #sos mm bc

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eternlmisery · 6 years

Text

This is so good mannn

PLEASE TELL ME SHE IS BACK

MOOD

THEY ARE BACK FROM WAR

MY SISTER DUO

I WAS CURSED TO BE A HIPPIE

Ask about her own child hello?

this is bad

oh no

this is very very bad

also this is somehow worse

Rumple you just don’t put a child who has been asleep for so long in front of a ton of blades

GREAT GRAnDPA RUMPLE TO THE RESCUE

Regular for Zelena? What is happening?

they have real world problems now? I hate this

Regina looks so sad because she always counted on Zelena to help help out

damn i can’t wait for nick to show up and what he has to say about all this shit

LOOK AT THHESE PARENTS I CANNOT

HOLDING HANDS I CANNOT AGAIN

father-daughter INTERACTIONS <3

TIGER LILY IS A QUEEN

I think she is

Wow this has gone brutal

shut up lucy this is all for you

something tells me henry ain’t going

where the hell is jacinda also

and is tiger lily asleep somewhere

OH MY GOD I LOVE THEM HENRY IS A FUCKING LEGEND

where the shit is dad man

A REAL FUCKING LEADER that’s what i think

And i imagine those jacinda antis saying how she doesn’t love henry enough but BITCH there are the real freaking decisions no one makes

also Lady Tremaine: A LOOK

Good thoughts

oh this is actually getting so smart

Sisters TM

first of all ew

second HELL YEAH REGINA

Pretty sure she will

OH NO

I HATE THIS

IS THIS THE

OH NO IT’S HENRY

OH NO BABY

I HATE ALL OF THIS NO NO NO NO NO

I hate all of them

that’s when you need some emma swan in your life

she already did

she already cast this curse man

OH NO NOT HEART

THE HEART I AM SURE

OH NO

OH NO NO NO NO NO

I hope they find a loophole in the second part of the season because I hate this

yes

oh no she feels the bad sister coming

drizella that fucking bitch

somehow even worse

oh shit she is coming on strong

also that’s a really sitty thing to do

NO NO NO NO NO NO

NOPE DONT THIS IS VERY BAD I HATE THIS

yeah yeah such a nice and sisterly thing to do IF SHE WASN’T AN EVIL BITCH

we are losing time here bro

Dad hook is A THING MAN

a mother’s sacrifice is fucking real don’t play this

i am currently very upset cause this is shit

rumple is the smartest bitch

I KNEW IT

I FUCKING KNEW IT

QUEENS BITCH

rumple is a fucking shipper

ROBIN AND ALICE ARE A SHIP MAN

RUMPLE IS THE PROTECTOR OF THE GAYS tm (i can’t find the trademark emoji)

OH NO

I LOVE YOU HOOK

my poor baby

this episode is iconic

also why does the curse take so long i hate this

henry is mood

yes but how does lucy remember

THE PARALLELS I CAN’T

i love this

OH MY GOD I’M CRYING

WHY AM I CRYING I LOVE THIS

THE BELIEVER BELIEVES AGAIN I CAN’T THIS IS GOLD

THIS BETTER BREAK IT OR I’LL RIOT

Nope

me me

is he gonna collapse too?

he fucking did

i hate this

i dont know their way

OH NO

henry dies

lucy dies

i hate this

I hate literally all of this

drizella is the most salty bitch once upon a time has even seen

fuck ALL OF THIS

OH SHIT

oh no

i hate this and love this

anastasia is shooketh

and rightfully so

she didn’t die? oh hi mom

this is bad

he is rumple bitch he knows a lot of shit you cannot even imagine

and that ladies and gentlemen is 7b

oh shit this is scary i hate this

i feel like we’re gonna see some poeple we know

oh no one

oh okay

fuck you gothel

honestly this is fucking rude

i can’t wait for another episode fuck this shit

#ouat spoilers #once upon a time

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failaise · 7 years

Text

like real people do p.3 | jeon jungkook

summary: the feelings for your friends with benefits are changing. months pass, and you feel your gut telling you that you want more. you’re just not sure if he feels the same.

college student!reader, friends with benefits!jungkook

piece 1, piece 2, piece 3

this component is based off 6LACK’s ‘Prblms’

The night was cold enough that Jungkook eventually decided to run.

Having rushed out the front door without so much as a goodbye, his forgotten coat hardly lingered in the back of his mind. Teeth chattering and toes nearly frozen, Jungkook fell into a light jog in an effort to keep warm and to get to your dorm faster. The light poles were dim and cast a long-legged shadow of himself against the sidewalk, each stride harder than the last, each one more eager. His eyes burned with the memory of what you had said, replaying each syllable over and over again. He imagined the different ways you could’ve said it, how your face could’ve looked when you sent it. He wondered if it even mattered to you, or if getting rid of him was as easy as throwing out the trash.

Jungkook couldn’t remember you talking to anyone else. Your phone never lit up with messages from anyone other than your manager or Somi, and he never saw anyone lingering around you during classroom hours. Your focus was always him when he was by.

His stomach hurt. He felt like he’d throw up any second now, or that his throat would tighten until he couldn’t breathe anymore. His lungs burned from the cold air he inhaled, and his eyes stung with each short blink forced by the breeze. It seemed like years until he saw the light of your dorm come into view, a sight that used to be cathartic now his only stressor. Swallowing, he jogged to the front door and let himself in, suddenly enveloped in warmth and the scent of laundry.

Jungkook never once stopped running. When he got to your door, he paused, halting with one fist raised to the door. The image of you on the other side, maybe crying or maybe unbothered- both of them made his stomach ache. After the moment of tight lungs passed he finally ratted on the door with his knuckles, nervously licking his lips and pushing his hair behind his head.

Footsteps pitter-pattered on the other side of the door. He listened as they walked up to him, and glanced through the peephole to see who was there. Jungkook looked down at it and ran his fingers through his hair. “_____? Can you let me in?” There was silence, and not a move was made on either side off the door. “Please?”

Still silence.

Jungkook forced out a breath of exasperation, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. He pressed his hand against the door and flattened his palm, tapping it with his fingertips. He imagined your hand on the other side, pressing back.

“_____-ah? L-Look... I don’t know what I did, but... but I can make it up to you,” Jungkook dropped his forehead against the door and leaned inwards. Some part of him wished he could walk right through that god damn door and hug you, just to feel your bones against him. “______-ah, please-”

The door handle clicked, unlocked, and turned.

“Jeon Jungkook,” she forced a tight-lipped, bitter smile.

Jungkook stared at her, part of him disappointed to see who answered. “Where is she?”

Somi rolled her eyes and looked outside in the hall to see if anyone was looking. Jungkook watched her, a mixture of emotions and all of them having to do with you. Pursing her lips, Somi assessed him and his lightening skin as a result of the cold, the slight chatter of his teeth, and sighed. “Come on.”

She reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. With a hard yank, Jungkook came stumbling into the apartment, startled by the second influx of warmth that encased him.

“What do you want?” Somi demanded, arms folded over her chest and eyes cold as glass.

“Where did she go? Where is she?” Jungkook looked past her to see if he could catch a glimpse of you, but Somi’s death grip on his forearm kept him in place.

“She left a while ago,” Somi declared. “I don’t know where she went. She grabbed her bag and left.”

Jungkook jerked his arm out of Somi’s grasp and used it to pinch the bridge of his nose. He felt hot, overheating, like at any moment he might succumb to death by fire. Wiping his brow, he glanced in the direction of your bedroom, then back to Somi. “Do you have any idea where she could’ve gone?”

“No, asshole,” Somi glared at him, “I don’t. Do you?”

Jungkook blinked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend, or something?” Somi rolled her eyes again, teeth ground together. “Shouldn’t you be off with some dumb blonde bitch fucking, or something? Isn’t that all you’re good for?”

Blonde... bitch? The only blonde he could think of was Minjoo, but what was Somi even talking about? He’d been dodging the subject of her for fear of hurting her feelings, but you’d been acting so weird lately. He wasn’t sure what he should do. Give up Minjoo for someone who might not feel the same? Give up you for a girl who begs to fuck him every day of the week?

“Yeah, idiot,” Somi dug through her back pocket. She searched for something while Jungkook watched, eyes wide in confusion and mouth suddenly gone dry. She turned it around and held the screen up to his face. “We know you’re dating Minjoo, so why even come here?”

The picture was of himself, staring down into his latte. He remembered that moment, trying to figure out why the flower you painted with cream was suddenly so evil, glaring up at him. The caption read “everyone look how handsome my man is”, paired with a pink heart emoji. Being called Minjoo’s man made him sick to his stomach, but the idea of you seeing this, thinking he’d been lying to you, hurt more.

“She... She posted that?” Jungkook blinked, delicately trying to reach for the phone. Somi locked it and shoved it back in her pocket.

She stared at him. “You didn’t know?”

Jungkook scoffed, pushing himself up against the wall. He raked his fingers through his damp hair, tugging on it tightly, wondering why the hell she would do that. Suddenly he was going through all his memories with her, trying to piece together when she would’ve thought the two of you were dating. He was reminded of the day at the coffee shop, your cold eyes. The time in your bed when he got texts from her. That time in the library.

You thought he was dating her.

“I fucked u-”

“Yeah,” Somi sighed, closing her eyes. “You did.”

“What can I do?” Jungkook chewed on the bottom of his lip, voice earnest and hopeful.

Somi straightened up. She figured she could give him the benefit of the doubt, if nothing else.

“Explain everything to me. I’m sure she’s fine.”

Every blow to your face was another numbing thump, a soft tap on a bruise. Your head snapped to the side, then to the other, though you’d gone cold with pain a long time ago. Leaned up against the sparring mat, you listened to the sound of a whistle signal for your partner to get off, to allow you to recoup.

It wasn’t that you were doing this because of Jungkook. Sure, Jungkook caused it, but you weren’t some type of Bella Swan. You weren’t going to lock yourself away. You were going to do what you knew best, regress into a stage of life where the only romance issues you had were with Fanfictions and the only thing you had to worry about was getting your ass completely handed to you on the mat.

You blinked, staring blankly across at the man who was meant to be your opponent. He was pacing back and forth, readjusting the strap around the gloves he wore. He wasn’t watching you anymore because he didn’t see you as a threat. He must’ve picked up on the way you allowed him to hit you, with little defensive moves to stop him. You were an easy target- young, hurt, trying to forget.

You blinked again, but suddenly it wasn’t the man pacing before you, but another. A short, stocky build jumped to a tall, lean one, stepping across the mat with long, calculated strides. You watched the way his eyes changed to that homely shade of brown, dazzling in the dim lights. Now he was watching you, through the tops of his lids with lips twitching upwards into the sleepy smile he’d always given you in the morning.

“Oh,” you muttered to yourself as you straightened up, cracking your knuckles in your palm, “fuck you.”

The short man was back now, but it was too late for him.

You were already charging at Jungkook with guns blazing.

“She’s not answering,” Somi heaved, defeated on the love sofa of her apartment’s living room. Legs crossed and a pizza slice in hand, she took another greasy bite and chewed, staring angrily down at her phone. Across the couch was Jungkook, who might’ve now been on his thirtieth phone call that evening.

“You haven’t seen her?” He asked Minjae, a student in one of his health classes. “Are you sure?”

On the other end, Minjae suggested that she might’ve been somewhere in Seoul, or that she could have left the city altogether. The idea that this event might’ve driven her out of her own home and comfort made him sick. With a final thanks, Jungkook locked his phone and tossed it aside his thigh in exasperation.

He ran his hands through his hair and tugged, throwing his head back against the sofa.

“She’ll come back,” Somi sighed. “We have finals next month anyway. Worst comes to worst, we wait a month.”

“I’m not waiting a fucking month,” Jungkook pushed himself off the couch, angrily shoving his feet back into his shoes. Somi watched, surprised at his sudden movements as he hurried to the front door.

“Where’re you going?” Somi demanded, rising to her feet.

Jungkook didn’t even spare a glance at her over his shoulder. “Wherever I can look,” he tugged his hoodie down and sighed. “The forecast said it might rain tonight. If she’s not indoors, she can catch a cold, or worse.”

“She’s strong,” Somi declared, though half of her wanted to run out with him.

“Don’t care,” Jungkook reached for the door handle. In half a second, Somi allowed that half of her to take control, rushing towards him.

“Fine. Then I’m coming with.”

This time, Jungkook glanced down at her. Somi squared her chin and glared at him, snatching her jacket off the hook.

“What?” Somi snapped. “She’s my best friend. Plus, you’re the one who sent her into this.” Huffing, she yanked open the front door and proudly marched out, leaving Jungkook to stare at his feet. It was his fault. Somi was right. He sent you running- it was his fault.

But it was someone else’s, too.

“Wait,” Jungkook stopped in the middle of the dorm hallway, lips curling inwards and a muscle in his jaw flexing. Somi turned around to look at him, realization dawning on her. A sinister smirk twitched at the edges of her mouth.

“Let’s go get that bitch.”

The hotel room seemed superbly empty.

And alone.

You wondered why they would paint the walls such a dull shade of orange, or why the stain on the carpet looked suspiciously like blood. Generic paintings hung by the bathroom, which was not much more supreme. The bed was all springs beneath your sore limbs, squeaking with each movement you made to rest.

All you heard was silence.

Maybe you were being dramatic. You could go home, you thought. Face your problems for once instead of running away to cope. Why was it that you couldn’t cope like most people? Why couldn’t you stay in your dorm, waiting for Jungkook to come running, as though he hadn’t made you his second option in the past week? Why was your method of coping a fist to your face and your knuckles in another?

Your phone had been off for the past few hours or so, though the temptation to turn it on was almost suffocating. A part of you, the addicted part, wanted to go on Twitter and see the latest funny posts- just so you could feel the ache of a smile. The other part was reminded that it was social media that led you to feeling this way. The caption replayed in your mind and in that silence, all you could hear were the words telling you that you’d been wrong to feel that way all along.

Why weren’t you good enough? It didn’t come as a surprise that you asked yourself this question often. You thought you were used to being let down, to being disappointed. Yet now, this ache that you felt in your chest and the tightness of your stomach- this painful feeling of heartbreak was one you hadn’t felt since adolescence.

You were pretty enough. Symmetrical enough to pass for ordinary, though as you stared at your bruised reflection across the empty hotel room you couldn’t help but think that there was nothing spectacularly special about your features. Hair was okay, eyes were detailed enough. Well, the one eye that wasn’t coming down from swelling, at least. Though, the longer you stared the more it seemed like your face wasn’t yours, and you closed your good eye shut tight to avoid seeing the stranger in that forsaken mirror.

You wished you hadn’t caught feelings for a boy in college. Every story you read warned you, but the hope in your heart had led you to believe that maybe, just maybe, Jungkook would feel the same. The mornings the two of you spent together warmed your core and you couldn’t help that. You couldn’t help how hopelessly you’d fallen for him, and you wished that you’d felt cold in his memories, but your lips still threatened a smile at the thought of him.

A Morning Never Forgotten

“Sleepy head..”

A voice was singing above your face, yet your body knew that it was far too early to be up already. Helplessly tugging your blanket over your face, you managed to roll over, back to whoever was pestering you, and snuggled into the warmth and scent of the shirt you wore. Unexpectedly, the blanket was pushed closer onto you, tucked in around your shoulders by careful, hesitant fingers.

“Hey,” that same voice whispered again, though this time it seemed less determined to wake you, and more as if it were speaking to the air. You felt two hands press down against your thighs, laying you flat against the mattress. A pair of sleepy eyes began to flutter open, and chapped lips yawned a nine-hour nap into the room.

Jungkook hovered beside you, leaned up against the headboard with one shoulder and the other angled towards you. His disheveled head hung over yours, his own sleepy eyes sparkling down at you. A slow, relaxed smile spread across his face at the sight of your consciousness and he reached out to push strands of your hair back onto the pillow.

You probably had three chins at that point in time. And granted, you liked to snore, so a dried trail of drool was definitely stuck on the side of your jaw. You couldn’t remember how much of your makeup you took off the night before, or how much melted off onto the sheets, but some part of you were certain that you had dark circles.

For whatever reason, Jungkook didn’t mind. In fact, he admired the speckles of mascara on your cheekbones, and the rubbed side of your left eyebrow against the pillow case. Your disheveled, knotted hair wasn’t off-putting, but instead inviting, and he thought for a moment he could sit there and untangle it for hours, even if he couldn’t tangle it again. There was something about the way your tired eyes were lighter in the morning, something about the way they sparkled in the streams of sunlight barely managing to escape through the closed curtains.

“Want some water?” Jungkook offered, trying to hide his amused smile.

You blinked slowly and yawned again, tiredly rubbing at your eyes. “Please?”

Chuckling lowly, Jungkook reached over to grab a half-drunk bottle off the nightstand. You watched how the muscles in his arm flexed as he leaned over your figure, and admired the tiny bruise just above his collarbone- your unintentional handiwork.

“What?”

Your gaze darted from his bicep to his eyes, which were squinted mischievously.

“See something you like?” Jungkook teased, settling down beside you to hand you the water. You scoffed and took it, sitting up straight to drink from the bottle. Jungkook watched the way your jaw flexed- an action subtle, that reminded him of the way you’d looked last night, staring up at him in the dim lights with your lips perfectly wrapped around-

“See something you like?” You swallowed your last gulp and brushed your fingers through your hair, fighting your sideways grin at the man beside you.

Jungkook snatched the bottle from your hands and slammed it down onto the nightstand. You watched him, eyebrows raised in surprise, though they instantly lowered the moment his fingers cupped your jaw and pulled you in close. Warmth flooded your chest cavity, filling you up from head to toe and burning your cheeks a delightful shade. Something inside you changed that morning, that one blissful time the two of you were graciously allowed to spend alone. You weren’t sure what it was at the time, but you knew that this feeling, this inescapable emotion of pure home wouldn’t leave quite so easily.

As for Jungkook, part of him already knew what this feeling was.

“Minjoo!”

Three hard knocks banged on Kim Minjoo’s door, resounding throughout the otherwise quiet living room. Startled, Minjoo looked up from her textbook, glanced at her phone screen, lit up with ignored messages, then to the door.

Who could be visiting her at this hour?

Confused, she pushed herself back from the small, round table and rose to her feet, treading hesitantly towards the front door. Rising to her tiptoes, Minjoo brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and looked through the peephole.

Big brown eyes stared back at her. Jeon Jungkook looked utterly disheveled, what with his messed locks of hair and panic on his face. Beside him, Minjoo spotted someone she recognized, though she couldn’t recall a name. It was the brown-haired girl with the one who worked at the coffee shop, and for a moment she wondered what the two of them could’ve possibly needed from her.

“...Hello?” Minjoo pulled the door back and stared at the both of them curiously. Her gaze lingered on Jungkook, the more familiar of the two, and a smile twitched at her lips.

“Minjoo,” Jungkook sighed, running his fingers through his hair exasperatedly, “we need to talk.”

She stepped back, glancing at the hallway to see if there were any other people watching. “Come in.”

“Alright, look, bitch,” the brown-haired girl came barging through the door before Minjoo could even get the words out. Dragging mud underneath her boots, the girl marched right into the living room and folded her arms stubbornly.

“Woah,” Jungkook eyed the stranger, “chill.”

She glared back at him.

Minjoo watched the interaction with pursed lips. “Excuse me?”

“Look,” Jungkook paced around the living room, looking about as stressed out as he’d ever been. Minjoo’s expression filled with worry at the sight of him. She stepped towards the man to comfort him, though Jungkook flinched, taking a step back from her outstretched hand. “You posted a picture of me on Twitter. You called me... ‘your man’.”

Minjoo blinked. “And?”

The girl snorted. “What do you mean ‘and’? You and Jungkook aren’t dating.”

Minjoo looked over at Jungkook, eyebrows furrowed down so far her eyes became shadows. “What’s your problem with me posting things of us, Jungkook?”

“We’re not-” Jungkook frustratedly paced back towards Minjoo, towering over her height. His jaw clenched angrily. “We’re not dating, Minjoo. And someone I care about very, very much saw that picture.”

The realization began to dawn on Minjoo. She remembered seeing him and the girl who works at the coffee shop together after class sometimes, but their laughter always seemed friendly. Looking back on it now, maybe Jungkook was looking at her in the way Minjoo had convinced herself he wasn’t. She remembered seeing the way Jungkook’s eyes lit up at the sound of his name being called from that girl’s lips, and the way they fell onto his coffee cup, as if it had burned right through his skin.

“The girl,” Minjoo assumed, looking up at him, “from the coffee shop.”

“Her name is ______,” the stranger declared suddenly, glaring at Minjoo over the coffee table.

“Yes,” Jungkook sighed. He couldn’t meet Minjoo’s eyes. Had he led her on this whole time? Had he ever done anything to make her think he felt something close to love for her?

“You love her?” Minjoo tilted her head. While her words were smooth, calculated, her heart felt as if it might snap, and her eyes burned more than they ever had without sleep.

Jungkook froze, startled by the sudden question. “Excuse me?”

Minjoo laughed bitterly. Her glare was piercing when she looked back at him, arms folded over her chest and bottom lip threatening to quiver. “I said, do. You. Love. Her?”

The question had taken aback Jungkook. He’d never been asked so straightforward how he felt about someone, not ever. For some reason, the word “love” made his heart beat right out of his chest, in some cartoonish fashion he prayed no one could see. That single word had the ability to bring him back to memories he had with you, the ones in the morning, particularly the one after a long night of carnival games. The way your smile sparkled in the fairy lights flipped on a switch within him.

He didn’t have a word for it then, but he supposed “love” might be able to capture the feelings he felt for you.

“Yes.”

Minjoo blinked, eyes falling to her feet. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. How many people had seen the photo she posted? For how long had she led herself on to believe Jeon Jungkook might actually feel something for her, too?

“I’ll take it down,” she stepped back from him, spinning on her heel to head for her cell phone. “I got the wrong impression. I’m sorry.”

The stranger seemed confused at Minjoo’s actions. Had she doubted her intentions? Her feelings? Had Minjoo portrayed herself as such an ass that it was a shock to that girl that she had truly felt something for the idiot boy standing in her living room?

Jungkook chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Have you... did you see _____ earlier at all?”

Minjoo glanced at him over her shoulder. She debated on telling him the truth- that she’d seen the girl heading downtown with a dufflebag and a black eye. Or that she knew that there was only one hotel she could be staying at that was cheap and effective- benefits of being a psychology major.

Minjoo squared her jaw and looked at the two of them. “No idea.”

It was beginning to rain.

Jungkook looked up at the sky angrily, pulling his hood up over his head to keep his hair from becoming wet locks in his eyes. Beside him, Somi searched quickly on her phone, looking for any hotel in the area that was cheap.

“Dammit, ______,” Jungkook cursed, pacing worriedly in the courtyard. Seated on the bench, Somi glanced up at him. She could see that there was genuine concern on his face. She wished that you would just answer your fucking phone, just to tell her that you were okay- she deserved more than to be ignored.

Jungkook heart was pounding so fast he thought it might implode. He kept picturing you, somewhere out in the rain, cold and alone and teeth-chattering. The image was enough to send his body into fight or flight mode, activating all of his senses to start running, to start frantically searching for you.

Somewhere a couple miles away, you stared at the rain pitter-pattering on the window of your room, ignoring the incessant buzzing of your phone on the pillowcase.

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killiancygnus · 7 years

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Serendipitous Melody 12/?

Summary: Everyone has dreams. You might dream of becoming an astronaut or teacher, or you might want to become a doctor and save as many lives you can. Emma Swan’s childhood dream was being a singer. But with life getting in the way and never finding the courage to overcome her fears, she never had a chance to follow it. That is until a little push from her friends lead her to cash on an opportunity; and, who knows, she might even get more than what she’d wished for.

Rated: T

Word count: ~3.3k

A/N: I LIVE! I know this is super late and I’m very sorry but between writer’s block and the hard time I’m having at uni it took me ages to finish this up. I hope you like it though! I honestly don’t know when I’ll be able to post chapter 13 since exams season will begin in a few days for me but I’ll try my best not to make you wait 6 weeks again. Anyway, comments make my day so if you liked this chapter or if you’ve just started reading this story, don’t be shy! I’m a sweet potato you can ask around :’).

As always, huge thanks to @the-reason-to-sail-home and @londonsbridge, my woderful friends and betas, for helping me with the editing and to all the CS Writers’ Hub ladies.

Tagging some friends: @villains-happy-ending, @stardusted-nymph, @allisonchameron, @kmomof4, @hencethebravery, @katie-dub, @captainwiley, @irishswanff, @thejollypirate, @dassala, @imhookedonaswan, @ofshipsandswans, @legendofthephoenixcs and @mahstatins

If you want to be tagged too let me know :)

(Emma’s song is ‘Human’ by Christina Perry whereas Elsa’s is ‘Bird Set Free’ by Sia)

Links: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 / AO3

Emma was slowly climbing up the stairs, trying with all her might not to bounce up and down in excitement. She was just about to have a lesson with Killian, her first lesson before the semifinals. She couldn’t believe she had gotten so far in this competition, which was ironic because at first Ruby had to do a lot of convincing for her to even consider doing an audition.

A few days had passed since she last saw Killian. And, to be honest, she’d spent a nice couple of days with him. Yes, him telling her how much he cared for her and them both sharing bits and pieces of their past had been emotionally draining for the both of them, but they had fun. Watching the show with him had been great, even though she had to admit that watching and hearing herself sing on television had been weird. He gave her tips, based on both the others’ performance and hers, he told her stories of what happened behind the scenes and then he made her blush furiously when he went on an impassioned rant about how much she’d improved since they’d started working together and how much of an amazing singer she is.

The days leading to her next lesson were mostly uneventful. They would have been completely quiet if only Mary Margaret didn’t convince her to go out with Ruby. However, what she claimed was a simple ‘girls day out’ turned out being an excuse to drag Emma with them on wedding dress hunt. And apparently, only a few weeks of engagement were enough to transform Mary Margaret in what Emma could only define as a wedding obsessed monster. She dragged both her and Ruby in shop after shop, for the whole day, discussing flowers arrangements, colors themes and the pros and cons of lace and satin dresses. Yeah, it was that bad, but, truth be told, Emma had never loved shopping much. There needed to be a rare astral conjunction to find her in the mood to go around in the city and browse through piles and piles of clothes in different shops. She was one of those persons that shopped with an aim: she would enter a shop, spot what she needed to buy in a few minutes and head to the cashier to pay.

She had to admit, though, that going wedding dress shopping was another matter altogether. It was a bit overwhelming and intimidating entering those beautiful and sophisticated shops, with all those stunning, immaculate dresses hanging neatly along the walls.

Whereas Emma felt quite out of her element there, Mary Margaret- just like Ruby- seemed unfazed by all that luxury. She was a woman on a mission: find the perfect dress, the one which would make her feel like a princess and everyone else cry. She tried on dress after dress, but she never seemed satisfied. Emma had never thought her friend would be so prickly, and she really couldn’t understand why she had been. Maybe it was because Emma wasn’t exactly made for marriage. But, then again, maybe she was more romantic than she cared to admit, and the thought of spending ages looking for a dress was absolutely crazy to her. What was the point, if the only opinion that would matter was the one of the person you were going to marry, who would find you stunning just in your pjs? Well, it wasn’t luckily she’d ever find out anyway. She was no relationship material, as she made Killian understand the other day.

Killian… Now that she thought about it, when he saw her in only a pair of leggings, his faded batman t-shirt and with a messy bun on top of her head, he gave her the same look he always gave her whenever she walked onstage, all dressed up with perfect hair and makeup. But it wasn’t anything like that with him. He was just her friend - probably her best friend - right?

As she took the last few steps to the door, Emma groaned in frustration. Why did all her thoughts have to lead to him?

She didn’t even have the time to knock, that she heard Killian’s voice coming from right behind her.

“Morning, Emma!” he greeted, stopping next to her, with two cups of steaming coffee in hand.

“Hey! You know you don’t have to bring me hot chocolate - or coffee - every time we have a lesson right?”

“Of course I do, but I want to. And look who’s talking!” He gestured to the package she was holding, “What do you have there, Swan?”

Emma teased him, grinning, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

”Perhaps I would,” he replied with a cheeky smile on his lips and a sinful look in his eyes that made Emma’s cheeks flush pink.

Emma was ready to punch him on the shoulder but then reconsidered it. That coffee smelled divine; it would have been a shame if he dropped it after she'd punched him. So, for the coffee’s sake, she just rolled her eyes at the ceiling and entered the room. As she put the small bag down on the table, she could hear Killian giggle behind her. He followed her and stopped by her side, putting the coffees by whatever she brought that day.

Emma was fidgeting with the package and internally cursing Mary Margaret for closing it in such an overcomplicated way, while Killian watched her in amusement. When she finally managed to open it, she suddenly stopped, catching a movement with the corner of the eye.

“Ah, ah, ah!” She tutted, moving away the bag from Killian, who was trying to sniff its content. “Step away or I’ll eat them both.”

Killian pouted innocently and took a step away. “And what would they be, Swan?”

“Homemade muffins!” Emma beamed, showing him a perfectly crafted chocolate muffin.

Killian took the pastry and eyed it suspiciously, not daring taking even a small bite, making Emma huff in annoyance at his theatrics.

“You didn’t make them do you?” he asked warily.

“What if I did?”

“Then it’d mean I really had underestimated both your wish to see me dead and your cooking abilities.”

While she gently peeled the cup off her muffin, Emma snorted, shaking her head, “Mary Margaret made them. You’re safe.”

Happy with her answer, Killian took a large bite of his muffin as if he’d never seen food in days.

“What did you get me, instead?” Emma asked, eyeing curiously at the two steaming cups next to him.

Killian took her drink and gave it to her. “Why don’t you take a guess?”

Putting the muffin aside, she took the cup and sniffed it, before taking a sip.“Uhm…” she hesitated, ”Cappuccino? With... Chocolate?”

“Nope, but you were close,” he smirked, “It’s a latte macchiato with chocolate.”

“Oh, I like it!”

“Good.”

They drank and ate in silence for a bit, enjoying the feeling of the caffeine starting to kick in. It was just when the only things left of the muffins were only a few crumbs, that Killian broke the silence.

“You know, Emma,” he started, hand moving up to scratch behind his neck, “I think I’ve found the perfect songs for the semifinals. Would you like to take a look at them?”

“Sure.” Emma nodded excitedly.

Smiling at her enthusiasm, he walked up to the piano, and browsed the papers inside the folder laying on the stool for then going back to her. She happily accepted the stack of sheet music he offered her.

“Killian,” Emma gasped as soon as her eyes focused on the songs’ titles, “They are perfect! How did you-?”

“As I’ve told you before, love,” Killian interrupted her with a smirk, “Open book.

Days came and went, busy with work, rehearsals and nonstop wedding talk for her utter and unconditional joy. There wasn’t a single day that went by without an embarrassing amount of texts going back and forth between her and Killian, though. They would talk and talk, but truth be told, they were just goofing around most of the time. He especially liked to send her memes and random weird pictures of animals to tease her, to which she’d reply with either the eye roll emoji or the middle finger one. He sent her so many pictures, that by now she was sure she had at least five pictures of goats saved on her phone - yes he was that much of a dork (and she actually loved it). However, as the time passed, her excitement for the next episode they had to shoot grew more and more.

She loved the song he chose for her. It was perfect, considering everything she had to go through, both lately and in the past. She didn’t have to fish the emotions she wanted to show that deep into her heart; they were just there floating on the surface for her to catch and reel into her voice.

(Wait. Was that a fishing metaphor? Damn girl, your nerves are bad…)

Nerves aside, she was confident in her abilities and determined to win, but only her or Elsa would go to the final, and Emma knew her friend wouldn't go down without a fight. She had heard Elsa sing a couple of times during rehearsals but every contestant, her included, used to conceal themselves a little during group rehearsals. She had heard her audition on telly too, but it was only when Ruby made her watch the show on Monday that she realised how talented Elsa actually was.

When shooting day finally arrived, Emma’s insides were already a ball of jittery energy. A part of her wanted to go knock at Killian’s dressing room door as soon as she got to the studios. As much much as she didn't like to admit it, even just seeing him would have helped her relax, but she couldn't go. She really couldn't. Their relationship had already been much more intimate than what was expected from them; they couldn't be seen hanging around and interacting with each other as they used to. Not there, not ever. If someone were to find out, all hell would break loose. So, Emma disgruntledly willed her feet to walk past the coaches’ dressing rooms and headed to hair and makeup, hoping that a few hours of sitting on a comfy chair while being fussed over would calm her nerves. Elsa was already there too, so, as soon as Emma sat down on her assigned chair next to her, they started talking. However, when Ashley threatened to draw mustaches with waterproof eyeliner on both their faces, they both stopped. Ashley was a sweet girl but it was better not to cross her, so, while Elsa decided to put on her earbuds and listen to some music, Emma focused her attention on Ashley’s movements as she gave the last few touches on her makeup before starting working on a complicated updo.

They were almost ready to go get dressed when she heard Elsa muttering the lyrics of the song she’d sing.

“I'm not gon' care if I sing off key, I find myself in my melodies. I sing for love, I sing for me,”

“I shout it out like a bird set free,” Emma sang with her, making Elsa blush as she realised she had been singing out loud.

“Sorry,” she smiled, taking one of the earbuds off.

“Don’t be,” Emma brushed her off with a smile, “It’s a beautiful song. I think it’s perfect for you.”

“Thank you. I think I’ve got to go get changed now,” Elsa said, taking a quick look at her schedule. “Good luck!”

“Likewise.

It was always hard for him to pretend not to be nervous and excited for his team when shooting, and the uneasiness would only grow when the time for Emma to perform got closer. And today wasn’t an exception. It wasn’t really professional for him, not at all, but he couldn’t help it. She was special, his best friend. The best friend his heart longed for but he didn’t dare make a move on because the timing was not ideal, because he could see the uncertainty in her eyes. Sometimes she would look at him with such love and affection that it made his breath catch in his throat, but then it’d soon be replaced with fear. He couldn't risk it. He'd patiently wait all the time she needed but he wouldn't stop fighting for her. After all, as his brother used to say, a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.

Robin was joking around with Tink and Ariel was laughing along as the lights dimmed out, but he wasn’t in the mood to join them. Emma and Elsa were the first to sing and he probably was more nervous than them. The fact that this time around it was Emma’s turn to perform first decisively didn’t help at all, but he was more than confident in her abilities.

From where he was sitting he could see her patiently waiting to climb onstage when announced. Her eyes were closed and her eyebrows knotted in a concentrated frown. As if she sensed the burn of his stare on her, she opened her eyes and smiled at him, nodding as if to say ‘Don’t worry, I got it’. He gave her a soft smile in return just as he heard her name being announced by Belle and the audience go wild. He couldn’t believe he had been so stunned at Emma’s sight in the backstage to not even hear Belle talking.

He followed her with his eyes as she sprinted in the arena, high fiving the people standing next to the short corridor that lead her on the sage. She was radiant, jumping around in excitement and smiling brightly.

She must be enjoying not having to balance on those ridiculously high heels for once, he thought with a chuckle.

Soon, she reached the right side of the stage where a white grand piano was waiting for her. Sitting on the stool after smudging some non existing wrinkles from her navy blue lace dress, she put her hands on the keyboard. A few gold locks which had masterly been left out of the loose chignon on the back of her head, framed her face as she tilted her chin down waiting for the music to start.

The lights dimmed even more, only to leave a single white spotlight illuminating her. It was only when silence fell in the studio that the music began coming from the numerous speakers around the theater. Her voice resounded in the arena soon after, her tone soft and crystal clear as always, while small white sparkles exploded on the screen behind her following the melody coming from her fingers.

He couldn’t help but look at her in wonder - much like everyone else in the theater - as she worked her magic. He was drawn in, placed under a spell as she moved to the refrain. If he thought she had been good at that at the auditions, now it was another thing altogether. Not only did she have much more control on her voice, being now able to modulate it as she pleased, but she could control her emotions better too. She could now channel them into her voice without so much of an effort, avoiding to flow into excess at times. It was a beautiful evolution to watch. She was beautiful to watch.

But I’m only human

And I bleed when I fall down

I’m only human

And I crash and I break down

Your words in my head, knives in my heart

You build me up and then I fall apart

'Cause I’m only human,

As she got closer to the second refrain, the music built in intensity as did the sparkles on the screen. Swiftly, she picked the mic from its stall and got up reaching the center of the stage hitting high note after high note. The stage flashed with white rays of light as she sang, following her voice and the music in a crescendo that lit up the audience. There was all of Emma in there: all the hurt, all the worry, all the battles she had to fight, all the desire to just be Emma.

Then everything went black, except for a single ray of light on the top of Emma’s head. Her voice started back from soft and low to grow in one last crescendo that would lead to the last final high notes, only for it to dye down in a whisper at the end.

Both Tink and Ariel shot up to applaud her as soon as the last feeble echo of her voice resounded in the arena, while Robin clapped slowly pleased and still a bit awestruck. Killian, instead, was grinning proudly at her, clapping along with everyone else. The cheering from the audience was deafening, and Killian could see her cheeks tinging pink as she muttered a thanks. When their eyes met a few moments later she smiled softly, her eyes shining with emotion. Time must had stopped, because the seconds in which they only but looked at each other, lasted an eternity. Their eyes were like magnets, the pull too strong to fight it and try to look down. He hoped he could see the love, the adoration and the pride in his eyes, just as he could see the affection and the adrenaline-induced liveliness in hers. It was only when Belle ushered her backstage to present Elsa’s song that their connection broke.

Elsa got onstage soon after, not looking fazed at all by Emma’s performance. On the contrary, she looked more determined and secure than ever. In fact, she kept up with her teammate more than nicely. She gave everything she had, blowing everyone away with her (until then fairly hidden) talent.

After the second standing ovation of the day, the time for him and the other coaches to vote finally came. It had been hard for all four of them to decide to whom give their point since they all had loved both their performance. Eventually it all ended in a tie, with Robin surprisingly giving his vote to Emma and Killian to Elsa. As soon as he gave his preference though, he saw a flash of hurt and confusion in Emma’s eyes matched by an equally confused and elated expression on Elsa’s face, while boos from the audience echoed in the theater.

Bringing a finger on his lips to ask ask for a moment of silence, he then spoke “I’d like to give an explanation of my vote to you and to everyone else here and watching us. I, as coach to both of you,” he continued, gesturing to Emma and Elsa, “not only got to meet you amazing women, but I also got to see how much you care about this, how much you’ve improved. Tonight both your performances were beyond not only mine, because I know your potential, but everyone else’s expectations. After tonight you both equally deserve to get to the final, and since I couldn’t really find fault in any of your performances, I decided to make you face the audience’s vote next week without any of you having any kind of advantage.”

As he talked, Emma’s expression changed to something undecipherable, and that scared him. She was closing off on him again.

As both Emma and Elsa walked backstage to leave the space to Ariel’s team, he hoped she would understand that he couldn’t give his vote to her again, no matter how much he wanted.

When a last flash of her gold waves disappeared backstage, Killian just prayed she would give him a chance to explain himself when not surrounded by cameras.

#captain swan #cs ff au #cs ff #cs mafia #cs au #my fic #fran against words #serendipitous melody #otp:we'll always find the sun

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