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katsmonsterblog · 3 years

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Guardian Monster

Hello!

So this was a Monster Matchup requested by @thedyingredrose for a donation she sent me! She wonderful and requested a non romantic story with my monster OC Chevelle :3

It was only supposed to be a snippet up to 1,000 words buuuuut I got a tad bit carried away... ^-^;

So here is a monster x reader story about meeting Chev for the first time!

Warnings: Nightmares, slight panic, general creepy stuffs

Word count: 2111

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Terror raced through your veins, your legs pumping and your chest heaving as you tried to claw at the door in front of you. You had to get out, panic bleeding out of every pore, your fingers numb and you were running out of time! You had.. you had to... breathe! Oh god... you couldn’t breathe! You stopped wrenching at the doorknob that you knew wouldn’t open, gasping and sobbing as you sank to your knees. It was always like this, your body not listening to you, the fear that followed you and threatened to consume you like a wave and no matter how fast you tried to run or move, it was like you were wading through mud, making your legs heavy and weak.

A scream sounded behind you and your body seized up. Don’t look. God don’t look behind you. It was as if every fiber in your being was screaming and yet against your will, your body turned, so terribly slow and then suddenly you were face to face with it. Human, or that’s what it appeared to be, but the face was off, warped and wrong, its mouth hanging open to scream again. The sound masked your own cry of terror, and as it swung, arms reaching for you..

The dream froze.

You couldn’t comprehend what you were seeing, as the terror around you slowly faded, the monster that had been reaching for you dissolved into dust and the world around you whited out into nothing. It was then that you saw it, a large, impossibly huge beast with fur so deep black that the stark contrast made you pause. Heaped on the floor, you watched, unable really to do much else. Walking on all fours, it turned to look at you, an enormous white skull with tall branching antlers and what looked like eight glowing yellow eyes stared through you. It should have terrified you, this huge beast like thing, but the terror from the dream had faded.. And all you felt then, was a calm relief as you woke up in your bed.

Though it felt like your heart was still trying to hammer its way through your ribs, and your shaky breaths came to a heaving sigh, the dream left you wondering. What was that creature? No not the nightmarish thing that screamed but the one that… took it away. Something about it seemed... familiar? Comforting even. You couldn’t place it and as you got out of your warm bed, heading to the bathroom then the kitchen to make a late breakfast. The next few days went by and the dream went out of your mind with all the stress that your life and your job and your family put on you. The only thing that made it better were those little moments where you’re online friends made you smile. But in the end… you headed to bed alone again, and the nightmares still came. One morning, as you woke, you swore that there was a huge figure in your room, right at the edge of your bed, and your heart leapt to your throat as you sat up with a gasp… but nothing was there.

The creature. It had to be the beast from your dreams that would take the nightmares away and let you get some semblance of sleep. A decision in your head, you forced yourself to get up and go through the day normally, making a small stop at the store down the street, there was little you could do until that evening. But finally, after a long day of thinking and doubting… you had everything set. A candle beside your bed, well enough away from everything so that it wouldn’t be a hazard, and a glass of water just in case too, you laid down in bed. And waited… the only sounds were your breathing, the fan on low in the corner of the room, and your thoughts running rampant in your head. It was difficult, to lay there really, because you weren’t sure if you were going officially crazy or not but what did you have to lose?

After what seemed like forever, at least you were sure it was past your normal bedtime, something in the room changed. Maybe the air, maybe it was your imagination but… you took a chance.

“Hello…? I’m.. I don’t know if this will work.. But if you’re there.... If something is there, then I just wanted to say hello.” You winced visibly, scrunching your face. It was easy to say that you believed in magic, and you’d experimented with paganism and witchcraft, you felt the spiritual pull of it. At least you hoped you did. But it felt odd to just speak out loud and gain no response. “Please… I know that you’ve been in my dreams. I’ve seen you.. So if you’re.. A sign? Or a guide or.. something. Could you.. Give me a sign? More of a sign, let me know you’re there? I’m not scared of you.” You said, the words rolling off your tongue the more you spoke because you felt that, at least if you were alone then no one could call you nuts.

No response. At least.. Not for a few minutes but the hairs on your arms stood straight up, you heart began to pound and.. It wasn't a scary feeling, but more the feeling of being watched. Unsettling. You were about to sit up, end whatever conversation you had going on but a voice sounded from the corner of the room.

“I… do not.. wish to frighten you..” The voice spoke from nothing, but as you turned your head, the shadows at the edges of the room seemed to shift and darken. Blurred but you knew something was there now. “But I am… here..” More silence, and then softer, “...do you wish for me to go…?” it said.

It took several moments for you to find your voice, and with each passing second, you feared that this bubble of weirdness was a dream and you had fallen asleep but it felt too real. With a soft clearing of your throat, you sat up. Every movement you made was deliberately slow, as to not break whatever spell this was but you did, now sat crossed legged on your comforter, looking into the shadows. “No,” You said gently, licking your lips and trying to calm your racing heart. You weren’t scared but this was.. scary. In a way. “No, I don’t want you to leave… I um, well I wanted to say… thank you. For taking my nightmares away.”

“You are curious… but I would frighten you…” It said again,and you frowned.

“Yes.” Was all you got, and just out of the corner of your eye you could see a flash of yellow or white. You head snapped to the side.

“Do...you have a name? Can I see you? Why did you show up in my dreams?” You had to stop yourself from the myriad of questions popping up in your head. You didn’t want to offend whatever being this was and it just occurred to you that it could be a demon… if you believed in those, and maybe you should have researched beings that could be in the dream realm. There was a sound, soft but it sounded like.. bugs? Or maybe… you weren’t sure but it sounded oddly like a chittering noise.

“I’m not scared. I promise. Unless you mean me harm?” You said, trying again to peer into the shadows. There were… several moments that passed, and you again feared that they had left you. But there was a small prickle of energy over your skin again and a shape solidified in the corner of your room.

“I mean… no harm… I am… a protector.” it spoke, the pattern of speech was slow but precise and as it solidified, you realised why. Just like before, the creature’s face was a huge white skull, like that of a deer with large branching antlers the same shade of paper. How did it talk at all with a skull like that for a head? The voice was… male, or at least more male than female, and deeper.

“And you protected my dreams?” You asked, fingers fiddling with the blanket almost absentmindedly. You watched as it, he, came into shape. The skull became more clear, as if a fog lifted, and you could definitely see now that the skull had not two, but eight different and nearly symmetrical eyeholes with soft yellow pupils glowing in each one. They ’blinked’ at random, as if black lids covered them but you couldn’t tell. The rest of him was covered in fur, thick and black, hanging from his too long limbs. He looked, fluffy at first glance but it was how he sat on all fours, hunched that made him appear bigger. Well that and the tangible shadows that clung to the air around him.

You strained your eyes to see something, anything in the shadows but each time you tried to see past the darkness in the room, the flickering flame of the candles made them dance and writhe. “It ...was you right?”

“Yes.” He tilted his head at you, and you realized he’d mimicked your own action. “I am in this world… and also the world of dreams… I can feed off nightmares that plague the innocent… make them fade…” And it made sense… in a way, how he always seemed to be there when the nightmare hit, the last thing you saw before you woke, or the dream faded completely to a semi blank one. It occurred then that you’d sort of always knew he’d been there.

“See…? Not scary to me. What… can I call you? Like, do you have a name?” You asked again, curious now.

“....Once… I had a name… a friend.. They called me, Chevelle.” There was a chittering sound again as he finished speaking, filling your ears like a soft static. It sounded… like bug wings almost. His jaw clicked.

“Chevelle..? Like the car or the band?” You asked only to get another head tilt and now response. You offered a smile, introducing yourself. “Well, Thank you. And… I’m glad you’re around… Chevelle.”

Slowly, you moved, watching him a bit nervously as you crawled off the bed and he watched you in return. There was no feeling of danger, other than the small anxiousness you felt in conversing with what seemed to be a shadow being that fed on nightmare fuel, you were sure that he wouldn’t suddenly eat you. “Can I ask you something?” You wondered, sitting back down on the edge of the mattress, Chevelle close enough now that even though he was… massive, and slightly terrifying to look at, he seemed nervous too. He leaned forward, just as slowly as you had and lifted a hand… or… paw? It was like a human’s, but had the pads like a great cat on his palms. Then there were the long black claws…

A small smile graced your lips. “You’re right, but I was going to ask… do you plan… to stick around?” It had been nice to have… someone. A small hope in the seemingly constant state of grey you had been finding yourself in. “I’ll make pancakes?” you offered. Yes it was late but.. There was no way you could possibly sleep yet.

“That was a question in itself…. But yes, you may ask…” he spoke and for just a moment… you were shocked at what seemed to be humor coming from him.

You looked to your doorway, then to him, and back. “How will you fit through the door…?” You asked, more thinking out loud than really asking him, but in answer, he was suddenly not there. You felt a brush of warmth and then the shadows moved past you to the hallway, where you watched him appear once more. He blinked at you.

“What are… pancakes?” He asked, your jaw dropping in response.

“What are pan- oh I’m definitely making some now. Can you eat… you know.. Like.. human food?” you scrunched your face in question and he nodded his head. “Good. Then um, follow me?” You grinned, hopping up and moving to your bedroom door. He stood too, halfway, moving on all fours like some great dog, he even had a tail…

“Okay… well that’s neat.” You smiled, heading toward the kitchen, still a bit cautious but you were also excited. After all, it wasn’t everyday you got to meet your guardian dream monster, or be the first to feed him pancakes.

Tag list:

@serenitydusk

@thejellyflux

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@sunrisehoneybee

@ijwrff

@thedyingredrose

@bee-wrecker

@matronofthevoid

@spooky-scary-lesbian

@justwritingscibbles

@spooky-scary-lesbian

@domesticandlovingmonsters

@monstersandmaw

@monster-bait

@no-need-to-apply

@junepop45

@huffle-princess

@turquoisemagpie

@gerardwayslips

if you made it this far just know I love you all to bits.

I hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment!!

#my writing #monster matchup #commission #my OC #Chevelle #x reader

17 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 7 years

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Out of the Frying Pan (16/?)

“What are you doing?” she asked, leaning forward so her back arched into his chest and Emma appreciated the way he inhaled sharply through his nose. She grabbed garlic cloves and bobbed slightly on her feet, looking for thyme and she hoped the pan she’d left on the stove before she moved towards the incredibly well-stocked pantry was actually hot by the time she got back.

“I am trying to find appropriate spices,” Killian muttered in her ear, leaning his hand over her to grab the thyme.

“Ah! I was looking for that.” “You’ve got to move faster, love.”

AN: Happy Chopped day! Or, at least, the first two rounds of Chopped. 7K of cooking and flirting and something called dragon tongue bean’s.

Living it up on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr.

She might have actually cut him.

Emma could feel him stiffen underneath her, the soft, questioning Swan as Killian’s eyes pulled back up to her and he didn’t move an inch. Not even when she was fairly positive she’d cut the back of his neck.

“Sorry, sorry, are you ok?” she asked quickly, fingertips brushing over the back of his neck and God was that blood? That might be blood.

She’d definitely cut him.

He raised one of his eyebrows at her – he still hadn’t moved – and Emma was doing her best to stay rooted to the spot on the edge of the counter.

She wanted to run – every instinct in her body telling her to move, but Killian’s hands were still on her hips and he was standing in between her legs and there was someone else standing in the doorway anyway.

Ruby was staring at them and Killian was standing in between her legs and the smile on her producer’s face probably could have cracked several mirrors it was so goddamn pointed. “Well, I was going to make some sort of crack about forcing Emma to kiss and tell,” Ruby laughed. "But I guess I don’t have to do that anymore, do I?”

Killian squeezed his eyes shut and it looked like he was trying not to rest his head on her shoulder dramatically – and Emma wouldn’t have actually argued if he did that. “You are a child, you know that,” Emma shot, fingers still brushing over the back of Killian’s hair.

“And you were supposed to be back in hair and makeup ten minutes ago.” “You told me as long as my face wasn’t shiny you didn’t care what I did.” Killian’s eyes snapped back open and he grinned at her and Emma felt her leg tighten around his thigh slightly. Ruby was nearly hysterical.

“Yeah, and I’m fairly positive it’s not shiny, but there might be a few hickeys you want to cover up,” she countered, leaning against the open door frame. “That kind of stuff has a tendency to show up on camera.” “And you know this from experience?” “Please, Dor’s not nearly that sloppy. And I’m not the one on camera.” Ruby pushed off the door frame, heels echoing in the otherwise still-empty studio and Killian, finally, moved, taking a step away from Emma, but keeping his hand on her knee. “Plus,” Ruby added, glancing towards Killian. “Regina’s been trying to figure out where you’ve been for the last fifteen minutes. And you’re welcome for covering for you.” “Thanks, Ruby,” Killian muttered and Emma was smiling like an idiot – a well-kissed idiot who seemed to have stumbled into something .

“Yeah, well, I figured I owed you. One of the last times I saw you I was a drunken mess and kind of mean and that’s not really how I roll.” “I know that.” Ruby almost looked actually repentant and Emma was positive she’d never seen that and, God, this was a weird day. A weird, very good, possibly wonderful day. “And you guys should probably stay at least several inches apart sooner rather than later. People are going to come in here soon and while they might not be surprised to see two network all-stars making out on the studio counter, it might not be the most professional thing you guys could do.” Emma groaned, but Killian laughed, hand tightening on her knee again as he glanced up at her with that stupid smirk. And she still didn’t run.

She didn’t want to.

Weird. What a weird day.

“I think we can control ourselves for the rest of the afternoon, don’t you, Swan?” Killian asked, voice low and meaningful and shooting straight to her core.

She nodded slowly, teeth tugging on the inside of her lip while Ruby stared at her with the most blatant I told you so face she’d ever seen in the history of the entire world. “I don’t see why not,” Emma mumbled, sliding off the edge of the counter.

Her sneakers squeaked when she landed.

“I’ll go fix my face now,” she said, wondering what exactly controlling ourselves meant.

“That’s not even remotely what I said,” Ruby sighed.

“Ah, got you to feel bad. Mission accomplished.” “You’re diabolical.” “And you interrupted.” “I noticed.”

Killian’s hand landed on the small of her back, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop touching her and Emma’s mind raced – she still had to cook. He still had to cook. They had to cook in front of a camera.

And it all felt a little d éjà vu.

Although the last time they did this, her producer hadn’t found them making out like teenagers in the middle of the studio.

“I better go find Regina,” Killian said softly, fingers tracing up her spine as he spoke. “Make sure she hasn’t actually pulled her hair out yet.” He brushed his lips over the top of her head and Emma felt her eyes widen, meeting Ruby's gaze a few feet in front of her. The producer just smiled, lips pressed together tightly like she was trying not to laugh in Emma’s face.

And then Killian walked out the door and Ruby practically cackled.

“Shut up,” Emma muttered, making her own way to to the door. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.” “I didn’t say anything,” Ruby laughed, doubled over with her arm wrapped around her waist.

“You’ve done enough.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, head tilting back as she continued to laugh towards the ceiling. “Oh God, I can’t wait to tell Mary Margaret. She got the emotional heart-to-heart this morning and I walked in on the two of you bordering dangerously close to ripping your clothes off in the studio. It’s almost too perfect.” “Hey,” Emma said sharply, yanking on Ruby’s arm and every trace of laughter was gone, replaced by a serious look she’d only seen on a few rare occasions. Mostly when they were talking about something important – like the show.

This might be more important than the show.

“Maybe don’t tell M’s,” Emma muttered. “At least not yet. Let me, I mean, us, let us process this first, ok?”

“Process?” “I told him about Neal.” “What?” “Well, kind of,” Emma corrected and Ruby lowered her eyebrows. “I kind of told him about Neal.” “How do you kind of tell someone about the guy who set you up for his fall and then made no attempts to contact you again even when you’re a world famous chef?” “I’m not world famous.” “City famous, at least. Your face is on a bus, Emma.” “Yeah, don’t remind me.” “How?” Ruby repeated.

“I was trying to explain why.” “Why you ditched him at the party? “Did everybody know that? I was trying to be covert.” “You didn’t do a very good job.” Ruby grinned at her, one side of her mouth pulling up into a smile and Emma resisted the urge to slide down the side of the wall she was leaning against. She was having far too many emotional conversations in hallways.

She was certain she was skewing the average at this point.

“I’ve got to go make sure I’m not shiny,” Emma said and Ruby rolled her eyes again.

“Are you ok?” Ruby asked, voice falling into that serious tone Emma had been trying to avoid in the middle of the hallway. “For real?” “Fine. Better,” Emma promised.

“Just tell me one thing.” “Yeah?” “Were you as close to actually ripping each other’s clothes off in the middle of the kitchen as it looked like or was that just some sort of illusion?” Emma grinned, walking down the hallway back towards hair and makeup. “I don’t kiss and tell,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder as Ruby’s whole body sagged with disappointment.

“I shouldn’t have announced myself so early,” Ruby shouted back.

“And that wouldn’t have been weird at all.” Emma didn’t say anything else – just sank into the makeup chair and let them do whatever to her face and her hair and tried not to actually start to think.

It didn’t work.

She started to think and question and she couldn’t quite believe she actually told Killian about Neal. Or kind of about Neal.

She hadn’t actually told him about Neal.

And she was back at square one of nervous and anxious and she should have told Killian the whole story. But she didn’t want him to look at her like some kind of felon – which the United States government would have been able to confirm for him fairly easily.

Emma had gotten pretty good at keeping secrets – compartmentalizing everything and finding a place for every one of her emotions so they all fit in a neat little line – but as soon as Killian Jones smiled at her, she found herself wanting to talk and explain and, maybe, tell him every single thought that had ever passed through her mind.

And that, unfortunately, included her prison record.

She needed to start cooking.

She needed to get something in her hands and something in an oven and she needed to refocus her energy on something that wasn’t how they might have actually been close to ripping each other’s clothes off in the middle of the kitchen.

And how much she might have wanted him to.

“Two minutes, Emma.”

She nearly fell off the chair, feet skidding across the floor and Belle smiled at her, nodding once before she leaned back around the door frame and, presumably, got to the set on time.

They had to do another dramatic, seemingly unnecessary walk-in – moving onto the set in some kind of ridiculous slow motion so that it’d be able to matchup with the voiceover they’d insert in post. And then they were supposed to actually look at the camera and pose or something that made Emma’s stomach clench and she knew she looked as absurd as she felt when she walked away from her mark to find Killian laughing softly in front of his station.

“Incredibly menacing, Swan,” he muttered, fingers tapping on the counter. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, smirk plastered on his face and Emma was positive she heard Belle laugh softly on his left side.

“I figured it was,” Emma shot back. “I’m super scary and super intimidating, you know.” He turned his entire head to look at her, arms crossing over his chest and twisting the chef’s jacket they were all required to wear. “Something like that,” Killian said and Emma couldn’t breathe.

Regina was giving them instructions – explaining how Chopped worked like Emma hadn’t spent her entire weekend camped out in front of the TV while her twelve-year-old kid came up with a detailed strategy for her – and Emma wasn’t listening at all. Killian rocked forward, almost leaning towards her out of instinct, smiling that stupid, nervous, genuine smile and she wanted to kiss him.

Again.

They’d somehow missed all of the instructions and the introductions and Sidney was talking about the first challenge and using all the ingredients in the basket. “Did you hear anything he said?” Killian asked, eyes practically cutting through Emma.

She shook her head.

“Ah, well, at least we’re on even footing then.” And it felt like it was true.

She hadn’t told him everything about Neal, but she’d explained enough and she could do this . She could believe him and listen to him and support him.

He’d told her about Liam, about the Navy and she knew there was more to it – more to leaving and ending up with The Jolly and losing his hand, but Emma could wait. She would wait. She wouldn’t run away.

Because she wanted and, for the first time in a long time, Emma was going to make sure she got what she wanted.

Someone yelled go from out-of-frame and Emma swung open the top of the basket, Henry’s strategy ringing in her ears and Killian’s smile in front of her eyes and, God, what was that? “Is that cereal?” Emma mumbled.

Killian grunted next to her and Graham looked thrilled – it might have had something to do with the veal that also existed in the basket. Emma’s mind raced. She yanked the ingredients out of the basket, tossing the stupid thing underneath her station and staring at the counter and the food.

Strategy.

She had a strategy.

Repurpose everything. Do not use the cereal as decoration on the plate.

“You got a plan yet, Swan?” Killian asked and her head snapped towards him, slightly surprised by the sudden return to the game .

“I had a plan before I even walked into the office this morning,” she snapped, jogging around her station towards the pantry.

He was behind her – she could feel him looking over her head towards the shelves of spices in front of her and Emma knew he’d understood the double entendre of her sentence. Good. Even footing.

And mutually open books.

Or whatever sort of metaphor she could use.

Killian’s hand brushed over her waist and Emma bit her lip tightly, determined to not actually make a sound. They were well out of the view of the cameras and both Belle and Graham were already doing something at their station, but Emma’s stomach leapt anyway and her heart thudded painfully against the inside of her ribcage.

“I am trying to find appropriate spices,” Killian muttered in her ear, leaning his hand over her to grab the thyme.

“Ah! I was looking for that.” “You’ve got to move faster, love.” “Not all of us just instinctively know where to find the thyme on kitchen sets that aren’t our own.” “Robin stocked this,” he said, moving away from her back and that shouldn’t have been nearly as disappointing as it was.

“What?” “You’re wasting time, Swan.” “I am curious.” “Robin works for the network too, you know.” “I didn’t.” “For someone who claims to be as curious as you, you don’t ask many questions,” Killian laughed, turning her around and, jeez, he was walking her back towards the wall. And further away from the camera.

“I’ve had a few other things on my mind,” Emma mumbled, back bumping up against the wall and shaking the spices behind her.

“That so?” His hand was back on her waist, thumb moving up and down across her t-shirt and there was no way they could both lose this opening round, could they? They only chopped one person. She’d learned that during the weekend marathon.

God, she hoped the pan wasn’t actually on fire at this point.

Emma draped one arm over his shoulder – moving so it didn’t get twisted in between them – and she couldn’t seem to keep her fingers out of his hair. And he didn’t seem to mind all that much either.

“You know it is,” she said. “Now, come on Jones, answer my question.” His eyes flashed – all blue and emotional and staring straight at her. “Robin works as a supplier for the network, stocks all the sets and makes sure there’s food and everything. I helped him with the spice rack a couple of days ago.” “That seems like cheating.” He grinned at her, hand tightening until it pushed the shirt away and fingers hit skin and maybe Emma was the one on fire – not her pan. “Pirate,” he mumbled, head dropping against her ear and doing something absurd with his mouth.

“That was only on Halloween.” “Ah, fair point, Swan.” He kissed along her jaw and his hand moved across her back and Emma couldn’t imagine there was much time left in this round. She was surprised someone hadn’t come looking for them.

She was grateful someone hadn’t come looking for them.

“We have to cook,” she mumbled.

“We will.” “Now? Because now might be a good idea.”

“You want to move?” Killian pulled her closer against him, hips hitting on hips and both of them groaned softly and then he was kissing her again – lips moving across hers in a kind of rhythm that seemed to only exist in movies.

And now in the back corner of the Chopped studio pantry.

“I also don’t want to lose,” Emma said – she didn’t move.

“Neither do I.” “Then we should probably cook.” He nodded slowly, eyes doing that thing again and he kissed her again, holding the thyme out in front him. “Take it, Swan,” he said softly. “I did cheat, after all.” “Technicality.” “Ah, don’t let me off the hook that easily. Take the spices.” He shook the container slightly and Emma wrapped her hand around it as he smiled encouragingly at her. “And go make your appetizer.” “Aye aye.” She heard him laugh softly behind her as she jogged back towards her station. The pan wasn’t on fire. That seemed like a positive.

Emma glanced up at the clock – fifteen minutes. She had time.

“Where’d you disappear to?” Graham asked, glancing at her as Emma tossed the venison on the now-scalding-hot pan and shaking the container of thyme over the meat quickly.

“I had to get spices. Took awhile to figure out where everything was.” Graham stared at her speculatively, shaking the pan in front of him and only glancing away when he heard Killian return to his station. And then he nodded, mouth opened in something Emma was certain was supposed to be understanding, but only seemed a bit judgemental. “Oh,” he said slowly, putting the pan back on the the stove and turning around to the counter. “Got it.” “Got what?” Emma asked, cutting into the pita bread and tossing it onto a cookie sheet in front of her. “Exactly?” “You and him, huh?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “If you say so, Emma.” “I think I just did.”

Graham made a face, eyebrows jumping up his forehead as he looked back over his shoulder at his soon-to-be-seared veal and Emma refocused her energy on the gooseberry preserves and knockoff Fruit Loops in front of her.

Sauce.

She could make sauce.

And repurpose ingredients. Done and done.

She grabbed a bowl underneath her station, dumping out the preserves and pouring the cereal into a food processor, ignoring the way the sound of the machine grated on her suddenly fraying nerves. Sydney yelled five minutes and Emma took a deep breath, chancing a glance at Killian who looked the picture of calm, focused energy next to her. Of course.

She needed to keep cooking. If she kept cooking she couldn’t think and couldn’t slightly freak out at the idea that they were that obvious and people would eventually know she wanted to make out with one of the network all-stars.

“Is that a sauce, Swan?” Killian asked, glancing over her station with a smile on his face. “Good idea.” “I don’t need your compliments.” “I have no doubt, love, but I’m giving them nonetheless. And your veal’s about to burn.” Emma groaned, spinning back towards the pan and forcing a spatula underneath the meat with, what appeared to be, just minutes to spare. She grabbed a towel, throwing into on the counter and put the veal down quickly, yanking open the front of the oven and grabbing the now-toasted pita bread before jogging towards the back corner of the studio to grab a small stack of plates.

“You seem a little bit stressed, love,” he said not two moments later, crowding into her space again and nearly making her drop the the dishes she had in her hands.

“And you are distracting me.” “Why do you think that is?” “Maybe because you won’t shut up.” “I can think of plenty of other ways to ensure that I do.” Emma rolled her head to the side, eyes wide with – maybe – frustration, but mostly she was just charmed. He was charming and flirting with her and he wanted her to keep making out with him in the pantry on the Chopped set.

“Plate your food,” Emma muttered, not able to quite keep the smile off her face.

“Of course, love. You’ll find I’m very good at following directions.” Emma pressed her lips together tightly, breathing slowly through her nose and staring at the stupid smirk carved on his face. She didn’t say anything – couldn’t come up with anything else if she tried – and he moved his eyebrows, widening his eyes as she let out a quiet humpf and walked back to her station.

Ok. Plate. Plating. She could plate. She could plate in her sleep.

And plating in her sleep might actually have been easier than plating with Killian Jones smirking at her a few feet away.

Pita first, veal next and, fuck, she needed to mix the sauce still.

Emma yanked the top off the food processor, dumping the cereal mixture – flour – into the preserves and squeezing a lemon on top, reaching across the station to grab a wooden spoon she couldn’t remember putting there. She stirred the thing through the mixture quickly and leaning the bowl against her hip as she tried to figure out if there was something else she could add to make this better.

It had to be better.

It needed to be perfect.

“Looks good, Swan,” Killian said, eyes darting back to her plates. “As per usual.” “Needs something else.” “Like?” “Butter!”

Killian laughed as Emma ran towards the refrigerator on the other side of the studio, nearly yanking the door of the front as she swung it open and she wasn’t entirely certain she’d actually closed the thing when she grabbed the butter and sprinted back to her station.

She grabbed brown sugar off a shelf and tossed the butter back on the pan – somehow still hot and maybe she should have considered turning the oven down at some point – whisking in the sugar and trying to ignore Sydney’s countdown a few feet away.

“You better hurry, Swan.” “Shut up.” “I’m just saying.” “Shut up.”

She closed her eyes as she finished stirring, spinning on her heels and grabbing a spoon to drizzle whatever she’d just made over the top of the veal and the pitas and she could feel Killian’s eyes watching her.

It didn’t matter.

Emma had found the zone.

Or something less ridiculous sounding.

She’d gone to culinary school, had practically grown up in a kitchen, but she’d found herself in restaurants and on the line and coming up with that one thing that would make the difference in a meal.

It’s what got her on TV in the first place.

Emma grabbed another spoon – wondering if Robin stocked the silverware as well – grabbing the other sauce she’d made and moving it across the side of the plate. Repurposed ingredients also serving as decoration.

That was a bona fide win.

Sydney yelled time and Emma exhaled loudly, staring down at her plate with a grin and a sense of pride she hadn’t felt since she worked in a restaurant – or since she’d chopped up vegetables for twenty minutes in The Jolly.

“Looks good, Swan,” Killian said as they walked to their marks in front of the judging table. “The butter was a smart choice.” “I can’t believe I almost forgot it.” “But you didn’t.” “That is true,” Emma smiled. “What did you make?” “You’ll have to wait and see.” “Are you teasing me?” “I would never.” He absolutely would. And he was – eyes darting between her and the table in front of them, small smile on his face proving himself wrong in approximately two seconds.

Sydney stepped towards his mark and spoke towards the camera – rehashing the basket ingredients and instructions Emma hadn’t been listening to before and introduced the judges and, somehow, Tink was sitting in front of them again, eyes trained on Killian.

And she was jealous.

She was actually jealous.

She didn’t have anything to be jealous of.

Did she?”

Maybe. If middle-of-filming and makeouts in the pantry were any indication. Or pre-show makeouts on top of his station. Or deep, dark, emotional revelations that showed just how similar they might be.

But they had never used the word date the first time and they hadn’t gotten to defining anything and maybe they wouldn’t ever – Emma didn’t need a definition. She shouldn’t expect a definition. She’d been the one who’d run away after all.

She just wished Tink would stop looking at Killian like that.

Belle had forgotten an ingredient and Emma tried to stand up a bit straighter as they moved on to Killian’s dish.

He’d made tacos – appetizer tacos and, somehow, he’d managed to make guacamole. Emma hadn’t even realized and he’d been standing ten feet away from her for the last thirty minutes.

Tink gushed about the food for what felt like several hours and Emma knew Killian kept looking at her. She bit her lip and refused to tug on the end of her hair and, then, they were talking about her food and they liked it and even Tink agreed the butter was a necessity.

Graham’s was perfect.

Of course it was.

He probably skinned the deer himself before they filled the basket with ingredients that morning. He grinned at Emma while he was showered with compliments from all three chefs, talking about how well he cooked the meat and seared it and the salad he made was fantastic and Emma couldn’t believe he made salad.

He was supposed to be a woodsman. Or something.

They didn’t talk about the food on that one date. And that should have been enough of a warning sign.

They chopped Belle – forgetting ingredients was a death sentence, Emma learned during the weekend marathon – and Graham grinned at her again as he glanced towards the side of the studio, intent on getting something to drink before they moved into the main course round. “Smells good, Emma,” he said softly, the genuine smile on his face making Emma feel a bit guilty for thinking he’d skinned a deer or something.

He was just a nice guy.

Who knew how to cook. And Emma was totally jealous of the way Tink kept talking to Killian about tacos.

“Thanks,” she said and Graham reached out to squeeze her forearm quickly. “You want anything to drink?”

“No,” Emma shook her head. “I’m good for now. But thanks.” Graham nodded and Emma heard footsteps behind her and a hand on her back like there was a magnet there. “What was that?” Killian asked.

“What was what?” Emma countered, turning around and taking a step away from him as his hand dropped back, unceremoniously, to his side.

“You and the huntsman or whatever.”

“What?” “Was he talking about your food?” “On the cooking show we’re both on? Yes.” Killian’s mouth pressed together tightly and stuck his hands in his pockets as he rolled back on his heels. “Of course.” “What about you? Tink sample anymore of your food?” He looked back up to her quickly, one side of that still-pressed-together-mouth tilting up. “What?” “She seemed to come up with some previously unformed adjectives to describe just how much she loved your guacamole.” “That’s because I make very good guacamole, Swan.” “Of course,” she said, repeating his words back.

“Would you like to try it as well? It’s not my best, time constraints down the stretch kind of hurt, but it’s pretty good all things considered.” “All things considered?” “What’s gotten into you, Swan?”

He took a step back, leaning against the judging table – now abandoned as everyone else on the entire set seemed more interested in the catering table on the other side of the room – and grabbed the plate of Emma’s food, sticking the pita into the fruit sauce she made, nodding as he ate.

“Nothing,” Emma said quickly – too quickly to bely any sort of doubt.

Killian grinned at her, eyebrows pulled low. “You’re a terrible liar.” “I am a fantastic liar.” “Not to me you’re not. What’s going on? You seemed fine before.”

“Yeah, well, I was distracted before.” “By me?”

“Maybe.” He laughed, grabbing another piece of pita and practically dragging it across the plate, sweeping up the last bit of sauce before he stuffed the entire thing in his mouth. “You distract a lot of people?” Emma asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.” “I mean Tink had a lot of adjectives to share on guacamole that she seemed awfully familiar with. And I’m just wondering how often you make guacamole.” “Rarely,” he said, putting the plate back down next to him and staring at her. “And not for a very long time.”

Emma exhaled loudly, tugging on her hair and Killian’s eyes followed the movement of her hands. “No?” she asked, wondering how she’d ended up putting the weight of the world into one word and two letters.

A few hours ago she’d been sitting on her couch trying to rationalize letting Henry text Killian and, now, she was wondering what this was and acting like some sort of jealous fifteen-year-old whose date danced with someone else at homecoming.

“No,” Killian repeated, sliding off the table and taking two steps towards her.

“Why?” “Are we still talking about guacamole?” “I don’t think so.” Killian took a deep breath and grinned at her, hand moving up and down Emma’s arm quickly. “You asked me why?” Emma nodded. “Because I didn’t believe in it. Any of it. And I was angry and frustrated and all I had was the food. So I focused on the food and only the food and tried to tell myself I wasn’t disappointed with the way things had turned out.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Yeah?” “I couldn’t tell you the last time I had guacamole.” He laughed loudly, drawing a few glances from the crowd of people on the other side of the room and Killian dropped his hand away from Emma. “You want some?” he asked, eyes ridiculously blue when he looked at her.

“Are we talking about guacamole again? I’ve lost track of the metaphor.” “Yes and also no. But there is actually well-made guacamole behind me and I did eat your food, so it only seems fair.”

“Give me a taco.” He beamed at her, turning around and grabbing the plate behind him. Emma grabbed one of the mini-tacos and bit down and jeez he was good at cooking. “This is ridiculously good. I can’t believe you taught yourself how to cook.” “I told you, Swan, I just kind of stumbled into some good luck. Then and now.” “Is that what this is? Good luck.” “Guess it depends.” “On?” “On you forgiving some completely irrational jealousy,” he said softly, putting the plate back down behind him.

“That makes two of us,” Emma repeated.

“Even footing, right?” “Exactly that.”

Killian nodded, glancing over Emma’s head quickly to make sure just about everyone else in the room was occupied before ducking his head to kiss her. “I’m glad we cleared that up, love,” he said and his voice actually sounded husky and she’d never used that word before in her entire life.

“I’m glad you made the guacamole again.” He grinned at her and kissed her again, hand tightening around her arm and Emma kept her feet planted on the ground so she wouldn’t puller herself against him. She could hear footsteps moving again and knew the break was over and both of them took a step back, small smiles on their faces.

They hadn’t defined it – not officially – and Emma was still trying to figure out the metaphor completely, but she was happy.

And she had a main course to cook.

“I’m sorry, what are these?”

“Dragon’s tongue beans.”

“And those are what exactly?” “You’re the chef,” Sydney said patiently. Or at least trying to sound patient. They were, after all, on camera. “You tell me.” “I have no idea what these are.” Killian glanced down at the basket, trying to push his frustration into his feet and away from his face. On camera. They were on camera. And he could hear Emma’s soft laughter next to him, knew she was smiling and that set him on a totally different path of pushing emotions off his face.

They were on camera.

“There are other ingredients in the basket,” Sydney pointed out and Killian shot him a glare, leaning across his station and avoiding Emma’s gaze.

“Thank you Sydney,” he said, pausing in between each word and trying to keep his voice even. “I realize that there are other ingredients in the basket.” “And you know what those ones are?” “I do.” And he did.

And he knew what to do with them – goat chops, cinnamon schnapps and dark chocolate. That part was easy.

He had the whole thing planned already – sear the goat, mix the chocolate and bread crumbs to make a crust, add more chocolate to the schnapps to make a sauce and, then, figure out what exactly dragon tongues beans were.

And why they sounded absolutely disgusting.

Sydney started counting down and announcing the next round had started and Killian was positive the frustration was obvious on his face. Fuck. He was still on camera. And he still had no idea what dragon tongue beans were.

Killian ran his hand through his hair – Graham moving towards the pantry out of the corner of his eye with a determination that proved he knew what dragon tongue beans were and Emma was twisting knobs on her stove and throwing butter into pans.

He hadn’t moved.

He should move.

He should cook something.

He shouldn’t feel completely useless because he didn’t know what dragon tongue beans were. God, that was the worst name in the entire world.

“You alright?” Emma muttered, glancing over her shoulder at him, while she held her pan above the stove, pouring the schnapps in and leaning back so her hair wouldn’t catch on fire.

“That was impressive, Swan.” “Didn’t answer my question.” “I’m fine.” “Sure.” “Fine.” Emma put the pan down on the stove, dumping the beans in with the schnapps and stared at him appraisingly, like she could read his mind or something. And he got the distinct feeling that, maybe, she could.

“Killian,” she sighed and her voice felt like pinpricks across his skin, making every single one of his nerves light up – or whatever it was that nerves did. He wasn’t into specifics. He just knew when she said his name he couldn’t think straight.

“I have no idea what these are,” he grumbled.

Emma grinned at him, taking a step into his station and glancing around to make sure they were actually being filmed. They were. Of course.

“They’re disgusting,” she said simply, working a soft laugh out of him and forcing some of the frustration he’d felt to ebb away just a bit. “But I was just going to make them as a side. Braised, butter, couple of spices. There’s not much else to do with them.”

Killian groaned, lips twisted on his face as he scuffed his foot along the floor of his station. There had to be something else to do with them. He grabbed one of the stupid things out of the bowl and bit down, trying to figure out what they even tasted like and if he could maybe make them taste better.

He couldn’t.

These were disgusting.

“These are awful,” he grimaced, swallowing slowly as he tried to ignore the flavor.

“Told you.” “Yeah, well, not all of us can be classically trained, love,” he said softly, eyes darting to a suddenly nervous-looking Emma. She took a step back towards her stove, shifting the pan a bit before turning to start chopping up the goat meat sitting on her counter.

And there it was – he had fallen back into unconfident asshole with relative ease. He was always kind of teetering right on the edge of it, but it constantly surprised Killian how simple it was for something to shake the bravado and the show.

Neither one of them said anything for what felt like days and Killian nearly cut into his prosthetic six different times while he diced an onion he thought might make the beans not taste quite as horrible. He moved quickly – well aware of the time and Sydney’s pacing in front of the judging table and Graham’s ridiculous self-confidence with yet another gamey meat in the basket.

Killian was going to have a long conversation with Robin about that later – or maybe not. If he still went to dinner with Emma and her family. If she still wanted him to.

He was a stupid asshole.

She was standing in front of her oven and the food smelled fantastic – again. And she was so focused, eyes narrowed at the pan in her hand, occasionally glancing up towards the clock in the corner of the studio.

Emma moved – her whole body shifting in what actually looked like muscle memory – as she twisted around, still holding the pan over the stove, to grab something off the top of her station and throw it into the mix.

“That was impressive, Swan,” Killian muttered softly, flipping the strips of goat meat on the grill he’d set up on top of his stove.

“You said that already.” “Doesn’t make it any less true.” She smiled at him and it felt like he could breathe again and Killian wondered when he’d settled into that – needing her to smile at him and, well, needing her.

It hadn’t snuck up on him. He’d realized it was happening and it was happening quickly and he was fairly positive he couldn’t stop it if he tried.

He didn’t want to try.

“What did you do with the beans?” she asked.

“Onion, chicken stock, vinegar.” Emma pressed her mouth together, lower lip jutting out slightly in something that vaguely appeared to look like impressed. Killian smiled, raising his eyebrows as he moved around her, hand drifting across her back as he walked to the corner of the studio to grab plates.

He could hear her behind him – those sneakers announcing her arrival wherever she went – and she stood next him, staring at the stack of dishes and options, fingers tugging on the bottom of her hair before she pushed it over her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

And he could practically hear her smile.

“It’s ok.” “It’s not, but I appreciate the effort to understand. I don’t like not knowing something. Ever. And it’s pretty easy for me to get frustrated when I don’t. Especially when it comes to the food. Stick around, Swan, and you’ll realize I’m pretty good at wallowing just a bit.” Emma rocked back on her feet for a moment before reaching forward to grab a stack of plates in front of her, resting them on her hip and turning to look at him. She stared at him for half a moment and then reached out and brushed her hands over his hand – his left hand – and smiled slowly, the movement stretching across her face and straight through him.

“I’d like that,” she said and he tilted his head, eyes flashing up towards hers.

“Watching me wallow?” “No,” she laughed softly. “Sticking around.” And he hadn’t expected that.

“I’d like that too.” “Good.”

They were absolutely being filmed. Emma’s fingers were still wrapped around his hand and he could hear Sydney yell something about five minutes from his spot in front of the judge’s table and neither one of them moved.

“You guys are painfully obvious,” Graham muttered, stepping into the corner with a smile on his face. “You realize you’re on camera.” “Shut up Humbert,” Emma mumbled, readjusting the pile of plates against her hips. She glanced up at Killian, nervous energy nearly radiating off of her and they probably should have talked more before they started filming.

They’d been too busy – how had Ruby put it? – trying to rip each other’s clothes off in the middle of the studio kitchen. It didn’t seem like a bad problem to have, but it did kind of beg the question of establishing some sort of definition about what was happening here.

Or not happening.

Or maybe happening at Granny’s Diner that night.

“I’m just saying,” Graham said, laughing as he leaned around Emma to grab a small stack of bowls just above her head, “there are cameras everywhere and the two of you are very bad at making this not look like something.” “And what do you think that something is?” Killian asked – falling into the kind of overprotective mode that would be able to rival even David Nolan as quickly as he’d fallen into asshole a few minutes before.

Graham laughed again and Emma rolled her eyes as Sydney approached the three of them – a cameraman just a few feet away from him. “What’s going on over here?” he asked, host voice crashing against Killian’s ears like nails on a chalkboard. “Some sort of plating war council?” “A war council?” Killian repeated, grabbing plates and taking a step away from Emma so his hand wouldn’t find its way back to her shirt or her neck or her waist. “Seems a little West Side Story doesn’t it?” “I’m not snapping my fingers,” Graham added. “And, plus, it seems Jones has already won the first rumble. Or whatever.” Emma’s entire body sagged when she rolled her eyes and groaned and Killian couldn’t stop the smile on his face when she moved. “Go plate your food, Humbert,” she muttered, voice dangerously low and she didn’t need Killian to protect her – she was doing perfectly fine all on her own.

Graham’s eyes darted between Emma and Killian quickly, but he stood up a little straighter when the camera moved on him, plastering a smile on his face. “Absolutely,” he said. “Time keeps on ticking and all that.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groaned and Killian chuckled under his breath.

Sydney and the camera had followed Graham back to his station – suddenly less interested now that their apparent war council had ceased to exist – and Killian’s fingers were wrapped around Emma’s again as soon as he realized they weren’t being filmed.

“You alright, love?” She nodded slowly, thumb tracing a pattern over the side of his wrist. “I’ve got to plate my food.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Emma pulled her hand back to her side, wrapping her fingers around the plates and moving back to her station quickly, head pointed in front of her and that determination Killian had been so impressed by just a few minutes before was obvious in every single step she took.

Sydney was counting down and Killian ignored him, plating as quickly and cleanly as he could, grabbing a towel from the corner of the station to swipe along the edge of each plate, tossing it back over his shoulder when the host shouted time .

He took a step back, shoulders heaving slightly as he glanced down at the food.

He hoped the beans didn’t taste disgusting.

The three of them walked towards judging, plates of their food already sitting at the table and Sydney standing on his mark with his arms crossed over his chest.

And it didn’t go too bad.

The beans, apparently, weren’t a complete disaster and the meat was cooked well and the plating was gorgeous . He felt good.

And then they got to Emma’s.

And he felt like shit.

They hated it. They hated the meat and the plating and the fucking dragon tongue beans, telling her she hadn’t done anything except cook them and put them on the plate.

Emma took a deep breath next to him, tugging on her hair and biting her lip at the same time – and he couldn’t put his hand on her back, couldn’t do anything because they were on camera and his whole body felt like it flipped at the sight of her.

She was a mix of surprise and disappointment and her face barely even moved when they told her she’d been chopped.

#cs fic #cs au #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfiction #in updates of my crazy google searches for this fic #i spent an obscenely long time researching actual chopped baskets #emma's appetizer was made by alex on an all-star competition #the more you know

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