#felt appropriate for jet not only because of the space theming but also because i know you like jet a lot :) and i like how you draw them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chil2de · 3 years

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hi yes the benimaru fic i mentioned earlier— fire force fandom will you let me in please??🥺🥺 i don’t know what i’m dealing with fanbase wise mmfldjfj sometimes it feels like i’m head over heels for bens by myself so... i’ll drop this here for now.. see how it goes and i’ll continue w/ a second part if ff isn’t dead

nsfw themes throughout, so please read my disclaimer if you’re new. enjoy :)

w.c: 1.7k, characters: 9.6k (incl spaces)

there’s a certain sluggish quality that plagues your movements. it’s not fatigue or incompetence. or so benimaru would hope.

his mix matched gaze glosses over your unnecessary movements. that extra exhale you hiss, the additional bat of your eyelashes and the excessive perspiration that drips onto the earth below.

“stop.” he commands, tone low and stern as it pierces through the open air.

“huh? captain shinmon, i’m fine. we can keep going.” you huff through laboured breaths, pausing to gasp and drink in the plentiful oxygen around you.

“it’s one thing if you’re overworking your muscles. it’s another if you’re running a fever. go inside.”

“b-but captain-“

benimaru shoots you a dead stare, keeping his statement rooted deep where he stands.

judging by the bruises that adorn your knees, you know better than to disobey the captain.

“waka! have you seen (l/n)?” konro lingers in the doorframe of the main communal area, gaze scanning for one of his colleagues.

“she’s in her room. why?”

“her room? she has a few errands to run. is she feeling okay?”

“she’s running a fever.” benimaru exhales, shifting to get up from the table. he lightly scratches the back of his neck, adorning that usual aloof facial expression.

“in the middle of summer? how’d that happen?” konro chuckles through a small glimpse of bewilderment. of course he’d be concerned for one of his best recruits.

“hell if i know. what do we need? i’ll head out.”

if anything, benimaru is probably the sole reason why you’re running a fever. why he subjected to railing you underneath water that felt like it was nearing sub-zero was beyond you. it’s not like he’s about to admit he enjoys fucking his special little fire soldier. how he relishes and engrains the sight of your fucked out facial expression deep into his head, burning the image into his retinas. shit, you wouldn’t be surprised if the reason why he sometimes spaces out is because of you.

it’s always been blatantly obvious that you’re the captain’s favourite, no matter how much he denies it and how many glares he shoots at the people from other companies. you’re always left apologising for his behaviour, attempting to keep a straight face.

for the one time you dragged him out to patrol with you, and the amount of incessant whining, complaints and bribes you offered your captain, after a full month of lovely slow burn he decided to come along with you. he just up and left, had the audacity to turn around and ask you why you’re still standing there. benimaru always kept his distance to yours close, in fact the separation was almost minimal. you could feel his shoulders ghost over you.

every time he noticed someone staring at your figure for a little bit too long to be deemed appropriate, he hissed a scoff of distaste. at around the third or fourth person, you were already forced to deal with his short temper.

“what the hell are you gawking at? mind your damn business.”

but sure. apparently you’re not his favourite.

he can scoff and complain all he wants, but that won’t stop him even now from lazily snaking his hand around to his favourite baby girl’s waist. to him, this seems like the most normal thing.

“how else is she going to stand upright? she’s all stick and bones, the wind will knock her right over.”

okay, benimaru. you keep telling yourself that. even when his fingers feel an itch every time they’re not touching a part of your skin. he tends to get a whole lot more mouthy and irritable every time you’re not around, too.

hell, even his own townsfolk pick up on the fact that he’s out and about more. rounds that he always left to the lesser important underlings became more commonplace, especially with you by his side.

but the things that go on behind closed doors?

his peppermint red eyes that haunt your mind, infiltrating your very thoughts. you could be minding your business, going on about your day until you get an abrupt flicker of his mundane tic-tac-toe gaze staring up at you from in between your thighs.

you could be taking care of hinata and hikage, entertaining their antics when you feel the weight of benimaru’s stare burn holes into your uniform.

you could be doing your daily sparring with the captain. in the zone, breath held and blood stream steady until you remember the feel of his hot tongue trailing along the side of your neck. for someone who seems to be stuck in a perpetual state of sadness, you always catch the arrogant smirk that pulls at his lips.

“thinking of something?” he’ll cock his eyebrows, using the distraction to take a jab to your gut.

you groan, stirring around in your bed. you hate him, hate that stupid half lidded gaze of his. you hate how soft his wavy jet black locks are. the way the strands tug and bend whenever you try to yank his face away from your cunt. you run your fingers through your hair in a valiant yet futile attempt to free your thoughts from your captain. it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon, and you haven’t done anything but reminisce about your lover for the past hour and a half.

a meek and uneven sigh hisses from your lips. your eyes screw open and you flinch at the hard sunlight that pours in from the window. as you use the inner portion of your elbow to shield your gaze, you catch glimpse of a very familiar figure in the doorway.

“captain shinmon?” you inquire, propping yourself up onto your elbows. he closes the door behind him. you’re certain that you looked like a loyal dog sat panting and wagging its tail upon discovering the return of their owner.

“excited to see me?” he remarks in a flat tone, opening the grocery bag he’s carrying before setting a few things down onto your nightstand. it’s mostly medicine, though he snags a few of your favourite snacks and drinks. there’s also one of those fascinating green tea bottles that you buy at the vending machines, except they’re served piping hot.

“how’re you feeling?”

“i told you i was going to get sick if we had the water that cold.” you huff, averting your gaze in a fit.

“not my problem you can’t take a little temperature difference”

“a little? that shit was freezing! how the hell can you take water that cold?”

“how can you not?”

you chuckle a little, shifting to stare up at the ceiling.

“don’t you have paperwork to do?”

“you know i don’t do paperwork. sure as hell not gonna start doing it now.” benimaru huffs, kicking his boots off by the door. you can hear his clothes rustling and your head snaps to face him. he shoots you a glare, as though to scold you. it’s dripping on his face. ‘really? you’re so eager.’

“move up.” he cocks his head to the side, motioning for you to move over. you shift up, room spinning a little too much for your tastes. the mattress dips with his weight and his right arm (our left) reflexively hangs in the air for you to dip your head into the crook of where his shoulder and collarbone meet. he discards his navy kimono, the article of clothing hangs on one of the hooks at the back of your door. it’s probably not much comfort for him to be relaxing in a bed with half of his uniform still on.

you squish your face against his hard chest, head rising and falling in time with his breathing. the said arm relaxes and his hand rests against your shoulder. subsequently, you realise this is the first time you’ve seen him fully without his kimono on. at the very least, he’d still have the other sleeve on.

benimaru notices your blatant staring at his other arm. he can’t comprehend why you’d gawk at it now, since he’s used it plenty of times to choke you.

he hums a small ‘hm’ in question, asking you what you’re so fascinated about. you can feel his voice thrum and rock against his chest, it sends small shivers licking your body that he doesn’t miss.

“you look so funny without your kimono on. why don’t you wear it like this more often?” you drag your nails softly against his biceps. there’s a small groan that hisses from him. as you await his response, you outline a large vein that runs from his upper arm and trails down all the way to his wrist.

“i get cold easily.”

“then why did you take a shower with me?”

“are you hearing yourself?”

surely a little bit of his body temperature was enough to sacrifice. even if it meant he was sneezing a little bit and shivering afterwards.

“seriously? you can take a tranquiliser but you can’t stand a little cold?”

“you’ll make a shitty wife if you can’t even keep me warm.”

“beni!” you hiss at benimaru in appaul, craning your face up to guffaw at him. the manners on him sometimes are despicable.

you pout, shifting your upper weight to flick benimaru in between his eyebrows. he screws his face in mutiny, lips curled into a scowl.

you and him both know that if it were anyone else flicking him like that, they’d be sent crashing through six different blocks of houses down the street.

“oi.” he warns you, tutting.

“konro come by and work some voodoo magic bullshit on you? ‘cause you’re testing your luck by pissing me off. you’re such a menace when you’re sick, it’s unbelievable.”

you hum in awe, inching your face closer towards his. there’s a wave of mockery that paints your face green and you can only laugh at the unrest that swirls in benimaru’s eyes.

he won’t have his pet talking down to him like that. no, no. that just won’t do.

“oh? really? you want me to do it again?” you flash him a cocky smirk, digits curled into a flicking position. you rest the bridge of your middle finger against benimaru’s forehead, slicking some of his charcoal stained locks out the way.

his left hand flies to catch your hand in an instant. with just two of his fingers, he can wrap himself around your wrist. his touch is assertive, firm. he can drag you the fuck away from him as he pleases, but there’s no real malice or force behind him just yet.

“yeah? try me.” he barks, peering down at you through his lashes.

you just might.

#?? i hope he sounds okay?#his dialogue was extremely finicky to me #i’ve heard lots of people complain that their or someone elses beni sounded ooc so ihope thats not the case here #benimaru shinmon #benimaru x you #benimaru x y/n #benimaru x reader #fire force x y/n #fire force x reader #fire force x you #fire force #fire force imagines #fire force self insert #fire force smut #fire force hcs #fire force headcanons

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sasarahsunshine · 3 years

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Vampire Omega Reid gets pregnant by another Vampire {it was a drunken one night stand} and his pack are very protective of him. He has a big belly during his bat form and Hotch let's him sleep in his mug since he couldn't fit in a cup due to his big belly.

I am seeing a common theme with some of my asks recently, and that's that we all love the idea of a pregnant Spencer <3

Didn't mean for this to turn into a whole freaking blurb but here we go! Standard 18+ just in case. Hotchreid cause I can. TW: Mpreg, depression, anxiety, A/B/O adjacent Vampire stuff. Enjoy!

-----

Spencer Reid should know better. Spencer Reid- Doctor Spencer Reid- is smart enough (a literal genius) to know better. Condoms break. One-night stands end without numbers exchanged or real names learned. He should have known better.

He didn't mean for this. He didn't want this.

He doesn't even know who the father is. No name, no number, nothing but blurry barely-there memories of a handsome Alpha who charmed him into his bed. Fuck.

He debates on getting rid of it: the fetus, the bundle of cells that don't even have a heartbeat yet. But when he's sitting on the dingy motel room bed, the hard mattress under his crossed legs as he stares at the positive pregnancy test he's been carrying in his bag for the past week, he realizes he can't do that. Not because he's scared (he's not scared, he's a freaking FBI agent! He's not scared, no sir), but because... well maybe he's a little scared.

And these feelings of indecision, of fear, shame, embarrassment, depression- they keep cropping up as the weeks pass by. He cries himself to sleep most nights, clutching his pillow to his chest, hiding his face in the blankets, and wondering how did this happen?

It's when he's about three months along (12 weeks, his mind supplies) that someone else seems to finally notice. Not that he wasn't acting totally weird and out-of-the-ordinary for himself anyways, getting cornered by everyone at least once as they drilled him.

"What's wrong, Spence?"

"Hey, Pretty Boy, what's on your mind?"

"Reid, if there's anything going on you know you can tell me."

"Hey kiddo, we're all a little worried about you."

"My baby genius, you're not doing the talking thing. What's wrong?"

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He managed to avoid them until now, though he wasn't sure why he was avoiding them. It wasn't like he could keep his pregnancy a secret forever. Because, logically, they would have noticed the serious drop in caffeine intake, the increased hunger, nausea, and finally, the eventual weight gain. It didn't take a genius to put two-and-two together.

It was about time when the whole team (sans Garcia) managed to corner him on the jet. He had almost nodded off, his chin resting in his hand, eyes slipping closed as the rumble of the engines lulled him to sleep, when the couch dipped and shifted beside him. He peeked open his eyes to see a very concerned-looking JJ. Right behind her were Derek and Emily, the two of them standing in such a way that blocked him in. No escape.

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"Spence," JJ started, her eyes filled to the brim with sympathy and concern, shimmering in the low light of the cabin. Her hand reached out and took his, squeezing it, "Please tell us what's going on."

And the damn floodgates opened.

Stupid hormones.

Spencer's shoulders trembled, his lower lip quivering as he tried to rein in his emotions to no avail. Tears slipped from his eyes as he looked between his team members. He could hear Rossi and Hotch approaching, the two older Alphas making sure to keep enough distance as to not frighten the already spooked and emotional Omega (which Spencer was grateful for, even though the sudden urge to be held by a certain Alpha was overwhelming).

JJ leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Her instincts were on high alert, fingers carding through his hair in a calming manner, a rumble escaping her chest to ease him. And he just sobbed, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

Honestly, the first clue should have been how he had pulled away from everyone. Omega Vampires need to feed from Alphas to get the nutrients they need (especially when pregnant), so when Spencer stopped going to Hotch and Derek for his regular feedings, they should have known.

Maybe they did.

He just didn't want them to scent the change in his hormones. The Alphas would have known right away if they got close enough.

He could feel Hotch's eyes on him from across the aisle. And he knew that there would be a lot of explaining to do.

But telling his boss, "I slept with another Alpha that I met at the bar because he looked like you, and now I'm pregnant," wasn't exactly something he looked forward to.

Thankfully, Spencer never had to explain himself. Nobody pushed. Everyone gave him his space to speak as much, or as little, as he needed to on the matter. Derek did offer to find the Alpha who knocked him up ("I just want to talk to him, Pretty Boy."), but Spencer just shook his head.

And as the weeks stretched on, his pregnancy becoming more and more noticeable by the day, he was finding himself feeling... odd. Still ashamed, still upset that it happened at all. But also kind of excited.

Garcia was obsessively flittering about him every chance she got. She bought way too many baby items, not that Spencer could really complain. He had no idea what he needed, so it was kind of nice to have someone dragging him around the fancy baby boutiques and getting all the high-end items he could possibly need. "Nothing but the best for the tiny genius you have in there!" She would say as she motioned to his growing stomach.

In his eighth month, it was sometimes easier to just be a bat. Especially because nothing was comfortable. Everything ached from his feet and ankles to his back and shoulders. Clothes were ridiculous. And eating was a nightmare because only one person seemed to not make him nauseous- and that person was off-limits.

So that's how he somehow found himself in Hotch's office, curled up in a mug, a tiny blanket (courtesy of Garcia) covering him as he slept for the millionth time that day. Gosh, he was always tired.

Hotch would pause his work every few minutes to check on Reid. He had noticed how the young Omega had attached himself to him, how could he not? And the Alpha wanted nothing more than to protect him, cherish him, and take care of him. He just wasn't quite sure how to bring it up. Especially when the Omega was overly emotional with everything going on.

He tapped his pen on the paper a couple of times, watching the rise and fall of the little blanket (more like a cloth) that covered the mug. Spencer had been getting sick when trying to feed from Derek, but seemed fine with Hotch's blood, he noticed. He wondered if there was a psychological reason behind that, or if it was chemical.

When the little bat stirred, sticking his head out from under the blanket with a cute yawn, Hotch smiled. He bit into the pad of his own thumb, offering it to the tiny Spencer (who looked ridiculous being this pregnant, rounder than a beach ball Emily had said).

Spencer didn't hesitate in his sleepy state, climbing out and attaching himself to Hotch's thumb, feeding from the pin-prick bite that marred the skin. He was so cute.

Hotch smiled to himself, resting his chin on his opposite fist, watching as Spencer slowly came to himself. The next few months were going to be interesting, he realized. Once Spencer had his pup, the team would be rather overbearing (not that they weren't already). And Hotch wondered then if Spencer would ever let him get close enough to help raise the baby. Because as he watched Spencer shake out of his sleepy mind, stretching a little before moving to the edge of the desk and shifting back to his human form, he realized he wanted to be with this Omega in a way that wasn't appropriate for him as his boss.

And when Reid leaned against the desk, a soft smile on his face as he murmured, "thank you," for allowing him to nap there, Hotch felt a pull at his heart.

Now wasn't a good time to bring this up, he told himself. But soon.

"You're welcome, Spencer."

-----

Tagging some people who might like this! @tobias-hankel @sparklinspence @goobzoop @thaddeusly @merpancake

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

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Touch In The Dark — MYG

For the @btswriterscorner - Amor Fabula Launch Project in celebration of the month of Valentine’s Day!

Plot: Min Yoongi comes from the prestigious family of Blue Blood lineage. However, to appear philanthropic in the eyes of the public, they volunteered their son to marry someone from “humble” origins. Two years have passed since he’s been married to his poor, orphan wife. But for the first time in two years, he’s starting to take note of things about her that are causing shifts in his views of her, shaking his heart.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: dystopian!au/dystopian themes | angst | romance/fluff

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Female OC (Kiara Townsend)

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of suicide, extreme angst, interracial/intercultural relationship, arranged marriage

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 7,936

AN: I never thought I would write a story like this. I think this is the softest I’ve ever written for the boys. I know I only have one piece of lit for the fandom, but I have to say that this project caught me a little off guard. I never thought I would write Yoongi this soft, but it’s a very non-conventional soft. So I hope you all enjoy the world I was able to build from this, hug your loved ones a little close, and know that you are always loved. All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

~ k.t. ~

On the day she was told that she’d been chosen as the “Charity Selection” for The Lottery, Kiara tried to kill herself.

The heavy knocks sounded like thunder inside her tiny, rundown studio apartment. She stared back at her reflection in the bathroom, a handful of sleeping pills clutched in her palm over the porcelain. She’d purchased a full bottle of the prescription strength medication off the black market. It took her months to save up enough money to buy them.

Attempted suicide was a serious offense, punishable by large fines and incarceration for three months, followed by six months of psychiatric evaluation. The global population was already off-kilter with how many people suffered losses from wars, hunger and poverty. Decreasing the numbers in any amount was detrimental to society’s ability to rebuild and stabilize its structure.

The knocking continued incessantly. Kiara knew if she didn’t answer the door, they would just kick it in and find out what she was up to. Sighing, she put the pills back into the bottle and placed it in the medicine chest behind the smudged mirror.

Twelve paces. That’s how long it took for her to make it from the bathroom to the front door. The ratty sofa doubled as her bed and the thin, pale blue blanket could hardly be considered covers. While Kiara did not get sick often, she could not stay warm during the winter months. Central heating was a luxury she couldn’t afford and space heaters were few and far between. The yellowing paint peeled off the walls and the stainless steel door knobs, once shiny and new, were now dull and gray from years of neglect.

When she opened the door, she was greeted by a man in a three-piece suit and two armed soldiers. He was an official from The Lottery office and he handed her a letter. He congratulated her, telling her how fortunate she was to have been chosen for the “Charity” portion of the Lottery. He explained that everything she needed to know about her future husband was in the envelope and that she could read it on the flight to meet him.

She’d never flown in an airplane before.

Kiara didn’t own much. All of her furniture were either hand-me-downs or things she found on the side of the road. Her clothes, what few she had, could all be stuffed into a single duffel bag. Her friends doted on her, telling her how lucky she was to have been chosen. They all pooled together and bought her a pretty sundress to wear since it was approaching Summer. Kiara promised to contact them whenever she was fully settled.

On the flight over, Kiara took a good look over the files she’d received.

Yoongi Min. 26. South Korean. Computer programmer. His home was Daegu and he still lived with his family, as per tradition in the country. He was fluent in English, which was a relief. He was definitely handsome - dark auburn hair, pierced ears, and umber eyes that almost appeared a little withdrawn. Or was it sadness?

Was he hurting on the inside too?

At her request, one of the flight attendants gave her a tablet for her to study. She didn’t want to embarrass herself on the first day of meeting him.

If the plane didn’t crash on the way. Kiara could only be so lucky.

Yoongi wasn’t the one who picked her up from the airport. It was someone from the family’s household staff. He was a kind looking middle-aged man and he helped her load what few belongings she had into the trunk of her car. The drive from Incheon to Daegu was long. The driver, Mr. Song, told her she could take a nap if she liked. But there were so many questions she wanted to ask and she was grateful that he was also fluent in English.

There were things she discovered about Yoongi that she felt she could relate to. He was an avid reader and enjoyed music. He preferred his solitude and when he had the time to spare, he took pictures and tended the garden at his family’s home. There were servants to handle such things as yardwork, but Yoongi insisted on raising seedlings in a greenhouse.

After she arrived at his family’s home, she was welcomed by the rest of the staff. Yoongi, again, did not greet her. His parents did, however. They were not so fluent in English, but they were kind enough to allow one of the maidservants to translate what they were saying to Kiara. She both nodded and shook her head at the appropriate questions. Nothing they asked was outside of a “yes” or “no” response.

“Are you healthy?”

“Are your parents really dead?”

“Were you comfortable on the plane?”

“You’ve never flown on an airplane before, have you?”

And finally, the question that served as Divine Intervention.

“Are you tired?”

The questioning ended when she nodded. It wasn’t that Kiara wanted to avoid her future In-Laws. She really was tired. She refused to nap on the long drive from Incheon to Daegu and the jet lag was starting to rear its ugly head. She could hardly keep her eyes open. After she was escorted to one of the guest rooms, Kiara barely took note of her luggage on the floor at the foot of the bed.

She fell asleep almost immediately.

When Kiara awoke the next day, she found a handwritten note sitting on the nightstand. Groggy and hungry, she did her best to read the note. Her eyes quickly focused when she realized it was from Yoongi.

Miss Townsend,

I’m glad to see you arrived safely. I know this is a bit of a transition for you, but everything will be fine. I will be out of town on business until the day after tomorrow. Please meet me at City Hall on Wednesday so we can finalize everything.

~ Min Yoongi

Unsure of why, Kiara felt her heart sink. The note seemed so impersonal; business-like. She knew what kind of world they lived in now, but did it really mean that a perpetual wall would exist between them?

Crumpling the note in her hand, she was grateful to be alone. She didn’t think she’d be able to explain the tears if anyone saw her. Mostly because Kiara, herself, couldn’t understand why she was crying.

~ m.y. ~

The days always began the same.

Yoongi woke up, showered, went downstairs and had his cup of coffee. Two spoonfuls of sugar. No cream. He hated watching television because most channels either rattled on political propaganda or spoke about the “Runners” rebelling against society’s standards for the world. He preferred the soft sounds of jazz peeling from the radio speakers. Sometimes it was purely instrumental. Other times, someone was crooning a song about heartbreak. It was an idea that he didn’t quite understand, but the tones were pleasing to the ears.

He wasn’t a fan of it originally. Yoongi only listened to it because she had it playing while she hung laundry out on the line one warm summer day. “Killing Me Softly” droned from the speakers and he could recall the look on her face when he told her to turn it off immediately. Music containing lyrics had been banned as it was a way for artists to spread their messages of love, freedom, insurrection and justice.

She didn’t argue with him, but her expression shifted significantly that day.

In their society, love was something that could not be felt because love equaled passion and passion led to impractical thought. Impractical thoughts led to irrational decisions being made. Wars, hatred, violence: they were all ingredients for disaster that nearly wiped out the population of the world.

But mankind couldn’t very well lead itself to extinction. Population growth was necessary, so long as it was monitored and controlled. Maintaining order was paramount in this new age. The Lottery Bill was established across the world - bridging the racial and cultural divide that continued to exist until the United Nations took matters into their own hands.

The class system was determined by lottery. Blue Bloods all the way to Laborers. Everyone had their place and would accept that place. No one would strive to reach above their station as that would disrupt order and breed chaos. To regulate the classes, lotteries were also pulled for marriage. Couples were chosen from like classes to maintain balance in the system.

But because the world’s government was not cruel, there were families chosen to participate in philanthropic activities. Every year, a small percentage of Laborers were pooled to marry into Blue Blood lineage. It was a way to show the kindness the global governmental body possessed. Most in the Blue Blood class referred to it as “Forced Charity” but they couldn’t argue against the positive impact it had both across the media and in society as a whole.

Min Yoongi’s family was one of the families chosen to participate in the “Forced Charity”. As the only son, he was obligated to be the one to represent their family during The Lottery.

He didn’t make a fuss. When Yoongi received his Summons in the mail, he went to his district’s City Hall and took the envelope from one of the clerks. He had one week to accept the terms presented in his drawing. Since he was willingly volunteering to marry someone outside of his station, he had one opportunity for a redrawing. But only one.

Yoongi opted out of it.

He was living with his parents still and politely asked that they give him privacy. For five days they tormented him about what his bride was like. It wasn’t out of childish rebellion that he hadn’t given them an answer. It was because he truly didn’t know.

On the sixth day, he finally opened the envelope.

Inside contained the dossier of his future bride, as well as a single photograph. Everyone who was eligible for The Lottery was required to have their picture taken at their district’s City Hall, regardless of what part of the world they were from. If his bride-to-be had to travel miles to get to him, then that was what had to be done. There would be no objections from either side.

He had no expectations. There was no reason to disagree with the marriage. Yet a part of him hesitated when it was time to call The Lottery office to have them send for her. The same part that looked at her picture and couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking when she was staring back at the camera. Yoongi wondered if he had the same expression on his face when he’d taken his photo.

Kiara Townsend. 26. African-American, German and Scottish. She had no parents and she worked full-time in a textile factory in North America. Her parents were killed during a neighborhood raid of residents who were presumed to have been involved in an underground movement of sorts - advocating free love and speaking out against the societal norms currently in place for the world.

In the photo, her skin was a golden caramel, hair thick with large curls, and she had prominent brows and a set of full lips. Her eyes, small and hazel in tone, were seemingly endless - like she could see into the very souls of anyone she laid her eyes upon. But there was an emptiness that lingered there in her photo.

After accepting his lottery choice, she was notified and escorted to his home country of South Korea. In three days, they were married. As a wedding present, his parents bought them their own home - a large estate in the Daegu countryside where they would have privacy. She no longer had to work now that she was married to a Blue Blood. Yoongi worked from home as a computer programmer and only went into town once a month for board meetings.

For the first month, neither of them said a word to each other. It was an unspoken rule that they had their own separate spaces in their home. Yoongi rarely slept and when he did, he slept alone. His wife often slept on the couch and he never bothered her to sleep in her own bed.

They were like strangers who happened to share the same address.

Four months went by. Yoongi grew more and more numb to his situation. The whole point of marrying someone was to increase the population. Young men and women were fully educated in the concept of sexual intercourse so that there would be no mistakes during the coupling process. No one was truly a virgin when they were age-appropriate for The Lottery. Sex was no longer an act of pleasure in the world. It was a business transaction.

They didn’t have sex. Neither even so much as touched the other.

Six months into their marriage, Yoongi heard Kiara speak for the first time.

“Can we send the servants home? I want to make dinner tonight.”

The sound of her voice was so soft. He was entranced and nearly forgot to speak. When Yoongi finally found his voice, he replied - realizing that his own tones sounded a little strange to him.

“Alright.”

~ k.t. ~

She hadn’t meant to be silent. There were so many things she wanted to know about her husband. But the very air around him appeared frigid and Kiara knew she didn’t want to bother him. There was a part of her that could sense his loneliness, but she never wanted to push or prod where she wasn’t wanted. The interactions they had between each other were brief, if even at all.

Kiara didn’t have to want for anything. But was this really a life that she could grow accustomed to? It felt like the more she wanted to grow closer with Yoongi, the further he seemed to appear.

Did he hate her? Or not care about her? When he fussed at her about playing the radio, she wondered if she was simply an eyesore to him.

Wasn’t it better to simply stay out of his way?

The months bled on and while they were finally sharing small bits of conversation here and there, Kiara could sense the gap between them slowly transforming into a chasm. There were times when she caught him looking at her when she was busying herself around the kitchen or even putting away clothes. She was so used to a hard, springy mattress from her pullout bed in her studio that Kiara found it easy to fall asleep on one of the many couches throughout the house.

Their house.

But was it really her house? Could she call it her home?

Eight months into their marriage, she woke up in a bed after having fallen asleep while reading on the sofa. The warm blankets and plush down startled Kiara, causing her to halfway scramble from the bed. The room was unfamiliar to her and she felt slightly trapped. Most people would be elated to wake up in a room with pristine, painted walls, an elegant vanity table, and clean blankets and pillows. It was warm and inviting, something that Kiara saw in the pages of magazines. She never dreamed she would be able to sleep in a room like this. It was part of the reason why she couldn’t bring herself to do it in the first place.

Who could have brought her there? One of the servants, maybe?

Sighing, she took a moment to study the room she was in - the room that was designated as “hers”. It was as unfamiliar to her as the day she first set foot in this country. While Kiara understood the language and continued to learn the customs and culture of South Korea, there was a part of her that still felt strangely out of place. It shouldn’t have been the case, not with The Lottery Bill having been in effect for several years now.

Only when her raging heartbeat slowed down a measure, did she notice the small note resting on the nightstand. With slightly trembling fingers, Kiara picked up the note and read it.

Stop sleeping on the couch. There’s a perfectly good bed not being put to use.

You don’t have to make yourself uncomfortable for no reason.

Haven’t you suffered enough in your life?

~ Yoongi

A warm feeling slowly blanketed her entire body. Kiara pressed the note to her chest as she sat on the edge of the bed. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. Relief? Understanding? Perhaps. Maybe even a little hopeful.

There was the faint aroma of spices permeating into her room from the gap below the door. Setting the note down, Kiara left her room and made her way out into the hallway. The stairwell was just a few feet away, but she paused in front of Yoongi’s bedroom. Her eyes lingered a little further to the third door at the other end of the hallway - the master bedroom. It seemed that Yoongi opted to stay in a guest bedroom just like hers.

Was that out of concern for her? Did he not want to appear entitled?

But that didn’t make any sense. He was a Blue Blood. His very lineage was entitlement, wasn’t it?

So then...why?

Her palm slid along the railing of the stairwell, her bare feet gliding over the perfectly polished wooden floor. She could hear a pot boiling as someone chopped methodically in the kitchen. When she reached the entrance, Kiara peeked her head around the corner. She felt like a small child stumbling across their parent in the middle of some adult task.

Yoongi was focused on chopping vegetables for a stew. The meat was already fully cooked in the broth and he appeared to be putting the final touches on what he was doing. Kiara gazed at his exposed forearms in awe - watching the muscles tensing as he worked. Her eye-line shifted, roving over the curve of his shoulders to the juncture of his slender neck. Sweat gathered around his temple and trailed down his jawline and with each movement, she saw his earrings twinking under the kitchen’s amber light fixture.

She couldn’t recall a time when she’d seen a man as beautiful as her husband.

As if he’d sensed her presence, Yoongi craned his neck to look at her - his arms moving to slide the vegetables off the carving board and into the stew pot. He turned the burner down while setting the chopping board into the sink. Washing his hands, he then wiped them clean with a dish towel as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Did you sleep well?”

Kiara nodded. “I did, thank you.”

“Good.”

There was a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch towards the edge of forever. Just as Kiara took a step forward, preparing to offer some kind of assistance, did Yoongi finally break the silence.

“I dismissed the servants,” he offered gently, his gaze meeting hers for what she felt like was the very first time since they were married, “it’s not like they really have much to do around here.”

Kiara didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent. Unconsciously, she began wringing her hands together. She very nearly averted her gaze until he spoke again.

“I’ll probably send them back to my parents’ home.”

Again, her eyes locked with his. His expression stayed neutral and Kiara felt a lump forming in her throat.

“Would it be okay if it was just the two of us?”

Her eyes widened slightly, unsure of what he was implying. But it was true that the servants didn’t have much to do in their home. Yoongi hardly made a mess and what mess he did make, he often cleaned up after himself. The same could be said of Kiara. If anything, the servants were often shuffling around and attempting to find something to do so they didn’t appear to have idle hands.

Surely they could take care of themselves, right?

Kiara didn’t know what expression to make, so she kept her face from shifting too much. Maybe it was out of need to keep herself just a little more guarded because of the lack of interaction for so long. She couldn’t be sure. But appearing too vulnerable, too open, could be just as much of a mistake as being too closed off.

Taking a breath, she nodded once more.

“If you’re alright with it, then I would like that, too.”

~ m.y. ~

He didn’t shower her with gifts because of an impulsive decision.

He bought her things because he knew she chose to go without.

Kiara came from a world that was vastly different than his own. Yoongi could hardly fathom the idea of not having enough clothes in his closet or enough food in his fridge. But she never complained about anything - whether he bought too much or not enough. She graciously accepted everything that was given.

What was even more puzzling, however, was how a mild feeling of irritation blossomed when Kiara didn’t utilize the things he’d given her immediately. He knew she was grateful and she rarely made a fuss about anything. The one time he ever saw her upset in the entire year they’d been married was when he’d made the comment about the radio.

Hadn’t they reached a compromise?

Biting his lower lip, he found it difficult to focus on his computer work. Everything looked like Egyptian hieroglyphics, which was saying something considering that Yoongi lived, breathed, and dreamed about coding. He became a computer software programmer out of necessity for the ever-advancing world of technology they lived in. Modern society was growing more and more dependent on smart devices, which would have been a shame had he lived in a different world.

People often missed the world around them when their eyes were glued to a screen.

The latch unhooked from the door, causing him to shift his gaze from the computer monitor. When it slowly opened, he saw Kiara quietly enter - arms cradling a small serving tray. Yoongi leaned back in his chair, threading his fingers through each other as she approached. She set a plate of toast, jam, and fruit on the desk - her motions smooth and practiced. She finally set the cup of steaming hot coffee beside the plate, as well as utensils wrapped in a cloth napkin.

“You should take a break,” she said, the tray resting against her stomach, “you’ve been working non-stop for about four hours now.”

He set the computer to hibernation mode. “I didn’t realize I’d been here that long.”

“You can leave the tray outside when you’re finished.”

Yoongi watched her turn to leave, his body reacting before his mind could process what he was doing. Before he realized it, he was out of his chair and reaching out to grasp her shoulder - stopping Kiara from leaving him. He felt her muscles tensing and Yoongi pulled his hand back immediately. Slowly, she turned to face him again.

Her hazel eyes appeared to glow from the twilight rays peeling in through the windows of his office.

His heart crashed into his chest with heavy thuds. A lump slowly formed in his throat and he made a vain attempt to swallow oxygen through the closing airways. Yoongi knew he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what that something was. He opened his mouth to speak and, again, no words came out.

All he could do was push the bubble in his throat down into the knot twisting in his chest.

Sensing something was amiss, Kiara set the tray down on the desk. “Are you alright?”

Yoongi remained silent, studying the crease on her brow as her curls bounced around cheeks and shoulders. She reached her hand up, pressing the flat of her palm on his forehead.

“You’re a little warm, but you don’t seem to have a fever.”

Every representation of logic was screaming at him to pull away - telling him to replace the wall that existed between them for the last year. She hadn’t moved her hand from his skin and Yoongi felt his vision swimming for half a second before refocusing back on her face.

How had he missed the beauty mark at the corner of her left eye?

Taking a step back, he watched her arm continue to hover in the air for a few seconds before settling back at her side. Yoongi saw something pass over her face, but it was so quick that he wasn’t sure he’d seen anything at all.

Kiara brushed some of her curls behind her ear. “I’ll head to the market and pick up a few things. Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll take care of them when I come back.”

Then she turned away from him to head out of his study, leaving him alone without so much as a second glance.

His chest hurt.

Flopping back into his chair, Yoongi carded his fingers through his hair in frustration - hands resting at the back of his neck as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

“...I didn’t even thank her.”

~ k.t. ~

The months were getting colder. Kiara wasn’t a fan of the cold, but she loved seeing the snow in South Korea. Everything was covered in a soft blanket of white. It gave her an excuse to indulge in a savory meal, wrap up in a warm blanket, and read by the fireplace. Yoongi was in Seoul for a business meeting, leaving her alone to her own devices. This was the first winter that she would get to experience without the servants around, fussing over her in case she hadn’t acclimated to the weather.

She took a warm bath, drank from a large glass of wine, and enjoyed the book she’d discovered near the back of the library. Most of the books in Yoongi’s library were reference books and non-fiction. She’d combed through most of them. But nestled in the very back, tucked away in a hidden nook, was a small collection of fictional literature. There were more than a dozen; small in comparison to the rest of his library. But the discovery of it surprised her just the same. In the year she’d been married to Yoongi, he always seemed very “by the book” and she couldn’t forget the comment he made about the music she was listening to while hanging up laundry. Finding something of this caliber was like stumbling across buried treasure.

Kiara was currently flipping through the pages of Animal Farm by George Orwell. She chose it because next to 1984 , it had the most worn out spine. It meant that Yoongi read it the most in comparison to the others in his entire collection.

Upon completing the novel, she could see why.

Politics. Justice. Equality. Inequality. A corrupt system. Broken families. Broken societies. A dream that fizzled away to greed - a dream that would only remain a dream so long as dictators felt that “some were more equal than others”.

There was a small part of Kiara that almost seemed to understand Yoongi a little bit better. He was a thinker and also compassionate. He never asked her to do more than what she needed and he readily provided her with anything she would ever need. It was the sort of life that Kiara wasn’t used to for over twenty years of being part of the Labor Class.

Yet something was still missing…

The sudden slamming of the door startled Kiara, causing her to drop the book into the bathwater. She panicked, knocking over the wine glass as she flailed to pull the book out. The pages instantly soaked - some of them were already falling out from the binding. She released a sob while pulling the plug to drain the water, clambering haphazardly out of the tub. Her heel found the bath rug by the tub and she could only cling helplessly to the pages, gathering up what remained in the bathtub into her trembling hands.

There was a knock at the door and she whirled around to face it.

“Is everything alright in there?”

Yoongi was home early. Looking at the ruined book in her hands, Kiara’s heart sank.

“I-I’m fine,” she said, leaning down to pick up the wine glass, “I’ll be out in just a moment.”

“Take your time.”

When she heard his footsteps fading away, Kiara sighed as she wrapped a towel around her body. She used a smaller one to clean up the mess on the floor - grabbing a small plastic bowl and filling it with water so she could wash what remained to let it drain out in the center of the bathroom. She let out another sigh, brushing her fingers through her wet curls. It was better to be honest and get it over with, wasn’t it?

Drying herself off, she slid into her pajamas, grabbed the ruined book, and made her way downstairs. Yoongi poured himself a drink in the kitchen, taking note of her presence with a simple nod. He held the glass up and out toward her.

“Drink?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I had some wine earlier.”

“Ah, I see,” he replied gently, replacing the cap on the whiskey bottle.

There was a small measure of silence that stretched between them and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, her fingers digging into the wet pages of the book currently hidden behind her back.

“Uh, Yoongi?”

He hummed during mid-sip, swallowing and then setting the glass down. “Yes?”

Slowly, she pulled the book around from behind her and held it out to him from across the kitchen island. “I was reading and dropped one of your books in the bath.”

“It’s just a book,” Yoongi said with a shrug.

Kiara bit her lower lip, her hands shaking as she continued to hold the book out to him - waiting for him to take it from her. He looked like he was about to say something, but she noticed his eyes lingering over the cover. When his eyes scanned over it, they widened slightly and it took everything Kiara had not to wince. Her shoulders visibly tensed when he snatched the book from her hands.

Without another word, he left the kitchen. Kiara followed on instinct, her eyes widening when she saw him throwing the book into the open hearth. The flames seemed to fight against the wet pages, but it didn’t take long for the book to burn.

“I’m sor--”

Yoongi was already moving, his body disappearing down the corridor. Her legs were rooted where she stood and Kiara wanted nothing more than to disappear between the cracks - to dip below the earth and vanish into the ether. She could hear his hurried steps and the breath left her lungs when she saw him carrying an armful of books.

Books from his hidden collection.

He moved faster than her brain could keep up and by the time she realized what was happening, he’d already thrown three more books into the fire.

“Yoongi, wait!” she cried, running toward him and pulling at his shirt sleeve, “Please wait! I said I was sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

Yoongi said nothing. He simply continued to throw the books into the fire. When all of those were devoured by the flames in the fireplace, he turned to head back toward the library. Kiara ran at him, wrapping her arms around his waist to stop him. He took three more steps before stopping completely.

She openly sobbed into his back, soaking his shirt as her fingers dug into his stomach to keep him tethered there.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, clinging to him as if he was a life raft, “I’m sorry…”

She felt the flutter of his beating heart against her face, drumming along her cheeks. It almost seemed manic, but his shoulders finally relaxed as she heard him taking several long, deep breaths. The flames popped and crackled in the fireplace, having had its fill from Yoongi’s literature collection. She knew there were still a few more on the shelf in his hidden nook, but Kiara didn’t think she could handle him destroying the things he clearly seemed to care so much about.

“I haven’t read those books in years,” he murmured gently, “I should have gotten rid of them a long time ago.”

Her hands slid up his chest, curling so that her fingers could slip over the curve of his shoulders. Kiara took a breath, sighing through the scent of his cologne.

“But why?”

“Because they’re dangerous. They provoke dangerous thoughts.” He paused and she lifted her face in time to see his head turning slightly. “It’s why they’ve been banned.”

“They’re precious to you, aren’t they?”

“It’s not worth keeping them if they get you into trouble.”

Taking a step back, she blinked and he turned around to face her.

“Me?”

Yoongi nodded. “You’re so curious. I should have known that you would stumble across them eventually. But it’s just like with the music. You have to be careful.”

Kiara wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but she knew could tell that he wasn’t upset about her reading his books. He was upset that she had unknowingly placed herself into danger. He was concerned for her well being.

And that meant something to her. More than she would ever admit out loud.

Averting her gaze, she lowered her head slightly. “...I’m sorry.”

“And stop apologizing,” Yoongi said, an edge in his tone, “it frustrates me.”

She felt his hands around her shoulders, gripping them tightly. He looked like he was going to shake her, but thought better of it. Instead, he loosened his hold - letting his hands continue to rest on her shoulders. When she next looked up at him, his brows were furrowed and his pupils seemed to shake. She wasn’t sure what was still bothering him. Kiara wanted to know what she could do to make him feel less agitated.

But as she opened her mouth to speak, she lost all words of comfort as Yoongi leaned down toward her face. She was almost positive that her heart either skipped a beat or stopped altogether at that moment. Everything was so quiet. Kiara felt his breath dancing gently over her face as he pressed his cheek against hers, his lips brushing over her cheek.

Kiara was afraid to breathe, believing that the moment she did, it would shatter whatever dream-like illusion she was currently experiencing. The second she heard her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, however, was when Yoongi pulled away. Blinking up at him rapidly, she was sure that her cheeks were inflamed and her hand absentmindedly went to touch her cheek as his hands slid away from her shoulders.

“...don’t stay up too late,” he said gently.

And then, just like a mirage, he quietly turned away and made his way toward the stairs. When she heard the door to his bedroom shut, she finally collapse to her knees. Kiara’s breathing came out in rushed waves and she buried her face in her hands, stifling a sob that nearly broke through the silence. She wasn’t sure if she should feel elated or devastated.

What was happening between them now?

~ m.y. ~

It had been three months since he burned his private book collection. The more innocent and bright-eyed side from his youth mourned the loss of the texts. He could always purchase them again if need be. He wasn’t exactly hurting for money. But it was the worn edges of the books, the notes he’d made in the margins, that he could never get back.

Those would be lost forever.

It’s probably for the best, he thought, sighing as he cradled his cup of coffee in his hands, the lessons have been learned .

He watched the sun setting slowly over the horizon from his back patio. He reflected back to Kiara’s face when he’d torched his books. She’d called them “precious” and she wasn’t exactly wrong. But she wasn’t completely right either.

There were more important things in life than the words on the pages of books. He wanted to be able to tell her that himself, but Yoongi found he couldn’t. He didn’t think the words he had swirling around his head would be enough to get his message across.

Or maybe she already understood…

He turned to head back inside, closing the sliding glass door behind him. He peered around the main living area, absentmindedly wondering where his wife was. It was still early. Maybe she was still asleep.

As Yoongi moved toward the kitchen, the distinct sound of typing could be heard down the hallway. Blinking, he set his cup down and slowly trudged down the corridor leading to his office. He slowly turned the knob, opening the door to peek inside.

Kiara was rapidly typing at his desk, her eyes focused but clearly tired. Every few minutes, she would stop to roughly hit the tops of her shoulders, rolling her neck to loosen whatever knots were beginning to form there. His eyes wandered to the desk where there was a large stack of papers. Bundles were separated and stacked in varying directions so that there would be no confusion as to what stack belonged with which grouping.

His printer whirred to life, shooting out page after page of whatever she’d just finished. When the next bundle was complete, Kiara pulled out a pencil and began to write on pages as she sifted through them.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

“What are you doing?”

His voice clearly startled her, nearly causing her to drop the entire packet of paper she had in her hands. Yoongi closed the door behind him, approaching the desk and reaching out for the bundle of papers at the very top of the stack. Kiara made a noise of protest, but his eyes scanned the front curiously.

Then his curiosity gave way to surprise.

“This is…” he began, but realized he couldn’t finish as his eyes landed on the next bundle’s cover page.

Animal Farm by George Orwell.

Yoongi rapidly flipped through the pages of 1984 in his hands. It was written, word-for-word, from what he could remember of the book. The most shocking discovery, however, was seeing his own handwriting along the margins of the pages where he’d taken his own personal notes and written rhetorical questions to ask himself as he read. It was almost too much for him to take in.

Lowering the manuscript at his side, he looked up as Kiara stood from his chair.

“I felt terrible about you destroying them,” she began, holding her hands up, “and don’t worry! I made sure that there aren’t any digital copies on your computer. Every time I finished one, I would print and delete it right away.”

He said nothing. He just continued to look at her; flabbergasted.

“You have photographic memory.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

Kiara nodded.

“You even put all of my notes back.”

Again, she nodded.

His eyes wandered back to the large stack of papers. If it was separated by novels, then there were at least twenty books in the stack. Maybe more. And if she was taking the time to recreate his own scribbles, who knew how long this was actually going to take; how long she’d already been taking?

Is this what she’s been working on for the last month?

The ream of paper slipped from his hand and fluttered to the floor. Kiara gasped, rushing around the desk in a hurry to pick up the discarded pages. He stopped her before she could kneel to the floor, his hand grasping her upper arm to keep her standing. She looked at him with wide eyes and she tried to take a step away from him. But Yoongi held fast, refusing to let her move even an inch away from her.

“...thank you,” he whispered softly.

He felt what tension remained in Kiara start to ebb away.

And then she smiled. It was the first time he’d ever seen her smile and it hurt to even look at her. But Yoongi continued to stare at the curve of her lips and the way they turned upward. Her hazel eyes seemed to glitter against the twilight sky pouring in from his office window - the corners crinkling up just a little in response to the smile. He didn’t think it was possible, but Yoongi swore he could hear the sound of his heart breaking and reforming simultaneously. Suddenly, it was difficult for him to breathe, but he tried anyway. It felt like tiny needles were stabbing into the organ beating furiously against his chest, threatening to burst free and fall to the floor.

The logical side of his head, the one screaming at him to run out of the office and as far away from Kiara as humanly possible, was losing against the side that Yoongi didn’t even recognize. Like a time lapse, he watched their life together zip through his mind’s eye - a grainy film projection that continuously focused on every facet of Kiara that he could remember. Everything from big to small - a simple gesture and an even simpler question.

Nothing could compare to the sheer radiance that resulted in her smile.

In that moment, Yoongi knew that he wanted nothing more than to see her smile again. To see it past today and to watch her smile every single day after this one.

He would ask for forgiveness later. He wasn’t about to ask for permission. Not now.

Tugging his arm back, he pulled Kiara close to him. Her chest crashed into his, causing them both to stumble a single step forward and backward respectfully. Her smile disappeared, replaced with confusion. He watched her brows furrow and just as her mouth opened to speak, Yoongi leaned his face in - sealing his lips over hers in a rough kiss.

They both inhaled slowly and he could feel Kiara’s hands grasping at his shoulders. But she didn’t fight him. Instead, he could feel the heavy thud of her own heartbeat attempting to chase the cadence of his. Wrapping his free arm around her waist, he tried to pull her even closer. The smell of her shampoo, her subtle body spray, and how warm and smooth her skin was beneath his touch was almost too much. He feverishly kissed her, nipping and tugging at her full lips which would be swollen from his affection.

Darkness enveloped the sky, plunging them into darkness. The only light in the room came from the computer monitor, reflecting its light against the large bookshelf behind the desk. He pulled away from Kiara’s mouth, his eyes adjusting to the dark quickly as they both took the time to catch their breaths.

“Y-Yoongi,” she stammered, her body trembling slightly in his arms.

“I know what this is.” His voice was low, his breath dancing along her skin as he curled his fingers into the flare of her hip. “This is a problem.”

Even in the dark, he could see Kiara’s worried expression. She wasn’t a fool. She knew what this was just as well as he did. And just like him, she also knew how much of a problem this was.

But it was too late to turn back now.

“I didn’t want to fall in love. I didn’t.” Yoongi lifted one hand up to brush a few of her curls away from her face, resting his palm against her cheek so he could tilt her face further upward. “But then you smiled, and that was the end of everything for me.”

Even as he continued speaking, Yoongi could feel the panic creeping up his throat, threatening to choke the very life out of him. He’d heard of things like this happening in the past, years before he was born. When marriage was a choice made between two people who loved each other. It wasn’t something to be pulled from a Lottery.

When loving someone was a gift, not a crime.

A crime or not, Yoongi wanted to know. No. He had to know.

“Do you love me?”

And like he’d struck something buried deep at the core of her, Yoongi watched Kiara’s eyes fill with tears. They streamed down her face endlessly. For a brief second, he believed he’d hurt her feelings; that he’d done something irreparable.

But then, just like before, Kiara smiled up at him. He felt her hand brushing over his face, her nails lightly scraping over his jawline and resting at the edge of his chin.

“I do,” she replied gently while nodding, “I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Unable to hold himself back, Yoongi kissed her again - their arms entangling themselves with one another. The need to continuously press and touch, to physically express everything they’d collected inside of themselves all this time, was overwhelming. But he couldn’t stop wanting her; wanting the woman he’d come to love little by little every single day and he hadn’t even realized it.

But they couldn’t stay like this forever.

They both pulled away to reclaim the air they’d stolen from one another, catching their breaths momentarily. He could feel Kiara’s ability to hold herself up beginning to wane. Slowly, he lowered them both to the floor - pulling her into his lap so he could cradle her against him. He took comfort in the feel of her arms around his neck, pulling him close so that he could rest his face against the juncture of her neck.

She smelled so good.

“We can’t stay here,” he finally said, his voice muffled in his own ears from the heavy thrumming of her heart, “they’ll find out eventually and we’ll both be thrown into prison.”

Her chest rose and fell as she sighed. “Where will we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

Yoongi smiled as he closed his eyes. “Anywhere but here.”

A moment of silence passed and he felt her sigh again, but her heart beat began to settle.

“Will anyone be able to help us?”

“I’m sure we aren’t the first ones to experience this.” Yoongi raised his head up so he could look at her. “And we won’t be the last.”

He watched her canting her head a little. “Is everything going to be alright?”

Yoongi gave a slight shrug, causing Kiara to giggle a little. “Even if it isn't, it doesn’t matter. I love you, Kiara.” Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Stay with me. ...please.”

As they looked at each other, Yoongi couldn’t help but drink in everything about her. Kiara’s eyes fluttered before closing and he quickly closed what little distance existed between them. This kiss was less intense, soft and meaningful - pulling and tugging at a want that perpetually nagged at him from the shadows for so long. Kiara shed light on the dark crevice of his heart - a part of him that he’d believed was simply meant to be there and to feel nothing else. To want nothing else.

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he was lucky or not, but he knew that he was thankful. He’d been so hollow for so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to feel anything; to yearn for something so much that the desire itself could swallow a person whole. But it was a feeling that made him remember what being alive was supposed to entail; what it truly meant.

Love.

Her love.

His love.

This love.

Their love.

86 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 7 years

Text

Tripping Over the Blue Line (3/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: Guys, I am constantly stunned by the response to this story and how absolutely delightful every single one of you continues to be. As always my eternal gratitude to @laurnorder, @beautiful-swan & @distant-rose for existing. Living on Ao3 & FF.net

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Emma said and she was a bit surprised to find that she actually meant it. He hadn’t let go of her hand.

Or maybe she hadn’t let go of his hand.

This had been a weird day. And Mary Margaret was nowhere to be seen, dragging David to, quite possibly, the other side of the restaurant so quickly that he might have actually stumbled over his shoes in the process.

Killian quirked one eyebrow and the side of his mouth pulled up when he stared at her, the look making Emma’s pulse thud traitorously in her veins until she was certain it was the only sound she would ever hear again.

She glanced back down at their entwined hands, his thumb moving against the slight bend of her knuckle and she didn’t think he’d even realized he was doing it.

That seemed important.

“I think we’re being set-up,” Emma said quickly and her eyes widened when she realized what she’d done. The smile moved across Killian’s face slowly and that wasn’t even fair – she’d had two glasses of wine already and he still hadn’t let go of her hand and, God, his eyes were blue. They probably matched his jersey.

Fuck.

What an absolutely ridiculous thing to think – although not quite as ridiculous as telling the captain of the New York fucking Rangers that she was under the impression her friends were trying to set them up approximately five seconds after being introduced and staring at his incredibly scarred left hand.

Emma pulled her eyes away from their still twisted-up fingers and that was probably a mistake because he was far too good looking – bordering on almost too good looking – and no wonder they plastered his face all over the Garden. It was a very good looking face. Except for that scar just under his right eye and she wondered where it had come from and if it was hockey related and a whole slew of other questions she probably shouldn’t be thinking while she was still holding onto his hand.

Emma needed to go home.

She didn’t have a home.

She had Mary Margaret’s couch and a distinct lack of personal space and half a dozen suitcases full of vaguely professional attire that was probably all wrinkled by now because she hadn’t bothered unpacking anything.

And this dress. She had this dress too. This absurdly red and far too expensive dress that, at some point during those introductions, might have actually drawn Killian Jones’ eyes towards her waist and maybe Emma actually hadn’t had enough wine.

Killian was still smiling. He needed to stop doing that. And he needed to let go of her hand. He didn’t do that either.

Emma sighed softly, tugging her fingers away from his and the smile still didn’t fall off his face. He was probably amused by all this, she thought begrudgingly, far too acquainted with red dresses and swooning fans.

Probably.

That wouldn’t explain the set-up though – Mary Margaret wouldn’t do that, not after...well, it didn’t matter. Emma was transitioning out of that particular point in her life and leaving all of that – Vancouver and LA and more mistakes than one person should be allowed to make – behind. She wouldn’t unpack that particular suitcase.

She was on a metaphor roll.

And buzzed – mostly buzzed.

And Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers couldn’t seem to stop smiling at her.

He glanced down at her fingers when she crossed her arms, not even wobbling on the stool when she crossed her legs for good measure, hooking one ankle behind her heel and his eyes definitely fell to her waist when he took another step closer to her, smile still plastered on his face like he found her amusing or something.

“Oh, it’s absolutely a set-up,” Killian laughed and Emma’s eyes were going to fall out of her head because they’d gotten so wide. That was probably the only appropriate ending for this day.

“You sound very certain.” “It was your suggestion.” “And you’re agreeing because…” “Because,” he said pointedly, glancing over his shoulder at the small group he’d left behind at the end of the bar. The three of them all seemed to collectively gasp, shoulders straightening and eyes ducking quickly and Emma let out a shaky laugh. “They live for this kind of thing. Think I can’t exist otherwise.” “I take it you believe you can,” Emma said and Killian hummed in agreement, leaning against the end of the bar until the curve of the wood was practically pushed against his hip. And she felt incredibly out of place again, in the middle of this restaurant that an entire hockey organization seemed obsessed with.

“Don’t you?”

“Sure.” He didn’t look entirely convinced, lips twisted like he was appraising her or her answer and Emma shifted until her foot fell off her ankle and her heel collided with the bottom of the stool painfully. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath and Killian’s hand was on her forearm before she’d blinked, something that almost looked like nerves on his face when he looked up to meet her gaze.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Sure,” Emma repeated and he sighed softly, almost sounding as if he was resigning himself to this decidedly horrible conversation. She made a face, scrunching her nose and squeezing one of her eyes shut and the vaguely pleasant buzz she’d felt after two glasses of wine was starting to ebb, the telltale signs of some sort of set-up induced headache starting to blossom in her forehead. “You want something to drink?” she asked. “I feel like I’m the only person drinking in this entire restaurant.” “Well, it is your party,” Killian pointed out.

Emma groaned and he laughed again and it almost felt normal, something in the back of her mind feeling like it was settling – and that wasn’t really the right word because it wasn’t really that at all.

It felt comfortable.

That was probably a better word for it. It felt comfortable and there weren’t butterflies in her stomach or anything like that, it didn’t feel quite like anything she’d experienced before, it felt like he could read her and that was even more ridiculous than butterflies in her stomach.

Killian’s eyes flashed up towards her and the smile was taking up half his face now, eyebrows doing something impossible when they moved up and down his forehead quickly and his fingers had wrapped all the way around her wrist.

“That was a bit out of my control,” Emma muttered, leaning forward almost instinctually. Or maybe he moved forward. She didn’t know and she could vaguely feel the stare of three pairs of eyes on her from the other side of the bar. Mary Margaret was whispering somewhere as well, four years of dorm-sharing making Emma more attuned to the sound of her voice than just about anything else in the world.

This wasn’t just a set-up.

It was an obvious set-up.

“Ruby does have a tendency to be vaguely enthusiastic,” Killian said, tapping out a rhythm on her skin. “But she did mention it wasn’t really her doing.” “What?” Killian shrugged. “I should have known as soon as she said Mary Margaret was here. You know she practically planned Red’s wedding single-handedly, came up with the theme and the color scheme and even bought me my outfit so I didn’t mess any of it up.”

“I can’t believe you know Reese’s,” Emma said, shaking her head. “You know it wasn’t like this in LA at all.” “Reese’s?” “You know like…” “The candy,” Killian cut in, nodding and her eyes widened when she realized he understood already. “Because Mary Margaret’s a mouthful and M&Ms...no, I get it. It’s inventive, I’ll give you that.”

“Thanks.” “You were talking about LA?” Emma made a noise in the back of her throat, tracing her finger over the rim of her still-empty glass and it shouldn’t have been nearly this easy to talk. She tried to convinced herself that it was the wine or the jet lag or the distinct lack of sleep she’d gotten on Mary Margaret’s couch the night before, but it wasn’t and she knew it.

She was comfortable.

“It was all kind of everyone in their own corner there,” Emma said, pulling her wrist out of Killian’s grasp when she started explaining things with her hands.

His eyes followed the movements and he didn’t say anything, just let her talk and she did just that, detailing Los Angeles and the lack of communication in the organization and how hard it was to get players to even show up to events, let alone talk to the media and she must have complained about the Staples Center scheduling issues for a solid five minutes before her mouth went dry.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, eyes falling back to her feet and the floor and everything in this restaurant was absurdly clean.

“For?” “I can’t imagine you were all that interested in the inner-workings of the Los Angeles Kings public relations department.”

Killian shrugged. “I asked.”

“You also never answered my question.” “About?” “A drink, do you want a drink?”

He almost looked disappointed, lips pressed together tightly when he shook his head and ran his hand through his hair, fingers tugging on that tiny piece that curled just under his left ear and Emma absolutely hadn’t stared at it eight different times since he’d walked over.

“Camp in a week, Swan,” Killian said, leaning back against the bar and she wasn’t certain when they’d delved into the nicknameterritory. “And that small crowd of people who haven’t stopped staring at us since I got over here will all find a reason to come over here and kill me if I even consider the idea of getting a drink with you.”

Emma laughed before she could stop herself, smile working its way onto her face in way that was almost unfamiliar, wide and easy and his eyes were far too blue. It was making all of this easier.

“And who exactly is part of your set-up gang?” she asked, glancing over his shoulder. The crowd had been staring, all turning in unison when they realized Emma was looking at them and she didn’t even try to disguise her laughter. “Because they’re not good at this whole undercover thing. At least Mary Margaret and David walked away.” “They’re staring too,” Killian said, nodding towards the opposite corner and a wide-eyed Mary Margaret who pressed her forehead against David’s shoulder as soon as Emma looked over at her.

“What a little traitor,” Emma mumbled. “And here I thought I’d somehow found better friends than you.”

“No, Swan, it appears we’re on even footing when it comes to slightly overbearing friends. Although if we’re going to get into the detailed specifics of it, I think you’ll come to find that I’m the more pitiful one of us.” “How do you figure?” He grinned at her, crossing his arms lightly over his chest and the sleeves of his jacket crinkled slightly “You’ll find rather quickly, love, that this team is quite a bit different than the one you’ve just left.” Emma narrowed her eyes at the endearment – if that’s even what it was, she got the sudden and distinct impression he was teasing her – and he didn’t miss a beat, tongue visibly pressed against the inside of his cheek when he moved his eyebrows.

“Several things,” she said, holding three fingers up as she started to tick off the list. “One, I am not your love or whatever that’s supposed to mean. Two, I saw you talking to Ruby when you walked in, and if I know Ruby like I think I know Ruby then you’re already painfully aware of the fact that I didn’t leave the Kings.” “And three?”

“Three,” Emma said, narrowing her eyes on the word, “I’m not all that good at giving out pity, so if you think you’re going to find some here, you’re going to end up a bit disappointed.”

He hummed, nodding like he was processing her list and Emma expected a bit more of a response than the one she got. “Good,” Killian said simply.

“You’re not digging for pity?” “You’ll find I rarely do that.” And there was more to it, more to the sentence and the words and it probably had something to do with his hand and the way he kept tracing over that one scar that ran up his middle finger, but Emma didn’t ask and didn’t plan to ask.

Because this might be a set-up, but she didn’t need to pretend like she cared.

She didn’t care.

Absolutely not.

Killian was just easy to talk to and the leader of this team that, apparently, was like some sort of New York family and as much as Emma didn’t want to admit it out loud that was, decidedly, the exact opposite of the team she’d just left – or been fired from.

She shifted on the stool again and Killian nodded so quickly Emma wasn’t entirely certain he’d moved, but there was another glass of wine in front of her and Eric was walking away from them without a single word.

“What did you do?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Got you the wine you’ve wanted since I got over here.” “How did you know it was wine?” “I have eyes?” Emma huffed and he needed to stop doing that with his eyebrows or she was going to throw down the metaphorical gloves she wasn’t wearing and challenge him to some sort of fight in the middle of that very clean restaurant. “You're something of an open book,” Killian explained, tapping his finger on the edge of the glass and Emma picked up slowly, eyeing him with caution.

“Am I?”

“Everything you’re thinking, right on your face.” He waved his hand in front of her and Emma pressed her lips together tightly, ignoring the wine she wanted to be drinking. “And those shoulders. All kinds of tense, Swan. Red would have a field day with you.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Ariel?” Emma nodded and took a sip of the wine, momentarily forgetting whatever standoff she’d been staging over the drink and Killian’s apparent ability to read her mind. “Physical therapy,” she said. “Husband owns the restaurant, inexplicably friends with Mary Margaret and David, which makes you inexplicable friends with Mary Margaret and David.” “Inexplicable?” “They’ve never mentioned you once.” His laugh made her smile and that was probably important or meaningful or whatever and he’d hooked an open stool around the toe of his shoe, dragging it across the floor until he all but collapsed on top of it, grinning at Emma like she’d just signed him to a multi-million dollar deal.

“I will admit that’s disappointing,” Killian said. “But it does kind of go along with my theory that this is some sort of great big set-up.” “How you figure?” “Well, Mary Margaret and Ariel are friends. I owe Ariel some sort of never-ending life debt that she’s probably going to lord over me until the end of time and somewhere in between there Mary Margaret got to know me. And they’re here a lot when I’m here and when the team is here and I wouldn’t be completely surprised if Locksley and Gina were somehow involved in it too.”

He glanced over his shoulder and the group was somehow still staring at them, not even bothering to look away now and a woman standing next to one of the men muttered something in his ear, hand falling across the emblem on his t-shirt.

“Is that guy actually wearing a team t-shirt out?” Emma asked, leaning around Killian’s side. Her hand fell on his arm, mostly to keep her balance, and she tried to ignore the almost audible hitch in his breathing.

“We did our best,” Killian said. “Came up with rules before he got uptown and everything. I thought Belle being here would have helped, but Scarlet is nothing if not completely infuriating when it comes to dressing himself.” “Scarlet? Like Will Scarlet?” “One and the same.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, leaning forward to try and make out the small, obviously staring, crowd at the other end of the bar. The one in the team-branded t-shirt – Will Scarlet – kept glancing down at the woman next to him, smile tugging on the corners of his mouth like he couldn’t quite believe she was standing there and he looked a bit more like a hockey player than Killian did – shoulders broader, hair buzzed short and Emma was fairly certain that was because he didn’t want to deal with hair and sweat and a league-mandated helmet.

The other one, who she was fairly positive she recognized by face alone and absolutely would recognize if he was wearing a jersey or standing on the ice, wasn’t wearing team-branded merchandise and stared at Scarlet the same way David looked at her and he was definitely the father of the group.

He was taller than Scarlet – and only slightly taller than the woman next to him, his arm slung over her shoulders, covered in a perfectly fitted jacket that probably cost more than the absurdly expensive dress Emma had on. Her hair was dark and her lips were red and they matched her nails perfectly when she laid her hand flat across the man’s chest, almost smiling at something Scarlet said. Almost. “So,” Emma continued slowly and she was still staring at the crowd, fingers on Killian’s arm and his hand might have fallen on her hip. “That makes the other one Robin Locksley then?” Killian made a noise that sounded like an agreement. “Who are the women then?” He twisted around to see who was standing there, fingers tightening and Emma’s heart thudded loudly in her chest, practically announcing itself to the entire party. “The one next to Locksley is his wife and his agent, and my agent for that matter, Regina. She’s the one who accosted me by the door when I got here. And the one next to Scarlet is Belle who might be his girlfriend if he ever gets around to actually defining the relationship.”

Emma let out a low whistle and he was right – everyone on this team knew each other and, apparently, dated each other and it was definitely some sort of sports-related family. “Does she work for the team too?” “Who?” “Belle whatever her last name is.”

“French, her last name is French. And, no, she doesn’t. She works in one of the research libraries at Columbia.” Emma almost felt like maybe she wasn’t the odd one out and she could find some sort of ally in a librarian who didn’t spend most of her time at Madison Square Garden, but Killian wasn’t done yet. “She was friends with Ariel. Still is. That’s how she met Will.” Emma groaned and the smirk was back and she was halfway done with her wine already. “Of course she was.” “Ariel knows a lot of people.”

“What kind of life debt do you owe her?” “What?” “You said you owed her some kind of life debt and that was why, I’m assuming, you ended up as a witness at the wedding with Reese’s and David.”

“I didn’t mention being a witness.” “She did. Before you came over.” He moved his eyebrows and nodded slowly and Emma got the feeling they were treading on some vaguely thin and potentially emotional ice and that hadn’t been part of the deal – they were supposed to act like the set-up had worked and their friends would leave them alone for the rest of the season because the idea of a set-up on this team, apparently, meant some sort of life-altering romantic experience.

Emma wasn’t interested in life-altering anything – unless it meant she got to keep her job.

“Ariel’s PT for the team,” Killian began. “And she got the job about five years ago. Right before the playoffs started, which never made any sense at all, but she was there and she’s incredibly determined to help when she believes people need her help.” “And did you?” Emma asked. “Need her help?” “A bit desperately if I’m being honest. You can ask her, though, I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to confirm that theory.”

“Why?” “Why what?” “Why were you desperate?” He narrowed his eyes and Emma wondered if she’d overstepped some invisible line of this conversation without even realizing it had been there. And then he held up his hand, moving his fingers and tapping against his palm for good measure. “It did make national news,” Killian said as if that was some sort of explanation.

It was.

And she still couldn’t quite remember where the brother fit into the equation – making a mental note to ask David about it as soon as they were back in the apartment and away from Killian Jones’ very blue and very distracting eyes – but Emma could remember the headlines and the news and the stories, even if she’d been in Vancouver at the time.

Killian Jones had been hurt – badly, end of career badly. There’d been a car accident and a mangled left hand and the stories claimed he’d never be able to hold a stick again. He missed the entire season after it had happened, had been relegated to some sort of advisor to the team and Emma thought she remembered rumors about how the team tried keep him off the ice, shut down the comeback before it could even pick up speed and she wondered when that particular part of the plan had changed.

“Ariel wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Killian said, answering the questions Emma hadn’t actually given voice to. “She’s not one to back away from a challenge. And I was a challenge. Angry and frustrated and, well, mostly angry. She also wasn’t very interested in dishing out much pity. And between her and Locksley and Scarlet and Gina, I got back on the ice.” Emma took a deep breath, twisting her fingers together and one of her knuckles cracked and it sounded like an anvil had just fallen on the floor. She tried to smile, worried she came up decidedly short on that front, but Killian met her gaze with a smile of his own and it wasn’t quite as tense as it should have been.

“They’re all even more determined this season,” he continued. “It’s a big year. And last year’s losses kind of refocused a few things.” “Yeah?” Emma asked. It wasn’t a big enough word, not a detailed enough question, but he had a very specific look on his face and it looked a bit like determination and desire and maybe it was the wine or how crowded the restaurant was, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to doubt him.

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“Cup or bust?” Killian laughed and his smile was a little easier, eyes a little less intent, but just as focused on her as ever when he nodded, brushing his hair out of the way. “You should make that the team slogan.” “I think that’s part of my job, actually.”

“Ruby didn’t give you some sort of detailed list?” “Oh, no, she did. I plan on ignoring it and coming up with one of my own.” And she did.

Emma didn’t want to delve into impertinent on her very first day, but there wasn’t really much to the list and she already had half a dozen ideas and she was going to make whatever opening night event the team hosted every season, at least, eight times better than it had been before.

At least.

This team was the opposite of everything she’d dealt with in LA, everything she’d considered the norm for the NHL and it was enough to make her head spin, but it also meant she had more options than she’d ever had with the Kings.

And Emma wasn’t going to waste them.

“Don’t tell Rubes that though,” Emma said, widening her eyes meaningfully as her hand fell back over his left one. “She’ll probably lose her mind.” “Your secret’s safe with me, Swan.”

All in all, it really hadn’t been that bad.

It had been a set-up and a party and Emma walked out of the restaurant with even more faces and names and job titles swimming in front of her vision, but it had, almost, been fun.

She tried to pretend it hadn’t been because she’d spent most of the night talking to Killian Jones – wine glass refilled once more before he started ordering her water and it all felt a bit antiquated, but it was kind of nice and Mary Margaret smiled knowingly at her when they walked into the apartment well past midnight.

“You’re smiling,” she pointed out, nodding towards Emma when she closed the door behind her, head resting on the wood and eyes closing of their own accord.

“What?” Emma asked, snapping her eyes open as if to prove she wasn’t just awake, she was cognizant.

They’d agreed to play along with the set-up, something vaguely conspiratorial in the way he smiled at her and she leaned towards him and their respective friend groups had returned at some point, smiles on their faces like they were witnessing the beginnings of some great, epic love story.

Mary Margaret still had that same look on her face and Emma resisted the urge to groan, far too buzzed on wine and a day that seemingly refused to end and Killian Jones had been frustratingly charming all night.

He made fun of Will’s shirt – taking the responding grumbling in stride, like he’d been expecting it – and asked about Robin and Regina’s son and even promised Ariel that he’d be on time for their PT appointment in two days.

Although that last one had taken a bit of convincing.

And Emma had been vaguely charmed by it all, smile actually starting to wear on the muscles in her face and she was split right down the middle between wanting to have this conversation and this set-up and being as stubborn as ever, certain things like that didn’t happen for her, not ever and, certainly not, with the captain of the New York Rangers.

It had been a set-up and they’d agreed to play along for one night, but that was it – they were doing it for show.

Absolutely.

They’d never actually said it, but that’s absolutely what was going on.

Emma was certain – as certain as she was that there was more to the story about Killian’s hand and Ariel and that life debt that caused a minimal amount of physical therapy grumbling.

“You’re smiling,” Mary Margaret repeated and Emma was certain she didn’t even imagine the vague sing-song tendencies of her friend’s voice.

“And you’re getting way ahead of yourself.” “I don’t think so.” “C’mon, Reese’s. It was one night and we mostly agreed to play along so everyone would leave us alone.”

Emma almost felt bad, grimacing when she noticed Mary Margaret’s shoulders slump a bit and David made some sort of noise that sounded a bit like disapproval and made her feel as if she was fifteen years old and had been caught breaking curfew.

It took less than five full seconds for Mary Margaret to regroup, an endless source of positivity and true love in a sea of Emma’s disbelief and cynicism.

“It didn’t look like that,” she said, voice rising and falling as she turned towards the small alcove in the corner that pretended to be a kitchen. Emma heard the faucet turn on and off and there was a glass of water pressed in her hands before she realized it, Mary Margaret back in front of her with a concerned look on her face. “Drink that,” she said.

“Yes, Mom,” Emma answered, a picture of obedience that added fuel to the theory that she had, somehow, become Mary Margaret and David’s adopted child in the last forty-eight hours.

David threw himself onto the end of the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table and Mary Margaret clicked her tongue in frustration. It was, almost, painfully domestic. “Come on, Em,” he said, not quite able to keep the laughter out of his voice. “You know your mother just has your best interests at heart.” Emma scoffed and sank onto the other end of the couch, kicking off her heels without a second thought as to where they would land and Mary Margaret looked almost scandalized at the current state of her friend and her boyfriend and her entire apartment.

“Yeah, that’s what worries me,” she muttered, glancing at David out of the corner of her eye. “How come you guys didn’t tell me you were so entrenched in this whole hockey world? I thought you were both just bipartisan fans.”

“Well, to be fair, I was never bipartisan about anything when it came to the Rangers,” David said and Emma knew she had to agree, no matter how much she didn’t want to. He’d never actually painted his face blue, but David Nolan was a fan with a capital ‘f’ and Emma was fairly certain there wasn’t anyone in the entire world who had been more excited about her new office at Madison Square Garden than he had, certain it would end with season tickets or playoff seats right behind the boards.

That, of course, made the whole night even more confusing.

David should have been screaming from the mountaintops that he knew Killian Jones and had attended the same wedding as Killian Jones and this was a world Emma didn’t entirely understand, where it felt as if everything was flipped on its head.

“And we’re not really part of the hockey world,” Mary Margaret added, knocking her knuckles against the front of Emma’s shin so she’d move her legs enough that there was room to sit down on the coffee table. “We’re kind of on the fringe.” “A fringe you never once talked about.” Mary Margaret sighed and, not for the first time that night, Emma got the distinct impression she wasn’t getting the entire story. “Come on, tell me, what could possibly be so bad?” “It’s not bad,” David said quickly and it was far too quick to be entirely honest.

Emma narrowed her eyes, refusing to look away from Mary Margaret and it was a tried and true method of prying the truth out of her best friend and recently reacquired roommate. “It isn’t,” Mary Margaret said and she sounded honest. Emma tried to hold out, lips twisted in disbelief. It took one eyebrow raise and a single head tilt and she’d won.

And Mary Margaret knew it.

She smiled at her, hand flat against her shin now as she squeezed Emma’s leg and glanced quickly at David. “It isn’t,” Mary Margaret repeated. “It’s just that we didn’t want to kind of lord it over you.” “Lord what over me?” “That there was this other team that your friends knew and one of your other friends worked for and it was the exact opposite of LA. And then the whole thing with LA happened and the job and…” “Nope,” Emma interrupted quickly, sitting up so fast that her legs practically flew off the coffee table and Mary Margaret actually lost her balance. “I knew it! I knew there was more to it. This was a set-up.” “You already knew that,” David pointed out. Emma ignored him, eyes not leaving Mary Margaret’s face and she at least had the good sense to blush a little bit.

“Why, Reese’s?” “Because you were upset about LA and Ariel had mentioned a few things about Killian and, well, he didn’t bring a date to the wedding!” “You’re not even his friend.” “That’s just rude, Emma.” Emma scoffed, sinking farther into the couch until her hair fanned out over the back and she couldn’t even pretend to be mad. She understood why they did what they did – why both her and Killian’s respective friend groups and teammates and, jeez, probably linemates too, she’d never bothered to ask where Robin and Will played, had done what they’d done – but that didn’t mean she appreciated it all that much.

She wasn’t a charity case.

And she already felt bad enough that she’d gotten this job without really much of an interview and just the promise from Ruby that she’d be great at it. That felt a bit like cheating. Emma didn’t need to feel guilty about something else or want something else or require Mary Margaret to plot out her entire potential for future happiness in New York as soon as she’d landed at JFK.

She was happy. Or in the transitional period just before happy.

She was certain happy was just around the corner. It was, as Mary Margaret would probably say, inevitable.

Emma had never quite believed the way Mary Margaret did – that particular trait was more or less flushed out of her system after the third foster family and the second group home – and she knew there wasn’t anything even remotely resembling happily ever after.

At least not for her.

It was a bit cynical and even kind of depressing if she stopped and thought about it for too long, but Emma did her best not to think about it for too long.

Or ever.

And as much as Emma appreciated what Mary Margaret had been trying to do, she had to put a stop to it as quickly as humanly possible because she’d learned her lesson in LA and she wasn’t about to let history repeat itself in New York.

That’s what the transition was for – she was going to transition out of mistakes and old Emma and everything that had made LA absolutely awful and she was going to find a brand-new home in New York.

She was.

Emma was determined.

It was all going to be fine and she hardly needed to be set-up by an entire hockey team and a pair of college friends to prove that it was going to be fine.

Mary Margaret looked disappointed and Emma sighed, leaning forward as she dragged her hair back over her shoulder and tried to smile like everything was as fine as she was convinced it would, eventually, be.

“His friends were, apparently, just as quick to interfere,” Emma said, hand falling on Mary Margaret’s bent knee.

“It wasn’t interfering!” “That’s exactly what it was and you know it and I know it and Killian knew it, but it’s ok. We played along for tonight and it wasn’t all that bad and it was at least good to get to know him for work stuff.” “Work stuff?” “Community relations?” Emma asked, pointing at herself like the title was some sort of formal introduction. “He’ll be good for cameras and if memory serves the fans love him, oh my captain my captain and all that kind of stuff.”

“No, I understand, I’m just curious if that’s all it was.” “You’re really not going to let this go?” Mary Margaret shrugged and even David looked a little bit uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. He leaned forward, tugging Emma’s hands away from her hair and glanced meaningfully at Mary Margaret who, it appeared, had finally taken the goddamn hint. She huffed slightly, shoulders sagging again, but she didn’t wax poetic about the power of love and dating someone from work – again – and Emma smiled gratefully in David’s direction.

“You two are conspiring against me,” Mary Margaret accused, but she was smiling again and it wasn’t quite as weird as it had been when she was absolutely planning the Swan-Jones wedding a few minutes before.

“Consider us linemates,” David said and Emma actually tried to melt into the sofa cushions at the absurdity of the pun.

“Oh my God,” she sighed. “No, no, no, just because you’re treating me like your kid does not mean you get to actually make dad jokes, that’s just taking it a step too far.” “That was a good one though.” “I don’t care.”

David rolled his eyes, throwing a decorative pillow at Emma and Mary Margaret groaned dramatically and maybe this was the transition she’d been waiting for the last two years she’d spent in LA and those few hours she’d sat in seat 24B pondering how she’d managed to not entirely fuck everything up.

It felt like home.

“Just promise me one thing,” Emma said, staring intently at Mary Margaret. “No more set-ups, ok? Not with anyone and especially not with the captain of the New York Rangers?” Mary Margaret twisted her lips and for one, vaguely horrifying moment Emma thought she was going to object, but she just nodded instead, pinky held out in front of her meaningfully. Emma caught it with her own, squeezing down tightly the same way she had when they first met at freshman orientation and promised to look out for each other no matter what.

“Deal,” Mary Margaret said. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Emma squeezed her pinky again and her jaw snapped shut.

“I am.” “You are what?” “Happy. This is going to be different from LA. They’re going to win the Cup here.” “You better believe they are,” David muttered and there was so much fandom in his voice, Emma couldn’t believe he didn’t just turn blue and start singing the goal song as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

“You got money on it or something?” “I’m pleading the fifth.” “That seems like breaking the law or something, Detective.” “Shut up, Em.”

“You cool with this, Reese’s?” Emma asked. “He’s gambling away your wedding savings.” “No, he’s not,” Mary Margaret muttered and there was something on the edge of her voice that made Emma quirk one eyebrow and twist her lips in confusion. “That might have been why I was trying to distract you,” she added.

“Ah! So it was a set-up.”

“You knew that already.” “Explain what you meant.” “I meant that we might have set a date.” Mary Margaret smiled and David’s hand fell back to Emma’s shoulder like they were both waiting for her explosion or some sort of cynicism and it probably should have come – but it didn’t.

She yelled, but it was more from excitement than anything resembling disappointment. And Mary Margaret looked appropriately surprised.

“When?” she yelled, jumping up and shaking Mary Margaret’s shoulders quickly. David looked a bit like he’d just witnessed some sort of alien abduction.

“When did we decide or when is the actual date?” “Either or.” “We decided two days after you went official with the team and then we decided late June.” “Post-Cup win,” David added and Mary Margaret rolled her eyes.

“Because June is warm and New York won’t smell like garbage yet.” “Post-Cup win,” Emma repeated, smiling knowingly at David who had stood up at some point and he hugged her tightly, hand wrapping around the back of her head and, suddenly, everything seemed to settle into place.

She was done transitioning.

Emma Swan was home.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #captain swan #csbb #blue line #banter on banter on banter #and david nolan dad jokes

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asightsodivine · 7 years

Text

Best of: Anime/Manga

Countdown:

15. Black Lagoon

- This is a show about butts and bullets, my favorite. That’s all I can say to summarize... - REVY! Yes Revy is the greatest fucking character of all time.

- FUCK THE ACTION SCENES ARE HOT FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.

- The story doesn’t fixate on any specific subject for very long, though season two and the ova are better in that regard.

- Intro gives me a half-chub.

- “fuck” is said 259 times, not including the OVA.

- The casting for the dub worked very well, I love how Rock switched from bitchy to badass throughout the first couple of episodes

- this is a manly show, NO GRILLS ALOOWED.

- Won’t make you cry at all.

14. Your Lie in April - This is a tragedy about classical music and love and… well I don’t feel like spoiling any of it at all.

- I’m crying a lil while writing this and I haven’t been able to get through the first episode without breaking down.

- The soundtrack is mainly classical sounding music, though strangely enough, I cannot recall a single piece. Also the dub was produced rather well.

- The animation is beautiful, I hadn’t noticed a significant problem the first time, but I only watched it once because I hate crying.

- I don’t have a clever quip for this show, sorry, I just love it.

- Will make you contemplate suicide.

13. Elfen Lied

- Seeing as this is an infamous anime, you probably know by now that this show is known for naked women and vivid gore, as well as child murder. I fucking love this show, it’s one of my first anime, actually second come to think of it. - Reliant on coincidences to proceed plot, though is nonetheless intriguing and shockingly unique. - Naked, horned, pink-haired, humans who cut people to shreds? Fuck yes. - Not very impressive animation but some of the brightly colored scenes worked well with making an unsettling impression. Also I love the detailed gore sequences (e.g. Intro, Nana vs Lucy). - Nana is my love and my og waifu back when I was like eleven.

- Shitty ending, but the manga continues the story - Also the dub was fucking horrible, but apparently the sub was bad as well, I guess read the manga?

- Will make you cry, well probably.

12. Another

- This horror drama is focused around the curse of a middle school classroom, there’s this cute lil girl with an eyepatch and she’s outcasted along with the main protagonist.

- Gore, death, misery, and insanity. All my favorite things in one show.

- The animation, especially during the gore scenes, are beautifully detailed. I love the umbrella scene!

- Luckily there’s not much filler that is easily recalled, though some plot holes were bothersome. How unfortunate.

- Overall it’s a badass show with a nice twist ending, also I loved the dub! The first time I had watched it it was only available in sub but the dub was fucking amazing!

- I doubt anyone would cry from this show.

11. Deadman Wonderland

- Okay, so imagine Disneyland, but it has presidents that rival politicians relative to corruption. Also, it has gladiatorial arena-like events. Also there’s this guy called the wretched egg who like to fuck around and murder relentlessly. Fucking killer (no pun intended)!

- Lots and lots of gore!

- Interesting story, but read the manga, the anime totally fucks up because it was only 13 episodes long and didn’t finish the story at ALL!

- The characters are actually layered for the most part.

- The dub is not anything impressive. It’s not terrible at least.

- Minatsuki Takami is so fucking cool, badass, and cute as well (I’m into severely mentally unstable people).

- The manga ending may leave you sad, but the anime? Fucking doubt it.

10. Gunslinger Girl

- IN A WORLD WHERE CYBORGS ARE A REALITY AND THE ITALIAN GOVERNMENT MANIPULATES PRETEEN GIRLS INTO BECOMING KILLING MACHINES, WILL THEIR HUMANITY PREVAIL (BWOOOM)? Okay so it’s about these lolis with traumatic past who become cyborgs, though the action is not what makes this anime so great or memorable but the contrast and conflict of the remaining humanity of the girls and their obligation to kill for their masters.

- Lolis killing criminals is a unique experience, especially when they hide their gun in a violin case.

- The characters and character development are surprisingly well-rounded and usually feel very real.

- Whenever I’m feeling nothing I can watch the Angelica arc and become riddled with sadness for like three consecutive days. Better than nothing eh?

- They never exploit any characters sexually, thankfully, because there are far too many shows that do.

- The dub was handled well for the main cast though some of the supporting can be weak links.

- Henrietta and Triela are the fucking greatest, especially in their first season.

- Every arc has it’s moments, especially the first season’s, but the Angelica and homicide (unofficial title) arc work especially well emotional wise.

9. Cowboy Bebop

- Fuck yeah, a classic. All I can hear when someone mentions Cowboy Bebop is “I think it’s time we blow this thing... get everybody and this stuff together. Okay three, two, one. Let’s jam!” Welcome to the life of some space bountyhunters aka cowboys.

- The animation stupendously impressive seeing as it wasn’t computer animated and the kinda dark undertone to the art style is unexpectedly appropriate.

- The dub for this show was amazing (I know I’m a broken record).

- The supporting characters were well written but it’s kind of sad seeing as it’s a different person each time.

- The story, especially by end was outstanding, they were able to develop the characters so well, EVEN ED!

- I loved Jet so much, Faye was sexy, and Spike was pretty hot if I’m being honest.

- This anime will make you bawl.

8. Baccano!

- This is a story, a story about criminals and immortals. And yet again, death, misery, and badassery. Another maturely themed anime that is so fucking amazing o mi lord.

- Just to mention, the intro is so amazing, it’s a hard bop piece of music similar to cowboy bebop’s Tank!.

- I legitamately have a crush on Ladd (like I said, the unstable get me flustered).

- The dub is awesome, some honorable mentions for characters are Ladd and Jacuzzi.

- idk I don’t have much to say, it’s just such a great show.

- This anime probably won’t make you sad at all.

7. Mirai Nikki: The Future Diary

- Dreams and truth; is there a tangible contrast? Well I guess in this show there is, strangely enough... So this show is about a deathmatch where the victor becomes GOD! They fight using cellphones or other items (it differs from person to person) which predict the future. It’s a bloody fucking mess of a show.

- The first intro was so fucking awesome but they switched half-way through. Fucking bitches...

- The voice acting was very well produced. Woo-wee! Yuno was especially fucking awesome.

- Yuno is best waifu.

- It was very satisfying to see them flesh out most of the characters throughout the series, it helps with empathy.

- The ending was fucking bullocks though so be prepared.

- This show won’t make you cry unless you’re super sensitive.

6. Berserk

- Fantasy isn’t usually something I indulge in, but I’ll make an exception for dark fantasy. This story is FUCKING DARK. The manga is better with showing off what it can get away with. Gatts, a skilled mercenary, joins the Band of the Hawks, a group that follows Griffith on his adventure to rule.

- The dub for this show was pretty gud. I know there was one bad character relative to that but luckily it wasn’t a primary character, also I can’t recall who he was so...

- Also, quick side note, the intro was really forgettable, the song that is, but the monologue was great, I still recite it sometimes.

- Caska is hawt 2 and Griffith is surprisingly feminine looking, not that that’s bad, so fuck off PC tumblr

- The ending to the anime was truly FUCKED. I loved the sense of dread and emptiness that burrowed in my soul. I personally love a tragic show, but the manga continues on and it gets even better, also I believe the 2016 anime continues as well, I’m not sure though, I’m waiting for the dub.

- This show will probably make you cry, manga... definitely.

5. Beck: Mongolian Chop Squad

- An average, BORING kid, Yuki speaks to his childhood crush for the first time in a long while. She brings him to meet Ryuske, a guitarist who played for some popular band, I can’t remember their name. Anyways eventually he is given a guitar and he starts to play and stuff and it’s basically a show about a kid becoming a rock star and stuff.

- The dub was quite stellar, in fact way above average, at least in my ears.

- The music overall was pretty amazing, especially the dubbed vocals, Tsunemi just has that classic punk voice, Typhoon was my personal favorite, I’m actually considering covering it. And the intro was pretty great aesthetically and musically.

- OOOKAYY. So... I’m personally not the type of guy to unironically obess over fictional characters, usually I mean. BUT MAHO MINAMI IS THE EMOBIEMENT OF PERFECTION, SHE’S NICE, SENSITIVE BUT TOUGH, INTERESTING, PUNK, AN ASSKICKER, AND SHE DOESN’T TAKE SHIT SHE’S SO FUCKING PERFECT ALSO SHE’S KINDA HOT.

- The character development was very well-written and nicely executed, it felt very smooth and satisfying.

- The ending is nothing special, they end at the climax of the manga, so yeah prepare to be disappointed because the studio never fucking continued it because people = shit. I haven’t finished the manga so I can’t say much.

- I doubt this show will make you cry much, but it will make you feel a flood of emotions. But I’m MANLY so I’m immune.

- Fuck off Buzzfeed.

4. Parasyte -the maxim-

- YES! The time has come. This is probably the most unique anime on this list. So... like this parasite thing attatches itself to this kid and tries to subdue his brain and shit but the kid stops it and then the parasite just becomes his arm and like they go on wild adventures and shit and it’s really gory and badass and the story is surprisingly well done.

- I loved the dub, Shinichi especially. He had a voice that really stood out and it fit his character perfectly.

- The intro is some shitty deathcore bullshit. NEWSFLASH: Metal and autotune don’t fit together, leave that shit with poppunk you pieces of shit, fucking burn.

- Sorry, no waifu mentions here, I wasn’t impressed by the main love interest, though... Shiniki actually was really hot, especially by the second half of the show. Just look at this picture (up). She’s so fucking badass and his personality is just fucking amazing and his character development was outstanding.

- The ending was very satifying and concluded well. I didn’t feel empty so that’s cool. Also the manga is the shit, I read it all the time when I was in elementary school or around that age at least.

- This show can get pretty upsetting, but not to an overwhelming extent.

3. NANA

- Meet Nana, a happy-go-lucky adult who is on her way to tokyo! And then meet... Nana, a punk rock star who is on her way to tokyo! So like most of this show is just a romantic comedy type story and it gets dramatic but it works itself out, usually. But by the end it gets super mature and serious. It was actually a nice contrast.

- The dub was mildly adequate.

- Fuck the second opening, but the first is pretty good, not the best though, not by a longshot.

- Eh. Also no waifu here. I really liked Takagi and thought he was kinda sexy and mysterious.

- The ending was good but not satisfying. I bawled if I’m being frank.

- THIS SHOW WILL MAKE YA CRY YOU PUSSIES!

2. Higurashi no Naku Koro Ni (Kai)

- So this is based off of a horror light novel lil meme. And basically this show takes all the events from every alternate universe and splits them into arcs, until they finally wrap it up in a nice bow. Basically this show has a groundhog’s day premise. But it’s very unnerving and gruesome, I loved it.

- The dub was apparently utter shit. I mean I didn’t think it was terrible. It wasn’t good but it was tolerable.

- The soundtrack was fucking amazing. God I love all the themes besides the OVA’s.

- Rena is best waifu, she’s in the picture I used. She’s a cute lil girl and she goes batshit fucking crazy and I fucking love IT SO FUCKING MUCH BECAUSE AS YOU KNOW INSANE CHICKS ARE FUCKING HOT!

- The ending to season one was actually really good, it gave me the feels. I can’t recall the second’s ending though. Also the manga was really badass and nice. I read the shit out of those. And don’t ask me about the light novels.

- It’ll probably make you cry if you have empathy.

Honorable Mentions!

1. Welcome to the NHK

- FINALLY. It’s down to this. This show is fucking magnificent.

- Welcome to the NHK follows the pervert, Tatsohiro Satou, who is a neet. Misaki meets him and instantly uses him for her “project” to cure him of being a neet. Throughout the story they go through many altercations and drama. It’s very intense and raw. Though it uses black humor to parade us through the story happily, regardless of how miserable literally ever character is.

- The dub was stellar I no criticism other than that one asshole at the offline meeting’s voice, but he has like six lines so whatever.

- The intro is very well made and it’s subtly melancholy vibe let the show kind of settle nicely right off the bat. The music in general is very emotional and nice.

- Misaki is extremely cute, she is manipulative, evil, sensitive, loving, compassionate, and tragic. She’s such a complex character that is never given any justice in the show, mainly because they make her a cliche tragedy case, which I was contempt with, though the manga had a much better character setup. Like, Misaki wasn’t some broken girl from an abusive home, she was a lonely, cynical, and tragic girl who tried to find someone to manipulate. And Satou wasn’t exactly a paranoid schizo, he was a chronic drug addict which resulted in schizophrenic behaviors and tendencies.

- The ending of the anime was satisfying for the most part, the supporting character’s fates were too cookie cutter but in the end, who gives a shit about Yamizaki the obnoxious dumbass? In the manga though, it isn’t exactly satisfying but it is still kinda a nice and fit the story well. The latter is my preference by far.

- This show will make you bawl, this book will make you bawl. It’s just such a wonderful show about characters who are all miserable fucks, trying to find something tangible to give them worth. It’s just so fucking good.

- I know I’m biased because this story reflects some of my life very accurately, scarily enough.

#anime #manga #black lagoon #elfen lied #your lie in april #another #deadman wonderland #gunslinger girl #cowboy bebop #baccano!#the future diary #mirai nikki #berserk #beck mongolian chop squad #parasyte the maxim #higurash no naku koro ni #welcome to the nhk

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