#$50 A NIGHT FOR THE PRIVILEGE OF SLEEPING ON THE GROUND | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years ago

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Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 6

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Six: Moonlight Meetings

The contracts were beginning to make sense. Turns out, there weren’t nearly as many for Elain to sort through as she first expected. It seemed that the Band of Exiles had had a pretty stagnant first year whilst staying in the mortal lands, with their biggest success lying in the Declaration of Peace Between Fae and Mortal Realms achieved on the anniversary of the Hybern War.

Elain had gone through each contract and made a note of it in her own diary: the contract between the Spring Court and the human lands to organise trade routes in the future, the agreement of a ceasefire on trespassing fae in favour of imprisonment, etc. There had even been copies of contracts between other humans that had most likely occurred at these weekly meetings: such as the Nolan’s agreeing to 100 shipments of Ashwood Weaponry per month to the Darlingtons, and the reinforcement of internal borders.

Elain had sat with Nuala and a few pots of tea in the library, and by the time she stretched her legs to take a turn around the room, the sun was plummeting towards the horizon. She liked it. She liked the feeling of her hand aching from her meticulous note-taking, she liked that the pages of her new notebook (a gift from Rhysand) had slowly began to fill up, she liked that she now had detailed questions to ask Jurian, Vassa and maybe even Lucien.

If anything, she liked that tonight she would sleep, her eyes tired from reading by the candlelight and her brain fizzing with the numbers of stock, armies and debt.

The library was at the back of the house, with delicate yet large glass windows that looked out onto the Manor’s Garden. So far, Elain had avoided the grounds, mostly because one look of the greenery told her that there was nothing for her to do. Whoever tended to these gardens had a similar mind to hers, it was wild and restless. A garden belonging to a true cottage, her father would say.

“Lord Lucien is home,” Nuala’s velvet voice swam into the air as she spoke without looking up from her book. The shadow wraith’s always had been Elain’s closest friends, and she liked the side she got to see of them, the one she was sure no other had yet had the privilege.

“Oh…good,” Elain said non-committedly, forcing her eyes back to her notes which she’d already preened to perfection. Sighing, Elain looked over her and Nuala’s make-shift joint desk, and without thinking, she reached for a local map.

It was strange, to look over a map of lands which felt both so familiar and so foreign. With her finger, Elain could trace the path from her first childhood home, the Manor down by the lake, up and up to their runt of a cottage so close to the border, and then a little east to their other home. Elain’s hand recoiled from the paper. That home was cursed. That was the home from which she had been stolen from.

“Do you miss it, being human?” Nuala asked. Elain peered at her. She’d always found the term ‘lesser fae’ to be entirely unbefitting. Nuala was perhaps the most gorgeous person she’d ever seen; her skin was a deep grey and her hair a shifting black in which shadows seemed to fall in whisps as it moved. Her eyes were uncannily wide, and her irises were of purest black and filled her entire lids.

“I don’t think so,” Elain answered softly, her finger running back to that first home. The home in which her parents were alive and well. “But I avoided coming here for a long while because of that reason.”

“You wanted to go back?” Elain nodded, a small shift of her head.

“Becoming fae didn’t make sense to me for a long time. I didn’t understand how to be fae, despite the body. When I looked around all I could see were my sister’s, who fit in so well at the Night Court and I just…didn’t.” Elain looked at her friend. “I feel terrible about it. About how I tried to come back to Graysen. It was the first time in my life I’d made a stand and it was for something so, hollow.”

“You’re not a terrible person for feeling as though you don’t belong, and wishing that you did.” Nuala tilted her head, her pin straight hair falling with a trained precision across her bare shoulder.

“No, but I feel terrible because…I still feel that way, to some extent.” Elain sighed, tucking up her legs on the chair and leaning her head back.

“I got into a fight with Jurian today – I slapped him -” Elain peeked a look at Nuala and was pleased to see her mouth slightly ajar and her eyes bright with amusement. “I know. But what he said was true, and I can’t stop thinking about it. He saw me during the war and saw how I was so desperate to be human again, and he thinks I’m here for that reason-” Nuala opened her mouth to protest, “I know, it’s stupid, but…what if I am here for that reason, and I just don’t realise it yet? Because Nuala, if I am, I can’t – I can’t forgive myself for that, I can’t do that to-”

Elain cut herself off by biting her tongue. She’d only spent a day and a night in Lockhart Manor, but Elain was sure she could feel the bond. Often she didn’t, then every couple of months, something would happen, she would feel some emotion that wasn’t hers or have dreams of places she’d never been to, and she’d just know that it was him. But being here, actually being around him, she felt herself turning towards him the way flowers turn to the sun.

“I don’t think it’s strange, if you feel you do not belong in the Night Court, to want to belong somewhere else,” Nuala spoke carefully, slowly, as though every word carried weight, “But just because you feel you do not belong in the Night Court, does not mean your only other option is the human lands.”

“What? I might belong somewhere else in Prythian?” Nuala stretched and leaned back in her own chair.

“Prythian is a large place, and you have an eternity ahead of you. You do not need to rush in finding somewhere you can settle, travel around for a bit, see the world. There is not the same pressure for you to be a wife as you had when you were human, maybe you could try just being Elain for a while?” Nuala yawned after she spoke, a sign that she was well and truly relaxed. Elain just hummed, her mind whirring as she looked back at the map, her finger drifting back to that last home, the one she had been ripped from.

Just then Elain noticed how the sun and well and truly dipped behind the horizon, casting the world in shadow. The night sky looked unbearably dull compared to the thriving chaos of the Night Court’s evenings, but there was something familiar in the mundanity, something that allowed Elain to be the magical thing in the world, not the other way around.

“Vassa and Jurian are preparing to leave,” Nuala said without opening her eyes.

“Ugh, teach me your ways.” Elain joked, and a sly smile pulled at the shadow wraith’s lips.

“No, because then you won’t need me, and I won’t get to come with you to see the world.” Elain paused, and looked at her friend.

“You’d come with me?” It was now Nuala’s turn to peer at her.

“Of course, don’t tell the High Lord but, since being Under the Mountain, I’ve rather missed the world, and I’d very much like to see it.”

“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like,” Elain shivered. She’d never bene able to truly comprehend what had occurred in those 50 years. The idea of her friend being subject to such atrocities for a time longer than she had been alive, it was unfathomable.

“I remember your mate being there,” Nuala said, tentatively. Every muscle in Elain’s body went rigid. She’d assumed, somewhere along the line, that Lucien must’ve been there with Tamlin when they’d been taken, but Feyre had never confirmed, she’d been surprisingly elusive of the specifics of what had occurred. She couldn’t think about it. Because the instant she considered the torture Lucien must’ve faced, she began to feel herself lose control.

“Speaking of your mate,” Nuala murmured, and Elain didn’t miss the slightly pleased look in her friend’s eye at having gotten a reaction out of her.

Just then a knock came from the door casing Elain to turn in her chair sharply, by the time she turned back, Nuala had already disappeared into the shadows.

“No, but thanks for the offer,” Lucien ground out through his teeth. Waiting on the cartographer had taken all day and it turns out the maps he wanted hadn’t even been done correctly. It had been so much of a waste, that some part of Lucien was grateful he’d managed to send Elain home, he didn’t want her thinking that the extent of his life consisted of pathetically waiting on map-makers who can’t even make the right, damned map.

“Oh come on Luci, it’ll be fun,” Vassa goaded, looking a bit more like herself than she’d been the past few days. Her hair was iridescent, and her gown was of deepest emerald, with golden gemstones that matched the simple, modest tiara upon her head. Lucien snorted.

“Oh yeah…fun. Well you can have fun for me, but I’m not going.”

“You might as well go for the free whiskey. That’s the only reason I’m interested.” Jurian grinned, throwing a far too casual arm over the queen’s shoulders, who huffed a laugh and shook him off.

“No touching Jurian. This dress is worth more than your head.”

“Ooh – not sure about that love.” Jurian grinned back, and Lucien observed the way the two mental mortals bounced off each other.

“Ugh, I don’t know who I feel worse for, you or the Nolan’s.”

“Oh it’s not just the Nolan’s going,” Jurian grinned, “I have it on good authority that Delilah will be there too.”

“Oh, Delilah,” Vassa hummed, twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes.

“Shut up the both of you,” Lucien rolled his eyes.

“Well if it doesn’t work out with the mate, just know you have a small army of humans who wouldn’t mind a piece of you,” Jurian chortled.

“Men and women,” Vassa smiled at Jurian, “I heard that Lord Smith wouldn’t mind warming himself by the fireling.”

“Yeah, yeah, I trust you got her home safe then,” Lucien pointed at Jurian, hoping his easy smile covered the anxiety that had been growing over the day as he became convinced that something terrible had happened to Elain now that she’d been removed from sight.

“Oh, the Archeron is home safe alright,” Jurian said in a tone Lucien couldn’t quite read.

“Good…well then, you two bests be off,” Lucien turned back to the house. “Don’t stay out too late kids.”

“Alright dad,” Vassa scoffed.

“Oh and Luci,” Jurian was halfway down the garden path, “Don’t make us regret leaving you home alone with your mate!” He winked at him that time and then he and Vassa were two colourful blurs in the summer evening, their laughter making music with the chirping of cicadas.

Something cold ran the length of Lucien’s spine. He would be home, alone, with Elain, for an entire night.

Fuck.

***

“Come in?”

Elain already knew it was Lucien before his head of fiery hair, now unbound, peered at her from around the door.

“Good evening, Lady, um…may I come in?”

Elain looked at him over the papers she’d randomly grabbed and was now pretending to read. Nuala certainly could have given her a little more warning.

Lucien looked so shy, half standing behind the door, and Elain found all her anger at him having sent her home evaporating. He was just as confused as she was about this whole bond thing, it was something they’d have to figure out together.

Elain gave a small nod and Lucien seemed to let loose a long breath before he walked into the room, turning around to shut the door and then turning to face her. Lucien glowed in daylight, out there in the woods it looked at though the sun were always reaching for him, as though it, like so many others, adored him. But there was something so alluring about Lucien by candlelight. The shadows and the orange light that moved over him, he seemed darker somehow, more dangerous. More intoxicating.

Lucien cleared his throat, standing with his hands held behind his back, and Elain adverted her eyes.

“I’ve come to apologise, Lady.”

“Apologise?” Elain repeated numbly. She hadn’t been expecting this, to her knowledge, men didn’t apologise.

“For how I spoke to you, earlier today…” Lucien seemed to shift slightly, “It was entirely unreasonably for me to send you home when you wished the know the way. I got spooked with the trap and, and-”

“It’s fine. Thank you,” Elain smiled at him, setting the papers down and leaning forward in her chair. Lucien looked bemused.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I, uh…it’s not your fault I got upset, not really. I’m just quite on edge recently,” Elain began to fiddle with the threads of her dress.

“Is something wrong?” Pure concern laced Lucien’s voice as he strode a little further into the room.

“No, just…I think it’s just being around you…” Elain trailed off and Lucien’s eyes widened. Never before had she brought up the mating bond. Not with him.

“Oh, yes, it’s...uh, quite annoying isn’t it.” He grinned easily, and Elain felt something inside her relax.

“Not annoying just…things get to me easier.”

“Yes,” Lucien nodded, “When we’re close to each other the mating bond will be more…demanding. You’ll probably be more aware of it, as I am.”

“You…you feel like this, all the time?” Elain blinked at him, and Lucien shifted awkwardly, he did not want her to pity him.

“You get used to it after a while,” He grinned at her again. Elain quickly became lost in thought and Lucien could practically see her mind working, her eyes becoming distant. He took this moment to look her over, just checking for injuries, of course.

She’d changed her dress; the other one no doubt having being stained with grass and mud. It was a pale yellow, one that he found suited her hair greatly. Layers of skirts and a corset bodice, and with her hair pinned up and away from her face she looked every bit of the goddess he thought her of being.

It was then that his eye caught on the dainty necklace around her throat, a single pearl hanging at its end and…

Mother, that was a low neckline.

A low neckline for Elain of course. But still. The dress allowed him to see the beginning curve of her breasts where that single pearl lay, nestled-

Lucien snapped his eyes away and dug his hands into his pockets, digging his nails into his thighs.

He was sure that by now, Elain could read scents, and he really, really, didn’t want to make this more awkward than it was. Mother, he’d just been talking about how he’d become accustomed to controlling himself. But perhaps the beast within hadn’t been tamed, maybe it was just resting.

As though they’d been called by his arousal, the base mate desires sang through his blood. Touch, smell, taste…The last one was strangely powerful today, but maybe it was because the more time he became familiar with her scent, the more he could imagine what she tasted of. Sweet but in the way fruits are sweet, like his own personal nectar-

“Are you alright?” Elain’s soft voice sung into the air and Lucien realised that he was digging so hard into his thigh that tears had sprung up into his eyes.

“Yes, sorry,” He sniffed before huffing a laugh, “I’m just tired is all.”

“Of…” Elain prompted softly, and for a moment their eyes met and something enigmatic passed between them. “I um,” Elain sprang from her chair and began to gesture, unable to meet his eye. “I was about to go to the kitchen and steal a pot of tea and sit if the garden if you wished to, if you wished to-”

“Yes,” Lucien blinked, and Elain nodded furiously before meeting his eye and giving him a shy smile.

“Lead the way,” Elain said softly, and Lucien felt his heart skip a beat, and from the way Elain’s smile grew, he knew she’d heard it too.

***

Since it was well into the night, Elain and Lucien had to make the tea themselves, Lucien trying not to puff his chest too much when Elain gasped at how he heated the kettle with his fingers.

“It’s about as useful as it gets I’m afraid,” he grinned at her as steam started to pour from the spout.

“Well, being a seer seems far more pointless.” God she looked good in the moonlight.

“I wouldn’t say that…” It seemed that that part of Lucien would always protest at Elain being insulted, even if it were her dishing out the affront. “You knew to find Vassa, your visions before the war were invaluable, we most likely would’ve lost without them.”

Elain poured the tea, her brows furrowed in thought. If they were truly mated, if the union had been accepted, Lucien realised that this was a moment where he’d be able to reach for that bond and feel what she was feeling. He could understand, in a millisecond, what was going on behind those honeyed eyes.

Elain moved to the kitchen’s backdoor, which looked out onto the path leading down to the road which led to town, arching through the gardens. To his surprise she settled in the doorway, tucking her skirts so that they spilled out onto the gravel path.

“What is it?” Lucien prodded, as he settled down next to her, making sure that he was leaning against the left doorframe and that no part of his body was touching hers.

“Compared to the likes of Feyre and Nesta,” Elain began in a dreamy voice, “My powers are pointless; you can’t deny it.”

Lucien didn’t know what to say to that. It was all kinds of wrong. As he thought about how to exactly tell Elain she was quite insane for thinking such a way, he looked out on the moonlit gardens. The sky here was duller than the Night Court, but there was something peaceful in these lands, something innocent. A warm breeze caressed his face, and just as he was about to speak, Elain beat him to it.

“I should’ve been there, tonight, Feyre and Nesta would’ve gone.” Lucien’s hand paused as it carried his tea to his lips. Fury jolted through him.

“I don’t know about that,” Lucien proceeded in sipping his tea, trying to cool the flames within.

“If Feyre could handle seeing Tamlin, then I could’ve handled tonight,” Elain said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Lucien considered what she had said, trying to slow his heartbeat as he thought, especially now that he knew she could hear it.

“Are you so desperate to be like your sisters?” Elain cocked her head at the garden.

“Of course…they’re brave and I…I don’t know, how could I not?” Elain appeared as genuinely confused, and something inside Lucien’s chest ached.

“No offence,” he flashed her an easy grin, one that seemed to tell her that everything was going to be okay, “But I don’t think the world would recover from having another Feyre…and especially not another Nesta.”

“You know what I mean…” Elain huffed, bumping into his shoulder slightly as she flashed him a shy smile, one that made him feel like glowing. “They would’ve gone tonight. They would’ve marched into that manor and sat down in the Nolan’s chair and if Gray so much as looked at them wrong they would’ve burned the house to ashes.”

Lucien ignored Elain’s nickname for her ex-fiancé, and took a moment to cool the raging part of him that sought to seek out the boy and erase him from history. Elain was poking fun at her ex-lover, she was wrinkling her nose and shaking her head, it was obvious she wanted nothing to do with him. And yet that nickname stood like an island in the stormy ocean, a reminder that at that moment, some unevolved, bastard, human fae-hunter had a firmer place in her heart than he.

“What the hell is the Nolan’s chair?” Lucien asked after a moment, batting the vitriol from his mind.

“Oh,” Elain’s eyes lit up, “It’s some stupid, big Ashwood throne which they have in this weird trophy room, apparently it’s been passed down through generations of fae-hunters. I couldn’t touch it of course because I hadn’t been initiated into the family and that would be sacrilegious or something.” Lucien tipped his head back and huffed a laugh, and Elain felt something inside her sing to answer. She’d noticed Lucien’s beauty more this past day, but that moment right there, had been the loveliest he’d ever been. His eyes shut, his grin wide. He seemed happy. It was beautiful.

“Oh Gods, let me guess, they have it behind some sort of curtain and they do a grand reveal whenever guests come for tea?” Elain blinked at him with those brown saucers.

“Have you visited?!” Both of them titled back and let out genuine laughs, no one to interrupt them but a warm breeze making the plants rustle.

“You know, it’s funny,” Elain sighed, curling her arms around her knees and looking out on the moon-lit shrubbery, “When you stop loving someone, it’s almost like you see them for the first time.” Lucien shifted awkwardly, trying to ease the itching across his skin. He’d never talked so much about the boy before, and it was making his powers sing.

“And what do you see now?”

“I…I can’t say a bad word against him. I don’t know why. I think even if he were standing in front of me right now I would just politely ask him to leave.”

“I think that says more about your character than his.” How could the Cauldron have thought him worthy of this female? In the face of her abuser, she chose pacifism.

“It’s strange because now I guess I see him how everyone else has always seen him. But when I was human…” Elain’s speech faltered and she flashed her eyes to him, “I’m sorry you probably don’t want to hear about this.” Lucien took a deep breath before setting his cup down.

“Elain I…I want to be your friend, and I want to know everything about you. If that includes your weasel of an ex, so be it.”

“Be nice,” Elain half-told him off with a laugh as she reached out and shoved his shoulder. Lucien saw stars.

“When you were human…” Lucien found his voice after a second, and prompted Elain along. She curled her arm back around her knees and her eyes drifted off to some far off place.

“I…I just wanted to be loved, so badly. I wanted a fairy-tale romance and, I don’t know, someone who would want me, you know that kind of romance you only read about in novels where the guy walks into a room and only sees her.” Elain huffed a laugh and Lucien bit his tongue. “I just assumed that it would never happen, not with us falling into poverty, but then, we weren’t in poverty anymore, and Nesta and I were back looking for husbands. Graysen isn’t…special…I know. But I never wanted special, and for a girl who had grown up believing she’d have nothing, what he gave me seemed like the whole world. Things like sneaking out to meet him without a chaperone, or, or, sneaking away from family dinner’s to hide in the gardens. It…it felt like falling in love…”

“When you having nothing,” Lucien began tentatively, “And someone shows you an inch of kindness…well, that becomes invaluable.” Elain hummed softly in agreement.

“I didn’t want much – I’ve never wanted much - but that’s because it always seemed greedy. I just wanted my own garden, and then Graysen promised me 12 acres of land, and he did seem to care for me. Well…at one point he seemed to care.” Elain shivered, and that age-old anger flashed in his eye. He didn’t know what Graysen had said to Elain when she’d come to the Noland Manor during the war, but by the way the entire Inner Circle seemed one bad day away from cleaving the boy’s balls from his body, he got the idea.

“Now that I can see him clearly, and I can see all the terrible things he did and said, to me and…and about me…” Elain turned to look at Lucien and found him already looking at her, his expression soft, but something made of steel in his eyes, “It’s easy to not love someone when you don’t like them, but I am afraid.”

“Of…” Lucien said gently, his voice as soft as the wind in the leaves.

“How can I…” she was looking at him directly now, “How can I do it again,” she whispered in a voice that reminded him of a petal. “I was so blinded by love; how can I trust myself? You know, sometimes it feels like I’ve felt enough heartbreak to fill several lifetimes.”

Lucien surprised himself by huffing a soft laugh.

“I know how you feel. But that’s the thing about being immortal. They say time heals all wounds, and it does. But most of us, and I suppose particularly humans, don’t get the chance to wait out our pain. But being fae, well, you’re convinced you’ll never get over it until one day you wake up and, you just are.”

Elain had never heard him speak for so long before, and she realised she could’ve sat here and listened to him talk all night. There was an aged wisdom behind his words, like a promise that everything was going to be alright. A small silence settled on the two as they both looked up at the moon, glowing like an eye of the Mother, winking with contentment.

“Graysen is a bastard isn’t he.” Lucien laughed, loud and brashly, and even though it was nearly midnight, Elain was sure he’d momentarily lit up the world.

“No comment,” Lucien held his palms up to face her to show his pacifism.

“Oh come on, you must not like him if you’re sitting here with me rather out there at the Nolan’s sipping, oh, coffee liquors.” Lucien wrinkled his nose.

“Gods, they sound awful.”

“Oh. They are,” Elain moaned with a smile. Then she peered at him again, “You’ve really never been.” Lucien shifted slightly, sitting a little straighter.

“Yes I, uh, I hope that wasn’t an intrusion or-”

“No, no!” Elain rushed, before sighing heavily as she bit her lip in thought. Lucien’s eyes, one metal one fae, roved over her. Oh how he wished to know her thoughts.

Then, Elain was reaching out for him, putting her small hand on his shoulder and looking up at him with those dark, sultry eyes.

“Thank you…for having my back,” she practically whispered. But Lucien wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her given that his entire focus had been zeroed onto that single palm pressed against his shoulder, how he could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin linen of his shirt.

“I…no problem, Lady…It’s no problem at all.” Elain smiled at him softly, but her hand stayed where it was.

Lucien wondered if she felt it too. The electricity that was flowing through his blood. The bond that seemed to glow from between his ribs, buzzing with contentment at their contact. He wondered if she felt the squeeze in her chest – the possibility that this wasn’t just a bond at all.

Suddenly, voices from the hall erupted into life. Brash singing, and a cackling laugh that startled Elain enough for her hand to lift from his shoulder, before she slowly pulled it back in her lap. Lucien was dangerously close to running into the hall and carrying both his friends back out into the garden and dumping them in the flower beds.

He’d had two stolen moments with Elain today, and the secret seemed to lie in their solidarity from the rest of the world. Sighing Lucien leaned back on his hands.

“It seems that Jurian and Vassa have made it home.”

Tag List:

@ladyelain @chloepereyra @exiledelain @bow-dawn

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threeletterslife · 4 years ago

Text

Propinquity (Law of Seesaw)

→ [6/7] of the Glossary Series

→ summary: You first meet him on a seesaw. What a surprise, your relationship with him is exactly like that of a seesaw too—there are ceaseless ups and downs. So much so that you wonder when it’ll end.

→ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader | PG-13

→ genre: 50% fluff, 33% angst, 17% crack | e2l!au

→ warnings: profanity, mean insults

→ wordcount: 9.2k

♫: Seesaw by BTS

You can't remember the last time you've gone a week without fighting.

There is always a new problem that arises. A new argument that is sparked from the depths of trivial problems. Then Yoongi stops talking to you for a day (or days if the fight is serious) and sleeps downstairs on the couch until he wants to crawl back to you and apologize. Other times, you're the one who has to drag yourself to your boyfriend's study with a plate of his favorite fruit and an apology in your head.

But it seems like the fighting never ends.

Now the bed feels cold. It is empty. Just like you.

You know that Yoongi's downstairs, either working with his new client (through the dead of the night) or already sleeping on the small couch. Though you're supposed to be mad at him, you worry. The couch isn't good for his already deteriorating posture. But you can't nag at him now. It'll result in more arguments.

When was the last time you and Yoongi didn't fight, though?

The correct answer is never.

From day one, you and Yoongi were destined enemies.

"Hi." You're a proud little child, standing up straight with your hands on your hips. A bit chubby and round in the middle but you flaunt the extra weight. "My mommy says I need to make friends before kindergarten starts."

"My mommy says not to talk to strangers." The young boy peeks at you through his shaggy black hair. He rocks the paint-nicked seesaw by himself, kicking his feet off the ground only to come back down with a light oof.

"I'm not a stranger," you scoff, crossing your hands over your chest. "Let me play on the seesaw!"

Yoongi doesn't even have time to answer because you're crawling up on the opposite side already. "H-Hey!" he yells but he's too late. The moment you innocently perch upon the seesaw, you’re slammed to the ground and Yoongi's lifted up high in the air.

Ah, the weight difference.

"GET ME OFF!" Yoongi screams. "GET ME OFF!!"

Your eyes turn wide. You hadn't meant to scare the boy. You thought everyone wanted to fly up in the air, and you were just granting the little boy's wish. In your head, you didn't even think of the possibility that Yoongi is afraid of heights. (Which was stupid of him to even try playing on the seesaw in the first place.)

"GET OFF!" Yoongi yells viciously at you. His face has turned a bright shade of pink and purple.

You think he looks like he's about to suffocate.

"I'M SORRY!" you shriek as you dive off the seesaw.

Yoongi lets out a high-pitched, ear-piercing scream as he subsequently flings off the seesaw. He lands on his butt several centimeters away from the rusty playground equipment and bursts out crying.

You gasp. Oh no. This was bad. Very, very bad. So you do the first thing that comes to your head: run away.

The boy's cries become louder and louder as you sprint in the opposite direction, but you grit your teeth and dash on. Eventually, your guilt for throwing off a boy from the playground seesaw dissipates when your mother buys you ice cream for lunch. Food is always the solution.

You have no idea that day you accidentally made a little boy cry was the day you met your future boyfriend. You just thought you met a crybaby coward.

And he thought he met the devil. If the devil was a chubby little girl with chipmunk cheeks and rolls on her arms.

You two had no idea you would meet again.

So far, the first day of kindergarten isn't going so great. All the other girls brought their barbies to class. You brought your stuffed animal snake—Mr. Slithers.

And now the other girls don't really like you. Because "snakes are icky!" Their words, not yours.

If they only knew this week was a rainforest theme in your head. Every day of the week, you would prepare to bring a new stuffed animal that lived in the rainforest. Today would be the green snake, then tomorrow, the tree frog and so on. But no one applauds your genius planning skills.

So you mope around for half of the day. The girls are playing princesses with their stupid barbies and they won't let you join because a snake cannot wear a ball gown.

You end up poking at the seesaw in the kindergarten playground. It's boring when there's no one else to sit on the other side. Mr. Slithers isn't heavy enough to seesaw with you either. You want your mommy.

"You!" a high-pitched voice shrieks.

Jumping, you whip your head around to see the little boy. No. The same little boy who you accidentally flung backward on the seesaw.

"Are you gonna throw me off the seesaw again?" he yells. For such a skinny little boy he has quite a loud voice.

"I didn't mean it!" you yell back.

"You need to apologize to me!"

"No!"

You run away again.

And just like a real big stupidhead, Yoongi tattletales on you to the kindergarten teacher, Mr. Kim. In your defense, you didn't even do anything to Yoongi at kindergarten, so Mr. Kim can't make you apologize to stupid Min Yoongi.

Mr. Kim agrees with your defense. But he doesn't approve of you using the word, stupid, so you have to apologize to Yoongi anyways. While you're positively livid, Yoongi is triumphant.

That is only the start of the rivalry.

In first grade, Yoongi calls you fat.

You aren't normally one to waste your time tattling to the adults, but Yoongi did it to you in kindergarten so it only feels right to get revenge. But apparently calling someone fat is much worse than calling someone stupid. Yoongi has to apologize to you and he has to sit in the time out corner. He also gets a call home so his parents are notified of his bad behavior.

In second grade, you start losing weight. Not because Yoongi called you fat. But because you figured you should start exercising to be as healthy as your gym rat parents. When you tell the second-grade class you want to become a football star and you've planned out your whole athletic pathway, Yoongi is the first one to rudely laugh at you. So you make sure to boo his presentation when he brags about writing a whole book by himself (it's called Dot Goes to School—pretty mediocre stuff). Both of you have your recess privileges taken away.

Staying in for recess with someone you absolutely despise is not worth the satisfaction you got from teasing them. So you and Yoongi become more discreet in your never-ending ways to spite each other.

In third grade, Yoongi calls you a stick during recess. He makes sure to say it loud enough so you can hear his insult but not as loud so the playground monitor doesn't hear. Sneaky brat. You turn to him with flashing eyes and tell him very upfrontly, "Says you."

The rivalry still exists in fourth grade, when both of you feel like you're too old to play on the playground. The seesaw incident is still ingrained in the backs of both of your heads, though. So even when you and Yoongi have your separate groups of friends, you still manage to be mean to each other.

For instance, the day before the annual fourth-grade square dance, you and your new group of friends spread a rumor that Yoongi has cooties. As a result, no one wants to be his partner the next day.

But then your partner, that brat, Park Jimin calls in sick on D-Day and so your plan backfires in your face. You dance with Yoongi. And now you have cooties too.

In fifth grade, girls are starting to talk about boys during recess. When the shy, cute Gayoung confesses her crush on Min Yoongi, you have to excuse yourself from the friend group. Instead, you go out on the fields to play soccer with the guys. Thankfully, cooties are 'for babies' in fifth grade, so you have free reign with the boys.

Park Jimin confesses he likes you in sixth grade. He tells you that you are pretty. But his confession was definitely not in your schedule. You're supposed to go to swim practice in five minutes. So you wave him off. Not because you hate him. But let's face it. The boy ditched you in fourth grade and you had to dance with Yoongi. Plus, now Jimin's Yoongi's friend. There is no way in hell you are going to butt noses with Yoongi's friend.

The whole grade goes in an uproar when they find out you rejected Jimin. You couldn't care less.

Seventh grade is weird. You finally get your period. And the new sex-ed class collectively makes everyone embarrassed. It also starts the influx of period jokes from yours truly, the boys. Whenever a girl is in a bad mood, the boys yell, "YOU MUST BE ON YOUR PERIOD!" You make note of every guy who says this. Then the second time they yell that to a poor girl, you hold up a tampon with ketchup on it. It shuts them up so well that all the girls in your grade start to carry around tampons and ketchup packets.

Surprisingly enough, Yoongi isn't part of the rowdy group of boys who make insulting period jokes. He's gotten much quieter over the years (middle school must've brought some sort of maturity on him), but he still finds ways to make your life miserable.

When there are rumors that Jimin will ask you out to the Halloween dance, you actually prepare to accept—maybe just to spite Yoongi. But turns out the whole rumor was a lie made up by the boy you despise. So you're rendered embarrassed.

In eighth grade, to your surprise, Gayoung asks Yoongi out. Of course, Yoongi would say yes. He knows you hate Gayoung. She had grown ample boobs and fit in with the popular girls who talked about boy bands and got dress-coded every day. You have no idea why such a popular girl would ask out a nerdy, rat-faced boy. But apparently, Yoongi is conventionally handsome. What a load of bullcrap.

It irks you even more when they become a revolutionary couple—the first time a girl has asked out a boy.

You make a bet with your friends that the couple won't last a week. Your wallet cries that year. You lose nearly ₩30,000.

By tenth grade, they are still dating.

You're starting to wonder if Yoongi somehow got his grubby hands on a love potion. There's just no way that whiny asshole can keep a girlfriend for that long. But according to your friend who is friends with the friends of the friends of Gayoung's friends, Yoongi is a good boyfriend. You want to gut yourself after hearing that.

Gayoung is always bragging about how Yoongi buys her flowers before class, and she makes sure everyone knows of this by posting pictures of the aromatic bouquets on Instagram. Yoongi often writes her little love poems and short stories, and though you're 100% sure Gayoung doesn't read them, she posts those online too. God, she is so annoying that you unfollow her. (You've blocked Yoongi's account a long time ago.)

For the most part, though, when hating Yoongi is not on your mind, your life is pretty normal. And you're definitely content. You and a sporty transfer student from America, Jungkook, have hit it off. It's fun taking him around everywhere to taste test all the convenience stores in Korea.

Until the day you catch Jimin and Gayoung lip-locking behind your favorite kimbap store. You and Jungkook look at each other with wide eyes. Before Jungkook can stop you, you snap a quick picture of the action and run away, tugging your friend along with you.

"Dude, you should delete that picture," Jungkook says for the billionth time.

"No can do," you tell him. "I'm sending it to Yoongi."

"To spite him?"

"Duh."

"Aren't you helping him by telling him his girlfriend is a cheater?" Jungkook challenges.

You squint. "You're actually right, Kook. Then I won't tell him."

"Isn't that a little bit too mean?"

"What??"

"I mean, they've been dating since eighth grade. It's been nearly two years, right?" Jungkook points out. "I think Yoongi deserves to know."

"Don't you dare!" you gasp.

"Sorry, Y/N," Jungkook shrugs. "It's just the right thing to do."

Two days later, Gayoung comes to school wearing not the school uniform but a short skirt and tight shirt. Her arm slings around Jimin, her apparent new boyfriend. Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

Rumor travels around fast. And they're all accurate for the most part.

But it's not very satisfying to see Yoongi missing from all the action. The whole school day, you wonder where the fuck the boy is. Maybe he's crying his guts out. You've never experienced heartbreak before, so you're not sure if you have the right to say Yoongi necessarily deserves it. You can say though, that he had it coming. After all, all those years he teased you, he hadn't felt a single bit of remorse.

Sucks for him.

It's dark by the time you begin to walk home from school. You'd stayed late to brush up on your horrible chemistry skills so you wouldn't completely fail the final test. On the walk back, you notice the familiar playground. You'd grown up with that thing. But it's been a while since you've cared enough to stare at it.

Usually, the rusty old playground is empty. But today, a figure sits in the shadows. More specifically on the seesaw.

It brings back memories. That had been the same seesaw that had started your rivalry with Min Yoongi. And someone's sitting on it.

You squint, your curiosity getting the better of you as you creep towards the figure. Oh god. Once you see the outline of the person, you know this isn't going to be a very fun experience. Ew, you think. Gross.

But that's until it occurs to you that the person is crying.

Holding your breath, you walk closer to the crying boy. He's shaking, hands covering his face. The other side of the seesaw is up in the air.

He's crying about Gayoung, you realize.

You breathe out. "Need someone to sit down to fling you out again?"

Yoongi jumps. He hiccups. Then he quickly wipes away the tears streaming down his face. "Shut up."

You grin, sitting down on the other side of the seesaw. And this time, neither of you fling off. It is completely balanced.

"What are you doing here?" Yoongi croaks when he realizes you're not going to be leaving any time soon. He sniffles, but for the most part, he hides the fact that he'd been crying very expertly.

"I dunno." You shrug. "What are you doing here?" When there's a pause, you add, "I didn't see you in school."

"Oh, didn't know you cared."

"I don't."

"Figured."

"Did you break up with Gayoung?"

Yoongi laughs scornfully. "No. She broke up with me."

"Yikes, really?"

"What is your deal, Y/N?" Yoongi sighs. "Are you going to laugh in my face? Tell me I deserve this?"

"Not anymore..." you grumble. "Because now there's no element of surprise."

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "I reckon you spread the rumor?"

"...The rumor?"

"Yeah, the fucking rumor!" Yoongi shouts, throwing up his hands. "You're the one who told everyone Gayoung was cheating on me!"

"Woah, there! I didn't say anything about it!" you yell. "It's not my fault your ex decided to hook up with Jimin!"

"What??"

"Here! I have the fucking receipts!" You whip out your phone, aggressively swiping through your photos before landing on the exact one you were looking for. When you show Yoongi, his eyes turn wide but his posture deflates. He looks defeated.

"She actually cheated...?"

The way he says it with wide eyes and a slumped attitude makes you feel a tiny bit of pity. But the habit of being mean to Yoongi sticks.

"I'm not even surprised."

Yoongi glares at you.

"I mean," you say with an innocent shrug, "she's been eyeing other guys since you started dating her."

"I know..."

You are not about to show sympathy to Min Yoongi. You are not going to let down your guard. You are going to stay cold and emotionless—

"I'm... uh... I... er, I guess I'm sorry."

Yoongi lifts an eyebrow. "Why are you sorry?"

"Well, it just seemed like you really liked her—"

"Nah."

"Oh?"

"This is going to sound very stupid."

"Try me." You grin. "In my eyes, you always sound stupid. Remember? I got in trouble for calling you stupid in kindergarten."

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "How could I forget?" He grips the seesaw handles. "I don't think I've ever really liked Gayoung."

"Damn, this is tea," you gasp. "Why bother dating her for so long, then?"

"Ha!" Yoongi laughs. "Good question, Y/N. I don't know," he says sarcastically. "I was probably trying to piss you off. Didn't think it'd last that long."

"Oh??" You raise your eyebrows. "But didn't I just see you cry over Gayoung?"

"Er—"

You definitely caught him in a lie. Though it's dark, you can imagine Yoongi flushing a bright shade of pink—he does that when he's guilty. Not that you cared enough to notice over the years.

"It's okay she's with Jimin now. Not your problem."

"Is this your half-assed attempt of trying to solace me?"

"No?" You make a face. "Why on earth would you think I'm trying to solace you, Yoongi? You called me fat in first grade."

"I see you still hold grudges."

"Oh, that's really my only talent," you snort.

"Aren't you a really good planner?"

"Me?" Is this a compliment you hear?—and from the Min Yoongi?

"Yeah, you're going to plan the graduation ceremony, right? They hand-picked you from the student council, didn't they?"

"Well, uh, yeah." You raise your eyebrows in both surprise and suspicion. "Didn't think you'd care."

"I don't."

Of course.

"Okay, fine by me."

"Why are you even here again?"

You pause. Actually, why are you here? You could've just simply walked away and never had this conversation with Yoongi. But you'd stopped. And now you're talking with him. You answer him truthfully. "I really have no idea."

Another pause.

"Are you gonna ask me to leave?"

"... No."

"Oh." You cock your head. "Okay."

The two of you stare at each other. A staring game commences.

But Yoongi blinks first, claiming you the victor of the little contest. "You can stay if you want."

You scoff. "Excuse me, I didn't know I needed your permission."

Yoongi throws his hands up in the air. "Do you always have to fucking pick a fight?"

"You're the one who starts them!"

"I didn't even say anything mildly rude."

Okay, he might kind of have a point. Maybe all those years of hating him have ingrained permanent hatred in your head, so whatever comes out of Yoongi's mouth seems like an insult that you have to respond to with equal rudeness by reflex.

"Where did we even go wrong?" you sigh, rubbing your forehead.

Yoongi snorts. "Literally right here. On this seesaw."

"You're right," you laugh. This is probably the first time you and Yoongi have agreed on something; it's a foreign feeling that doesn't quite settle right in your stomach.

"Remember when Jimin had a crush on you?"

"Oh stop—" Just one single sentence brings back so many memories.

"Now he's downgraded to girls like Gayoung," Yoongi snorts.

"Oh?" A wide smile stretches across your lips. "Are you saying I'm an upgrade compared to that vile girl?"

"When you put it that way, I'm not so sure."

In any other circumstance, you'd think Yoongi's attacking you again, putting up another unnecessary fight. But right now, it's obvious he's just teasing you.

"Let's face it, Yoongi. I'm better than your ex, aren't I?" you tease right back.

"Barely," he grumbles, but he mumbles under his breath, "but yes."

Thankfully, your owl ears pick up the last part and you grin haughtily. "That's all I needed to hear." Just by habit, you glance down at your watch, frowning when it reads a little past 10 p.m. You're definitely behind schedule right now. Strangely, though, it's kind of worth it, talking to your self-proclaimed nemesis without ripping each other apart with moderately hurtful words.

Yoongi takes notice of you checking the time. Always the same, he thinks. He can't remember the last time he saw you without a watch.

"Anyways... it's getting kind of late..." you say. But you're careful not to stand up from the seesaw—just in case you'll accidentally fling Yoongi off again.

Yoongi nods in agreement. "Yeah." But what he hears next is beyond what he would've ever thought would come out of your mouth next.

"Wanna get some cup ramen? I know a good convenience store nearby."

"With me??" The words slip out of Yoongi's mouth before he can maintain his stoic, chilled composure.

"Why not?" You shrug. "Maybe tonight's the night we can finally stop fighting and act civil for once."

"I am getting tired of the back and forth bickering," Yoongi admits. "Not a bad idea, Y/N."

"I come up with genius ideas once in a while." You flip your hair back and grin. "We just can't stay out before 12 because I need to plan my friend's birthday party before 1."

"I'll get you home by then."

"You're going to walk me home? How boyfriendly."

"It's a habit," Yoongi grumbles.

"A good habit. Keep it up, Min," you laugh. "Then you'll get a new girl in no time."

The two of you count to three before carefully getting off the seesaw together. There are no accidents this time. Everything seems... balanced.

The most what the fuck moment in your life comes when you wake up one morning and realize the person you text and hang out the most is, indeed, Yoongi. Months ago, the thought of him made your blood boil. Now, he's just a friend—a very close friend, too.

Entering eleventh grade with Yoongi by your side is weird. Every other school year, the two of you tried to stay away from each other as much as possible. Yet this year, it's the complete opposite. The two of you solace each other. Even if that involves heavy teasing and harsh verbal exchanges.

"You idiot!" Yoongi shrieks. "And you just let her get away with it?"

"Why yes, why yes I did!" you scream in your shrill voice that makes Yoongi almost flinch back. "What was I supposed to do? Yell at her and tell her I deserved to be class president and not her? Tell her to her face that she cheated the votes?"

"Yes?!"

"Well, I didn't have the guts!"

"Why do you always run away from your fucking problems?"

Yoongi's words pierce through your heart and suck up your anger, replacing it with regret. He’s right though. When something doesn't go the way you planned, you have a habit of ditching. You're afraid of the consequences that will follow when you freestyle everything. And Yoongi knows this.

"I-I... I just... It's easier," you sigh, slumping over your desk seat. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Fight back maybe?" Yoongi's tone is softer after he sees you become dispirited. "I mean, hey, you win some, you lose some."

"I know... I just feel like I'm always losing these days."

"It's okay," Yoongi says. His big hands awkwardly pat at your back. And as funny as it is that he's attempting to comfort you, you're actually well comforted. "Doesn't matter whether you win or lose. What matters is the experience."

"Wise words."

"Well, I'm a wise person." Yoongi gives you a shit-eating grin.

"Oh god."

Sometimes, Yoongi's the one who breaks down, though it's not as often as you do. But once the storm comes, it's hard to make it leave.

"Please don't talk to me right now."

"But Yoongi," you plead, knocking on the door to his room. "I had to practically beg your parents to let me in!" you whisper angrily. "Come on, open the damn door!"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Do you want me to break the door down??"

Silence follows and a small click indicates that the locked door is now open. You carefully turn the knob and push. Yoongi faces you immediately and the way his eyes are red and his cheeks are wet is indicative of a beforehand hysterical crying session.

"Oh, Yoongi..."

"I said I don't want to talk about it," he mutters. But you know he's just saying that because talking about it will make him cry again. You know him too well.

You pull him into a hug. "Maybe music isn't for you," you say. "It's okay if you failed that path. There are many more to take."

He's silent, squeezing you tightly. But you don't mind the silence at all. It's more peaceful that way, and you know he's actually listening to you when he's not talking.

"You're good at writing aren't you?" you whisper, patting his back. "Maybe that's your path. And if it isn't, so what? Poke at every pathway until you find one that's just right for you."

It's advice for yourself as well. Yoongi's upset that he was rejected from a music audition he was preparing to pass for years; he knew he wanted to pursue music and he did it, though it might not have been very successful. You, on the other hand, have no idea what you want to do in the future.

"I guess we both have to start on new paths now, right?"

By twelfth grade, you and Yoongi are beginning to bicker like a married couple. At least, that's what Jungkook says.

"For the last time, we do not sound married!"

Jungkook rests his head on the palm of his hand. "Sure. Sure."

"The thought of even being romantically interested in Y/N gives me goosebumps," Yoongi snorts.

"But the good kind of goosebumps if you know what I'm talking about," Jungkook says. He wiggles his eyebrows in such a suggestive way that you mock vomit.

"Okay, gross," you groan. "The day I catch feelings for Yoongi is the day the whole world will end."

"Um, right back at you," Yoongi frowns. "Don't worry," he says, giving you a cocky grin. "I'm very repulsive. You'll never catch feelings for me."

"We'll see about that," Jungkook snickers.

Every year, Yoongi writes you a birthday letter. Even now, in college, he manages to find time to make the same effort he's made for the past two years. Every year, he somehow makes you cry with his elaborate words. And every year, Yoongi films it because he's a little shit.

This year though, the tone of the letter is much, much sweeter than you expected. Almost as if it's a love serenade and not a platonic letter to your best friend. The writing is elaborately flourished and fluffed up to the point it sounds like a love poem. And you swear Yoongi spritzed perfume on the envelope because the letter smells (shockingly) amazing. The message itself doesn't make you cry. Instead, after you finish reading it, you stare up at Yoongi's camera in shock, jaw dropped open but no words coming out of your mouth. Yoongi seems to like that reaction a lot, and he even zooms up on your dumbstruck face to make fun of it later.

He'd written ten things he loves about you. And it drove you crazy that you didn't know whether it was platonic or romantic.

Love, Yoongi. He'd signed the letter. Not the usual, From your bestest motherfucking greatest friend, Yoongi.

What the fuck did 'Love, Yoongi' even mean??

And it happens so that the two of you fight about it later on.

"This year's birthday video is the best one yet," Yoongi laughs as he tries to turn the camera around to show you the screen.

You jerk away, frowning. "That is not funny."

"Why? Didn't like my letter this year?" He's teasing you but you're annoyed.

"It was different."

"A good different?" Yoongi nudges your shoulder, a smug smirk plastered on his lips.

"Literally, please, stop. Before I wipe that smirk off your face."

"Okay, okay," Yoongi sighs, raising up his hands in defense. "I bet you're just salty you can't name ten things you love about me."

"You're right, right now, I can name zero things," you scoff.

"Liar. You wouldn't have stuck by my side for this long if you didn't love me."

The fact that he's right makes it more irritating.

"Fine. One. You're an asshole—"

"Come on, is that really a reason?" Yoongi laughs. "This isn't ten things you hate about me, you know."

"Hear me out. You're a certain species of asshole that I find slightly more bearable than any other asshole," you say. "I think you're a tolerable asshole. It's a compliment."

"Thanks?"

"Two. You're an idiot—"

"Is this how the rest of the reasons gonna go?" Yoongi scoffs incredulously. "My letter was heartfelt at least!"

"No, but you're a bearable idiot. The kind that irks your strings just enough to make you pissed but not enough to make you explode. No idiot is tolerable but at least once in a million years you give good advice." You shrug as Yoongi shakes his head in denial.

"I always give good advice."

You roll your eyes. "Three. You're not very good looking—"

"I shouldn't even have asked," Yoongi grumbles. "Why did I fucking bother?"

"No, but you're not ugly. Isn't that good news?" you giggle as Yoongi just shakes his head at you. "It's perfect! That way, you attract people with your personality and not your looks! It's a compliment," you add when Yoongi glares at you.

"Whatever," he says.

"Four!" you say triumphantly. "You are drama-free. Except with me. But I'm an exception because I'm special."

"You got that right," Yoongi mutters underneath his breath. "What about five?" Compared to a minute ago, he looks more interested in your list now.

"Five? Well, you're genuine," you say nodding your head. "You wouldn't let me walk around with an eyelash on my face or spinach stuck between my teeth."

"Yeah 'cause you'd embarrass me too because you'd be by my side," Yoongi protests.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that."

"Fine. Six?"

"Six... hm..." you hum. "You have pretty eyes."

Yoongi laughs out loud. "Thanks, I guess."

"Seven... let's see... hm..." You rub your chin thoughtfully. "Well, you put the toilet seat down for me."

"My mother didn't raise a hooligan."

"I actually agree with you on that one," you say, laughing. "For eight, I want to just say you're a good friend."

"You stole my number 8 on my letter to you!"

"Yoongi, you should just be glad I even repeated it back to you," you giggle. "Wanna hear nine before I forget?"

Your friend sighs but he nods.

"You're a very good writer. And I'm not just saying that to boost your already enormous ego or anything, but I genuinely think you can write," you say. "And I love that because then I get these good ass letters on special occasions. It's weird how you can choose each word so carefully that all of the meanings fit in this gigantic well-flowing story. And you'd think you'd use all these hard vocabulary words to throw me off, but your writing's easy to read and comprehend. It makes it more impactful." You quirk your brow at your friend who finally looks satisfied. "Is that enough?"

"Yes, now that's more like it!" Yoongi grins. "Butter up my ego a bit more, won't you?"

"Can't. I don't have a number ten for you." You shrug. "Sorry."

"C'mon, you can only think of nine reasons why you love me?" Yoongi leans into you, poking your cheek. "I thought of eleven but I had to take one off. This isn't very fair."

"Oh? What was the eleventh?"

"It was more of a joke so you don't need to know."

"Excuse me? I love jokes—even though I don't take them very well."

"Yeah, well, I especially don't want you to take this a bad way," Yoongi says.

"Was it something mean about me??"

"Kind of."

You frown, scrunching your nose. "Try me."

Yoongi shrugs. "Fine, then. I called you oblivious. Happy?"

You lean back from your friend, giving him a disgraceful look. "Me? Oblivious? First of all, no. And second of all, why would you love that about me?"

"Oh, I don't know, because you're so oblivious you can't even tell that I like you??"

One look at Yoongi and you can tell he's dead serious. "Woah," you breathe. You want to ask him to repeat what he just said to see if you heard him correctly the first time. But he's already looking a little impatient at your delayed answer. So you gape at him, muttering a soft, "Like? As in...?" You can't finish the sentence.

"As in love?" Yoongi finishes for you. "Sure."

"Bro..."

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "I thought the letter made it obvious, Y/N."

"Well, I thought you were joking." You fidget with your hands. "Damn, Yoongi, now what the fuck am I supposed to say?"

"Do whatever you want with that information," he says, shrugging so nonchalantly that you wonder if this man even has feelings.

"Broo..."

"And if that means you're gonna keep saying 'bro,' then I guess that's fine too." He gives you a shit-eating grin.

"No, it's just that... wow. Since when??"

"Like, a year ago? Bit after Jungkook called us a married couple," Yoongi says. "But I'm so dead inside I hid it pretty fucking well. I kept thinking it'd go away too, but man, I still like you now, so I guess the feelings aren't going away anytime soon."

"But what are you proposing??" You run your hands through your hair. "That we go out??"

"Okay, you said it, not me."

You huff. It's weird. This dynamic you have with Yoongi. One moment you're bickering and the next, Yoongi's confessing his feelings for you. Strangely, though, you're not as turned off as you expected.

"One date."

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. "One date?"

"You can buy me dinner, and if it goes horribly, we're going right back to friends," you bargain. "In the case that it goes well, then, uh, you tell me."

Yoongi laughs. "Oh, I'll be the one to tell you, all right."

And unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on the way you look at it), he's right. Four days later, your relationship with Yoongi becomes official. It irks your strings that none of your friends are even the slightest bit surprised about your newfound romantic relationship with the man you'd known for way more than half of your life.

"We all saw it coming, Y/N," they tell you. "We're actually surprised you two didn't date sooner."

But Yoongi is actually a good boyfriend, so there are no regrets. Aside from the small bickering here and there (the married couple kind of arguing), your relationship with him is sound. And the fact that not much has changed in the way you treat each other since you began dating makes you wonder if you were technically in love with Yoongi this whole time but you were way too blinded by your stupid senses and habitual, platonic teasing that you didn't think you actually liked him romantically. It doesn't really matter now, though. Because you're with him anyway.

Yoongi's love language is quality time and coincidentally, so is yours. College becomes a blast. When you're not studying, you're with Yoongi and when you're not with Yoongi, you're 'studying,' but really thinking of your boyfriend.

Yoongi has a way of plaguing your mind. It's been like that since you were little, too.

Once out of college, things become more difficult. Marriage matures into a serious question that neither you nor Yoongi is ready for. So both of you put it off.

As soon as you secure a job as an event planner and Yoongi becomes a professional grant writer, the honeymoon phase of the relationship plummets to the ground.

For nearly eighteen years you were a victim of Yoongi's 'teasing.' His judgmental remarks. But there is a time and place to be a critique.

"Oh, come on, the food isn't even that bad, Yoongi. Just a little bland. That's it."

"There was a hair in my soup," your boyfriend complains. "I'm asking for another bowl."

"Okay, fine, but don't ask for the manager like last time."

"Last time, the waitress called me a tightwad!! What was I supposed to do?"

"Just let it slide? You yelled at her for bringing you bad food when she didn't even cook it! Can you please stop acting so above everybody?"

"Whatever." Yoongi sets down his silverware. "I'm gonna Uber home." He tosses you his credit card and it slides across the wooden table and stops right in front of your dish. "And I'm going to write a Yelp review of this shitty place."

"You're not a fucking entitled writer! Stop acting like one!" you call out to him as he turns his back to you and storms away.

You end up eating dinner at a restaurant by yourself. Yoongi's right, the place is shitty, and the food is bland, but it's not downright intolerable.

Often, these days, it feels like your relationship with Yoongi is spiraling downward. The two of you cannot seem to agree on anything. It reminds you when you'd hated him in your younger years. But you can't hate him now; you live with him.

He's unavoidable.

Usually, Yoongi drives. The car feels foreign to you only because you normally don't sit in the driver's seat. The short mixtape of songs Yoongi wrote and produced for you plays the moment you turn on the engine. He'd gifted that to you a few months ago, after one of your bigger fights. You let the soft serenades play as you drive home.

No matter how many times you and Yoongi fight, the two of you make it up to each other somehow. There is no fight without a resolution. Yoongi will be waiting for you when you get home.

And he is. He's waiting with a blueberry yogurt cake from Paris Baguette sitting on the kitchen island and a letter in his hand. A written apology. Because Yoongi thinks he conveys his feelings better in writing than with spoken words.

"I'm sorry for storming off..." he says almost shyly. The man is nearly twenty-five years old but he sounds and looks like a guilty child with his lips pulled out in a pout and his eyes glancing nervously at your face to see if you weren't going to yell at him. "I, uh... didn't write the Yelp review."

How can you stay mad at that?

"And I wrote you an apology..."

You walk closer to your boyfriend and hug him. "Thank you..."

"Yeah," he says. "And good news, the cake will be really flavorful compared to what you had for dinner."

You smile. "Good thinking."

After a storm, there is always a rainbow. When there is a down, there is an up. And vice versa.

"Can we please stop planning every single fucking second of our lives?" Yoongi says exasperatedly. He flings away the brochure you had handed him that detailed the week's trip to Hawaii down to the last minute. "We're going on vacation. This makes me feel like I'm going to a stupid summer camp."

"If we're going to Hawaii, we shouldn't just relax around in the hotel all day, Yoongi," you scoff, gathering the abandoned brochure and tugging it to your chest. "There's stuff to see on the islands. We need to try everything my friends did! Why would we even go to Hawaii if we're not going to do these fun activities?"

"Come on. 7 o'clock breakfast? 8 o'clock hiking up to the falls? 10 o'clock scuba diving in the ocean? 12 o'clock lunch at the top of a big ass hill that we have to climb up ourselves? 1 o'clock zip-lining meters in the air? 2 o'clock festival? I could go on, but isn't that too much? When can we breathe?" Yoongi shakes his head. "No way. And all of that's just in one day. And the second day is even worse. Y/N, I want to go there to rest."

"If you wanted to rest, then you can do it at home," you argue. "Why go to Hawaii to rest?"

"There are different types of resting," Yoongi sighs. "What's a better way to fall asleep than in front of the ocean? We get to relax in a hotel, which means we won't have to make our beds or cook our meals or even do the dishes. That's relaxing for me."

"Well, it's not relaxing enough for me."

"Come on, Y/N. We went to Banff and you planned every single second of the trip there. I thought it was miserable. Can we please relax just once? For literally one trip?"

"But I already booked everything..."

Yoongi curses. "Why are you always four steps ahead of everything? It's unnecessary!"

"Maybe I'm not four steps ahead and you're just four steps behind!"

"Oh, so you're telling me that everyone else in the world plans their days down to the last second." Yoongi rolls his eyes. "Bullshit, Y/N."

"It's not my fault you're so—so, fucking lazy!"

"I'm not lazy!" Yoongi's eyes flash as he slams the dinner table. "You're just too high maintenance! Fucking nobody can keep up with you!" Before you can react or even yell back, he pushes his chair away and stands up, stomping away in a fury. You can hear him enter his study. There's that familiar door slam again. And the click of the lock means you won't be getting in that room anytime soon.

You're left by yourself, clutching the Hawaii brochure to your chest. A little angry at yourself but a lot madder at your boyfriend. With a bitter scream, you toss the brochure in the trash and curl up in a ball at the side of the couch.

But the thing about you and Yoongi is that with time and space, you recognize each other's perspectives. The rest is history.

Three hours just crying out your pent-up anger gets the irritation out of your system. By the time you're done though, you're a little hungry and guilty. You make a few phone calls and switch things around.

"Hey." You knock on the door of Yoongi's study. You're too afraid to turn the knob yourself. "I know you're in there."

No answer.

"I canceled the excessive activities..." you whisper against the door. "We can plan the trip together... I mean, better yet, we don't even have to plan anything at all... We can be..."—it pains you to say but—"spontaneous."

"Go away. I'm trying to work."

Sometimes Yoongi takes a bit longer than you to come around.

But by dinnertime, he's crept out of his study and has already ordered takeout from your favorite restaurant. The steaming pile of white rice and perfect side dishes lie on the dinner table, waiting for you. He waits for you too.

"I got a new client," he says, looking down at his hands. "And I got your favorite food." You notice that he's holding the Hawaii brochure you'd thrown away. It's a little wet on the sides. Maybe because Yoongi had to wipe off the remnants of the leftovers in the trash that had stuck onto the paper. Your boyfriend finally looks up at you. Shyly. Almost cautiously. "Wanna compromise?"

"Compromise?"

"We plan half of the trip and wing the rest of it," he offers. Yoongi slides you the brochure. "See, so I was thinking..."

You've always hated roller coasters. They are almost always unpredictable with head-jerking twists and turns that bring you closer to vomiting the contents of your stomach rather than pure bliss. There are one too many ups and downs.

Yoongi likes to joke that your relationship with him is a roller coaster. Only because there are too many dips that rocket up to the sky only to plummet down again. You disagree. Because, eventually, no matter how shitty the ride is, roller coasters do end. Your relationship with Yoongi is not over.

You like to compare your relationship with Yoongi like the ocean waves. But during a tsunami. The ups are great; the towering waves give you a beautiful vantage point. And it's all fun and games until the waves crash down on everything you once loved, destroying them. And the process repeats so much that in the end, there is nothing left.

That's what you feel now. Empty.

Alone in the bed with Yoongi downstairs and nowhere to be seen near you.

After a while, even the highs of the relationship makes you feel numb. The lows wreck you past your breaking point. It takes more time to find resolutions—the fights go on for longer than days, even weeks.

When you were younger, fighting with Yoongi was irritating at most. Now, they leave you sobbing and drinking alone in the corner of the bathroom. But it's so late in the game.

You've known Yoongi for over eighteen years of your life, since kindergarten. You keep telling yourself that he's the only one in the world who could understand you; and you're the only one in the world who can understand him. But other than that, you can't find another reason why you're with him.

Sometimes, you listen back to the mixtape he made you years ago. The lyrics don't apply to you now. And this year, for your birthday, he half-assed a letter for you last-minutely because he was 'busy.' Busy drinking with his friends the night before. You've stopped planning your dates for months.

Actually, when was the last time you went on a date with him?

You can't recall.

Maybe the back and forth arguing you and Yoongi had gone through in the majority of your relationship was a sign—a bad sign. If only you hadn't met him on the seesaw that day. Then maybe none of this would've happened.

You might be dating someone you have things in common with. Maybe someone you don't argue with as much.

Falling asleep with tears in your eyes that keep the pillow wet until morning is an occurrence that you're too familiar with. It is an occurrence you want to stop. When Yoongi isn't downstairs by morning, you're thrown into further misery. He usually works from home... He must be really angry to leave without saying anything.

You eat breakfast by yourself. Lunch consists of ramen. And dinner... Yoongi's still not home so you skip the meal altogether.

By 9 p.m., you look at your phone. You don't want to be the first person to break—the first person to apologize—but you worry. Will he hang up on you? Tell you to go away? The possibilities seem endless.

So much thinking hurts your head. Some fresh air might do the trick. Before you know it, you're wandering around a familiar rusty playground again. It brings back childhood memories. When your hand trails across the paint-chipped monkey bars, you're brought back to when you were only six years old. The towering obstacle had looked so big when you were little. Now, you could easily cross the bars by simply walking.

It's strange to see the once-bustling playground be completely empty and in the dark. You hear that they're going to tear down this place to construct a little convenience store so no one must've visited this playground in a very long time. You'll miss it when it's gone. You had a lot of fun around here.

Just as that thought passes through your head, your eye catches sight of the seesaw.

Ah, the start of everything.

Slowly, you walk towards it. Each step makes your feet sink further in the smoothed over gravel but you manage to sit at the very edge of the seesaw. Immediately, the other side flings up in the air. It reminds you of when you flung Yoongi in the air. A pretty funny memory. But not right now. Thinking about Yoongi now hurts.

You hate it when you start to contemplate the worst-case scenario. A breakup. Moving out. Stress. Tears.

You run your fingers across the rusty handle of the seesaw. Hopefully, things don't come to that. But how much longer can you handle the arguments? They seem to be elongating as time passes. What if one day, the argument lasts a month? Several months? A year?

If there is one thing in your life that you strive to achieve, it's predictability. With Yoongi, there is none of that. He makes last-minute plans out of nowhere and doesn't tell you until the last second. Then you have to go on a frenzy to reschedule everything. It is a cycle that you've become sick of. And he's sick of you planning everything.

That has been the issue of the last ten fights.

The same issue.

And it's unfixable.

You and Yoongi are rock bottom on the very floor of the Mariana Trench. The back and forth game of banter has turned into something more serious, and it just isn't as light-hearted and funny anymore.

"Hey."

You nearly fall off the seesaw at the sound of Yoongi's voice. He's got his hands shoved in his pockets and he looks like he was awake for more than 24 hours.

"H-Hey," you say.

"The seesaw, huh?"

"Yeah." You nod. "The seesaw."

Yoongi smiles but it's not a very happy one. Even now, you don't think either one of you wants to apologize for the fight.

"I've been thinking," Yoongi sighs. He doesn't spare you another glance before he sits on the other side of the seesaw. You're suddenly jerked up in the air. There used to be a balance but it seems like Yoongi's gained some weight—or you've lost a lot. "Remember when I said our relationship is like a rollercoaster?"

"And I said I disagreed."

"Right." Yoongi sighs. "I take that back. We're not like a rollercoaster. We're in a game."

"A game?"

Yoongi gestures at the seesaw. "This is our game."

"...The seesaw?" You raise an eyebrow at the man but Yoongi doesn't budge.

"Yes. Look." Yoongi pushes off the gravel with his feet, putting himself in the air while sinking you to the ground. "And when you push..." Following his words, you launch yourself back in the air. Yoongi looks up at you as he sighs. "We're always on opposite sides, opposite places."

"Even when we try to balance," he continues, trying to lift his body to bring you down to the same level as him, "we fail." He ends up higher than you now and you look up at him.

"Some game this is..." you mutter.

"It's a game of ups and downs," Yoongi tells you. "It's tiring, isn't it?"

"Of course it is."

"And like all games... there is an end."

You raise both eyebrows. "Oh."

"From day one, you know... we weren't really supposed to get along," Yoongi says. "But somehow seeing each other every day, bickering with each other... all of that let us be in closer proximity with each other. And then we thought we were meant to be."

"You're analyzing our relationship?" you scoff.

"Don't act like you haven't done the same, Y/N."

You're silent.

"It doesn't matter whether we love each other at this point, Y/N... Does it? Love or not, I don't think I can live like this."

It's ridiculous. You're having a grown-up discussion possibly leading to a breakup on a fucking seesaw of all places.

"You want to separate?" Your voice comes out smaller than you expected. When it becomes a reality, it's much harder to digest.

"You've been thinking about it too, right?" Yoongi sighs. "I mean, I heard you call your mom the other day. And it didn't sound too good."

Guilty. "Well, yeah, I've been thinking about it... Just... I just didn't think it'd become a reality so soon." And you always thought you would have initiated the breakup, not the other way around.

"Yeah... I felt bad you always took initiative with things so I decided to save you the stress and do it myself."

"Wow. Thanks." You shake your head. "Real thoughtful."

"Right?" Yoongi grins. "I don't think a lot will change if we break up. We've always hated each other a little."

You let out a wry laugh. "I'll never forgive you for calling me fat."

"And I'll never forgive you for calling me stupid."

"Looks like we're even."

"Yeah, for once." Yoongi shrugs. "I guess we can be platonic roommates until I find another apartment."

"Sounds good to me." You ignore the tears welling up in your eyes as you try to smile. "Let's get off this seesaw to seal the deal then."

"The end of the game." Yoongi's voice shakes just enough for you to know he's crying.

And as the two of you walk back to your shared apartment with tears streaming down your faces, you realize you wouldn't have it any other way. A breakup any later would be regretful—even wasteful of time. A breakup any earlier would've left you to separate forever. A breakup now is perfect.

You're acquainted enough to still possibly be friends. But not bound by marriage to make the procedure worse and more complicated.

Of course, you love Yoongi. But sometimes, you love the wrong people—the people you don't belong with, the people who won't make you happy. You're just glad you didn't run away in the beginning. Yoongi taught you a difficult rivalry, a difficult friendship, a difficult relationship. But you don't always have to go the hard way.

When a relationship becomes like a game—repetitive with the addition of wins and losses—that's when you know you can stop.

You'll be on the easy route now and find someone who is as crazy about planning as you.

You look up at Yoongi. His cheeks are wet with tears but he doesn't necessarily look sad. Instead, he looks hopeful. Like he'll find somebody who can appreciate his love for leaving sarcastic Yelp reviews or somebody who loves spontaneity as much as he does.

And when he finds that special somebody, you'll be happy for Yoongi. But, of course, not before you tease the living shit out of him first.

—masterpost

—masterlist

#ficswithluv #btswritersnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanfairygarden #btswritingcafe #yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts #bts fanfiction #propinquity #okay let's pretend i totally posted this fic last friday #like halfway thru this week #i remembered i never posted on friday omg clown #🤡🤡 i don't even think i've been on social media #school rlly said no❤️

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shackermanwrites · 4 years ago

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Lifetime

Summary: When everything's falling apart in your life, and you don't know what to do anymore, maybe asking the universe for something isn't a bad idea after all. In which Sol Reader finds herself in another reality after begging the universe for something. Everything is going well not until she was put into Levi's squad.

Chapter 2 -> Chapter 3

Lifetime Masterlist

The loud banging on the door made you instantly jolt up from your bed, and you looked at the digital clock beside your bed.

“It's 4:44 am; give me a break.” You mumbled to yourself as you got up from your bed.

It’s the first time in months that you have gotten a night of sleep for more than three hours and only to be interrupted by a loud knock, you could honestly punch a wall right there.

As soon as you open the door, the smile on Petra’s face was immediately replaced by a frown.

“You look terrible, Are you okay?” She invited herself in and placed her bag on the table beside the door.

“Geez, good morning to you too huh, you woke me up, genius” you plopped down back to your bed and hugged your pillow.

“I just want to see you before you go, and also, my mom cooked some food for you and your family. It's not much, but she made your favorite banana bread.”

Petra sat on the side of your bed and lay next to you, not caring if it’ll ruin her hair. You have been like this for almost a year, and you treat each other like sisters since she’s an only child, she confessed that she looks up to you like an older sister. Her family also treats you as their own, and you are beyond thankful for them. You honestly can't imagine how you will survive if it weren’t for them.

“Thank you, Petra. I appreciate it” You gave her a brief smile while you pinch her cheeks for a second before getting up from the bed.

You were supposed to wake up at 5 am, but since you are already awake and it's almost 5, you went to the bathroom to wash your face and take a bath. The faint sound of the television and the running cold water is the only thing you can hear.

You arrived at your house around 5 pm that day, the trip was indeed tiring even though there are not many people traveling considering that it is almost the holiday season.

As soon as you stepped inside the house, a blonde girl who’s holding a book came rushing at you with a big smile on her face.

“Historia! You have gotten a lot taller since I last saw you.” You immediately let go of your baggage and hugged the girl. You honestly missed her, and you know she did too. She was left alone in this house, and you know how it must be hard for her to grow up alone.

“I missed you so much, Sol. I have so many stories I want to share with you, mom! Dad! Sol is here!” the excitement and joy are all over her voice.

Your mom greeted you on her apron. She gave you a smile before glancing at the living room.

“Oh honey, you're back. Your dad is in the living room. I'm glad you could make it before Christmas.” your mother smiled at you once again before she went back to the kitchen.

You hate yourself for being mad. The feeling of being unwanted rushes through your body once again.

You didn’t want to face your father, but you're here now, and there's no backing off. You pat Historia’s head before your feet made their way to the living room to where your father is.

“Father, I'm home.” Your father didn’t look at you. He didn’t even try to glance in your direction. Instead, his eyes are glued to the book he is reading.

“I haven't seen you for two years. I forgot I have an older daughter.” The palm of your hands started to turn white as you clench your hands into a fist. You didn’t want to disrespect your parents, so you forced yourself to utter the word ‘sorry’ before excusing yourself.

“The fuck are you doing, cadet?! Get the hell up and start running!” The people who pass through the man shouting at a cadet lying on the ground clenched tighter on the rifle they are holding as they run faster in fear that they might get called.

Tired, thirsty, and hungry are the exact words you can describe the soldiers running under the sun while holding a 4kg rifle.

“So, a new batch of brats just graduated last night? How many are they?”

“Not more than 70 but not less than 50, eight from the top 10 decided to join survey corps. Don’t you need three more cadets to annoy you for your squad?”

“Shut it four eyes, and I do need someone who has a great aim at rifle since the last squad you gave me were nothing but shit. One cadet cant even shoots properly, and the other was shaking non-stop tch, pathetic.”

“Yeah, sorry shorty, but say less since they will be here early morning tomorrow. I just hope I get Reader and Ackerman in my squad!”

“Both of them topped their class? Tch, of course, those brats will pick you, considering that being in my squad means leading their own lives to hell. Anyway, I need to go, Hange.”

“Bye, Levi! Keep the weather down there cool!”

Levi Ackerman, one of the most outstanding soldiers on Paradis Island. At the age of 14, he was already in the survey corps after his mother died, he had no choice but to survive and live, and the only thing to survive for a homeless person on the Island is to become a soldier and fight for their home.

Most of the soldiers who joined are because of the ranks, a privileged to every family who has a soldier in survey corps is seen as honorable. Homeless people who want to join the military are a joke to them since they know that they are desperate to keep going in life. Still, Levi isn’t one of them at that time. He’s exceptionally strong, wise, and disciplined. That’s why no one ever challenged him after beating up the section commander in his first year in training.

Levi is an exceptional soldier, his rank went up throughout the years, and he’s currently holding the title of Squad Captain for Special Operations at the age of 26.

The wind danced his green cape that holds the title of his rank while he walks over to a bunch of cadets panting after running laps for hours under the beaming hot sun.

“Take a break and come back after 5 minutes, don’t even bother coming late” Levi watched as the soldier in front of him salute and instantly went to do their business.

He looked up to the sky to see a bunch of birds flying across the sky. He wanted something, yet he can't put the right words into it. Maybe he even needed it instead of want.

Aiming at the sky with his rifle, he shoots at the sky, causing a bird to fall in front of a cadet, making him caught off guard.

‘A bunch of pussies ’ Levi thought.

A loud bang from the door causing you and Historia to flinched while lying on the bed on your stomach. The both of you have been catching up with each other for almost an hour now with a bunch of stories about her school.

You heard your mom called you and your sister saying that it's already dinner time, so both of you went down to the kitchen.

Your father was already sitting at the dining table while reading a book while your mom prepares the plates and utensils to the table. You didn’t manage to help since, by the time you have sat, your mother was already finished preparing the table.

As all of you started to eat, no one bothered to engage in a conversation, and it bothers you because you feel awkward the entire time. Luckily for you, your mother is the first one to talk.

“How's college? You didn't come home for almost two years.”

You grip on your fork tightly, you had hoped to yourself that one of them would ask how you are doing, but here they are asking you how college is.

You compose yourself before answering her question. “I'm sorry, I'm just busy, but college is fine. I'm doing great academically, and I am passing my subjects.”

Your mother nods at your response before she returns to her food.

“At least be a responsible sister to Historia, the poor girl kept asking for you last year. I did not raise to be irresponsible,” your father coldly said while giving you a bored stare.

You want to cry at that moment.

No, you want to scream.

You're trying; your mind was filled with thought and screamed inside your head, but you managed to give an apologetic smile to your father.

“I'm sorry, father, I will do better next time.”

You can't look at them in the eyes because if you do, you know youll burst into tears and don’t wanna embarrass yourself in front of your family.

You excused yourself from the dinner by making up an excuse that you're tired.

You are.

Once you entered your room, you quickly took a shower before throwing yourself at your bed to rest.

You're tired from the travel, and you're exhausted from holding yourself back from anything and anyone.

‘fuck you, universe,’ you thought to yourself.

“Take me home, universe, I know I'm not home, take me to my home universe, whatever the cost is,” you softly mumbled to yourself a bunch of times before closing your eyes as you took a deep breath.

You stayed like that until you fall asleep while hugging your pillow.

“Sol, I know you're tired from celebrating but get up before the higher ranks get mad” a faint voice made you groan from disturbing your sleep.

You don’t know what time it is, but you want more sleep, so you rolled over to the other side of the bed.

Not a minute had passed, but a pillow was slammed into your arms, and a voice quickly followed it. “Sol, I woke you up, don’t tell me I didn’t, get up and get ready, Armin, and I won't wait for you.”

A couple of silence before footsteps can be heard, then the sound of a door closing.

You stayed in that position for a couple of minutes before opening your eyes wide open and sat on the bed.

You saw a bed beside yours and a bunch of books on the table beside your bed.

You're not in your room.

You don’t know where you are.

#levi fanfiction #levi ackerman #levi fic #levi #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x reader #levi aot #levi au #levi attack on titan #levi fanfic slow burn #aot fanfiction #aot x y/n #aot #aot x reader #hurt comfort #captain levi

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years ago

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Sunday 17 December 1837

8 50

11 25

stood dawdling undressed above ½ hour assorting London newspapers till felt that I had got a little cold in my head – fine soft morning and F44° at 10 ½ at which hour breakfast – and Greenwood came as I entered the breakfast room and sat with me while I breakfasted and till 1 pm – brought Mr. Roger Ives’ plan of the upper Northgate ground = 1 acre+ up to the church laid out in 26 gardens – to be let at 1 1/2d. per square yard – the masons at Northgate (Robert Wharton and lads) do nothing – a mere waste of my money – said I would send Booth or his foreman Edward Waddington to speak to G- G-‘s man thinks of taking Tathams’ shop furniture and carrying on the shop – G- to send him here to sign his agreement as tenant – a meeting of the Northgate Unitarian chapel-goers to be held tomorrow to consider the terms to be offered to G- for ground – G- will give ground on the south side for liberty to block the chapel windows on the north by building up to the chapel – I said this should be well considered – if this privilege was granted the road might be stopped along the north side of the chapel – and turned along the east end of the chapel and up G-‘s new street and if he and I could agree might pass thro’ my sheep croft in a straight line into Windinginhill lane – mentioned Wilson’s little measure (11 instead of 13 loads of coal as paid for) G- said Stocks was worse – from 1 to 2 assorting morning Heralds again and making memoranda from them – off to church at 2 20 in the rain which had come on soon after 1 – found our clock more too soon than I expected – found the clergyman Mr. Young of Risleworth school and his son still at Cliff Hill – got out for a few minutes – just saw Mrs. AW. and invited and took Mr. Y- to go inside (the rain heavyish) and his son on the rumble with Edward to church – Mr. Younger did all the duty – preached 26 minutes (fairly enough) from General Epistle of James V.8. on the coming of Jesus Xst is nigh – ½ hour at Cliff hill and home at 5 40 – Mrs. AW. looked ill and complained of great weakness – her face and lips swollen and towards the end of our visit she could not speak much from expectoration which last is more likely to cause her weakness than the blister behind her ear (put on last Tuesday night) which she seems to blame having caused the weakness – dressed – dinner at 6 ½ - tea at 8 – read the morning Herald – wrote all the above of today till now 10 pm Sam Booth (slept at home last night on account of having poultice applied to one eye) slept tonight (1st time of anybodys’ sleeping there) in the tower low closet in little double up bed made on purpose for George to sleep in – ten till 10 40 making memoranda for Journal index – came upstairs at 10 ¾ at which hour F50° - rainy afternoon and evening – stopt the clock 20 minutes

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

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Catch Me If You Can (29/40)

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

But then he came back and won the World Series.

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

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: You all remain the best! If you celebrate any holidays this week, all the best to you! This will probably be the only chapter this week because I’ll be traveling, so I hope you enjoy!

Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for her awesome work as my beta! ❤️

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-/-

“Isn’t that your second hot dog of the day?”

Emma stops in the middle of her bite of what is frankly one of the most delicious hot dogs she’s ever eaten – apologies to all of the vendors at Yankee Stadium because Fenway Park might have them all beat today – to look over at Robin and roll her eyes. At least it wasn’t Will who said it. He hates hot dogs, and while that’s probably good for the health of his heart, she is fully enjoying the fact that she’s devouring this thing even if it does mean that she’ll end up on the Jumbotron at some point.

That sick joke is never going to end. Being shown eating ballpark food is going to be her legacy. Maybe one day she’ll write a book about it.

It’ll be a horrible book, and the synopsis will probably read something about her being the woman who was asked out live on television by a baseball player and said no so that people will recognize her. .

But with very good food mentioned.

A segment on TV where she tries out all of the stadium food would probably be better.

“And what of it?” she mumbles to Robin, covering her mouth with her hand as she chews. “I’m hungry because I didn’t eat breakfast, and this game is going on forever. I want to go back to the hotel and sleep, and you guys are keeping me from it.”

“I’ll try to play faster for you, lass.”

“That’s all I ask. Throw your strikes in quicker succession. Allow a few less hits.”

Silence settles back between the two of them as they watch Will hit his third foul in a row. She should probably be writing that down or doing something with it, but honestly, Emma’s only really hiding out in the dugout because there’s shade and close access to air-conditioning. She already did all of her pre-game coverage and can pretty much chill to the end despite the fact that this the final Red Sox series of the season. A part of her wishes that she was up in a booth commentating, but she knows that she’s not going to get to do that too often. She’s mostly going to be the on-field girl for the rest of this season.

There’s always next year, though. David said it went over really well, especially considering what happened with Killian during the game, and all Emma can do is take a deep breath and let things play out. She can’t control any of it.

Easier said than done.

“Did he really not tell you?” Robin asks. She nearly chokes on her food. Maybe she shouldn’t be eating this. “Killian, I mean.”

Emma quickly glances around and sees that no one is paying attention, nearly everyone leaning up over the railing to watch the game, but it doesn’t keep her from leaning back into the bench and making herself smaller so that she’s as far away from everyone as possible.

“He really didn’t tell me,” she whispers, her fingers fumbling with the chain around her neck. “About any of it.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Robin is shaking the conversation off, but she’s curious. “What? You have to tell me now.”

He sighs, and Emma kind of gets the feeling that Robin sees Killian more like a younger brother than a friend sometimes. He and Liam should really make a club or something. They’d probably stress themselves out too much. She knows that she does, and she’s only been worrying about Killian’s overall well-being for five months. They’ve been worrying about it for decades.

“It really is nothing. I just – I’ve been around Killian for a long time. I was there when he cut his dad off, when he and Milah broke up, when all of the women happened after her. And I have so many vivid memories of taking Roland over to Killian’s apartment after the accident just so we could cheer him up, you know? Killian was there for me after my wife passed, and I always wanted to be there for him. So, I guess, it’s simply a bit difficult for me to understand how he couldn’t tell any of us this.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

In all of her own hurt, Emma never actually seriously thought about Robin or Will or Ariel and how this was affecting all of them. She knew that it was, but she was so caught up in her own mind that thinking about this giant support system that Killian has wasn’t really her biggest priority.

Her biggest priority was that bag of salt and vinegar chips.

“I think he was scared.” Emma shrugs her shoulders, trying to play off the little bit of lingering hurt that she still has. “I think that it doesn’t matter how much he trusts all of us because his fear was taking over him. He’s always so worried about being a disappointment, and he probably couldn’t bear to disappoint you again.”

A loud cheer erupts around the stadium, and Emma looks at the monitor inside the dugout to see Will’s ball being caught in the outfield just as he runs over first base. Damn. Five more feet, and he could have scored.

“How is he?”

“Hmm?”

“Killian,” Robin continues. “How is he? Actually?”

“I think,” Emma sighs, stretching out her legs, “that he’d feel a lot better if he got a call from you instead of the two of us talking about him when there’s baseball to be played.”

“Oi,” Will mutters as he walks down the steps to the dugout, everyone slapping his shoulders and his ass, “I hate Boston.”

“You’re from here, Scarlet.”

“Yeah, well, playing here makes me feel like the damn Joker.”

“To be fair,” Emma sighs as she gets up from the bench so that she can stand to watch the game, “the Joker is one of the best characters, and you do have that creepy smile going on.”

“And for that, I’m telling Belle to not serve you dessert at our wedding.”

“You can’t take dessert privileges away from me.”

“I’m the groom.”

“Yeah, but I’m friends with the bride, and that’s all that matters.”

“Scarlet,” Al yells over at them, “stop trying to get Ms. Swan to give you a better exclusive and figure out how to hit a better ball.”

“Geesh,” Will moans, dropping his helmet to the ground and wiping off the sweat from his buzzed hair, “I guess his date didn’t go well yesterday.”

Emma’s head quickly snaps around, and she steps down from her position next to Eric to walk back over to Will and Robin before whispering, “Al had a date last night?”

Will’s brow arches. “You didn’t know?”

“How the hell would I know that Al had a date?”

“Because it was with a teacher from your sister-in-law’s school. His nephew apparently goes there, and they met at some event. Jasmine something.”

A lightbulb goes off in Emma’s head, a slight memory of meeting a Jasmine at David’s birthday party back in March. What a small world. She’s going to have to text Mary Margaret after this because there is no way Mary Margaret didn’t know about that.

“Huh,” Emma breathes out, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down at Al as he paces back and forth looking down at his phone. “Well, maybe it did go well, and he’s just in a bad mood because you guys are getting your asses beat.”

“Go back to your reporting,” Will mutters under his breath. Robin barks out a laugh at that, and even though it’s really weird not having Killian here, a little bit of the world rights itself then having the two of them teasing her like they seem to like to do.

Even if they do lose 1- 6.

It doesn’t matter. They’re 92-50 for the season with only a handful of games left. They’ll probably officially qualify for the play-offs next week even if everyone has known for a while now. Everything from here on out is basically a bonus.

A really damn good bonus.

-/-

They end up winning the next three games in the Red Sox series in what turns out to be some pretty boring games that have Emma struggling to come up with any more interesting questions to ask everyone. It’s easy to talk to the guys that she’s close to because of Killian, but sometimes it’s a struggle to talk to the others without feeling like she’s simply being repetitive. But August and Phillip smile and charm their way through their interviews, as they always do, and the three minutes that she spends talking to Arthur after he hits a grand slam are pretty much three of the most torturous minutes of her life.

There have been no more incidents with him, at least that she knows of, but a shiver still runs down her spine when she thinks of the words he said about her back in London.

Things like that change the way a person feels in their workspace, and even though she’s done a pretty damn good job at pushing the niggling fears down, sometimes they do come back to haunt her and make her worry about what other kind of disaster is lurking around the corner and waiting for her to get comfortable before it attacks.

But , despite missing having Killian to travel with even if the hotel beds are surprisingly very comfortable with just her in it, Emma would definitely count Boston as a success.

After all, their hot dogs were really good.

-/-

David: MM and I are going to Mom’s this weekend, and I know that you have the weekend off. Why don’t you come with us and ask Killian to join?

Emma’s phone dinged with that text five hours ago, before the game against the Tigers even started, and while it initially made her heart beat a little quicker than usual, she forgot about it as she got engrossed in work and trying to help Jeff with the camera issues they were having. It was pretty much a disaster, one that took about five years off of her life, and she ended up having to work next to one of the network’s cameras that films the game for the few times they went to her.

Jeff simply muttered a few curses under his breath and then said he was glad for the day off.

But the game is over now, the Tigers winning by one run in the bottom of the ninth, and even though the game didn’t really matter, it still stings a bit. Now she’s staring at this text, and even though she and Killian have talked about going to Portland so he can meet Ruth, it was supposed to be when the season was over. It wasn’t supposed to be this soon.

She wants to go, and she wants to take Killian. But the nerves over the whole thing are definitely still there. She’s no longer mad at Killian or worried about making future-type plans (okay, well, overly worried), but having him meet Ruth in three days is a bit overwhelming.

What if she doesn’t like him?

That’s a ridiculous thought. Emma knows that it is. But the demons in her mind stay active even if their presence is a little less obvious than it used to be.

Life is weird. Seriously.

And she should really bite the bullet and text David back that she’ll talk to Killian about it.

Everything will be just fine, and a weekend away full of home cooked meals and a place with a backyard sounds really damn nice even if her bed at home will have to wait for her return a little longer.

Emma: I’ll call Killian and ask him if he’s free this weekend.

David: You’ve been away for a week, and those are the days you’re coming home. He’ll be free.

Emma: How could you possibly know that?

David: Because I am a man who knows what it’s like to be away from the woman I love for a few days.

Emma: Ew, gross. Don’t go there.

David: How do you know I was going somewhere gross?

Emma: I had a feeling.

Emma closes out her messages and swipes over on her phone so that she can call Killian, pressing the option to FaceTime him since she’s apparently sappily in love and sentimental and wants to see that handsome face of his.

It’s a very handsome face. Seriously. She’s very happy with her life choices right now.

Killian answers the call, and when he comes into view, she can see that handsome face as well as the faces of approximately thirty stuffed animals surrounding him in what can only be described as a weird pop music video.

“Hello, my love,” Killian greets with an absolutely gigantic smile that has the lines around his eyes crinkling. Her heart is definitely doing that thing where it stutters whenever he calls her by that particular endearment.

“Hey.” Emma smiles into the phone and ignores how lopsided her bun looks in her little picture in the corner. “Who are all of your friends?”

“Ah, well, they all have names, but I’m remiss to say that I can’t actually remember them all right now. But I’ve been sequestered into Addy and Lucy’s playroom.”

“And where are they?”

“Elsa just came and got them for dinner. I meant to go join them, but then you called.”

“That seems like a pretty flimsy excuse. I think you just wanted to hang out with all of the stuffed animals.”

“You’ve bested me there, Swan.” He smiles again, and instead of her heart doing that stuttering thing, it aches a little bit. That’s ridiculous. She shouldn’t actually miss him like that. It’s only been a few days even if it feels so much longer since they barely got anytime to be back together before she was hopping on a plane to Boston. “What are you up to tonight?”

Emma shrugs her shoulders. “You’re looking at it. I think I might do a face mask because my skin feels gross. I also might paint my nails. Real exciting stuff over here.”

“I might help with Addy’s spelling homework, so it’s even more exciting over here.”

She laughs and shakes her head a bit before getting up from the bed and taking her phone with her to the bathroom. She might as well wash her face while she’s thinking about it instead of inevitably forgetting whenever it’s time to go to bed. Emma props her phone up against the vanity so that Killian has a particularly nice view of the underside of her chin and starts her routine by wiping of the makeup from today. Most of it has already sweated itself off, but the remaining is all of the product that likes to be stubborn about coming off. Killian tells her about his day, which pretty much consisted of physical therapy and picking the girls up from school before taking them to Liam and Elsa’s townhome and being smothered in stuffed animals.

As awful as it is for Killian to have to sit on the sidelines, he looks so damn happy just to be able to spend more time with his family. She knows that he sees them a lot, much more than most people do, but he’s always got some place to go or somewhere to be during this time of the year that the visits usually aren’t long. And Emma swears that he gets a few months of his life back every time Killian gets to spend time with Addy or Lucy.

It’s like magic.

That’s kind of how she feels when she gets to spend time with her family too.

Emma opens up the jar of her face mask and dips her finger insider before spreading the green clay over her chin.

“I didn’t know my girlfriend was secretly Shrek.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I am not dignifying that with a response.”

“You look positively charming, love. I think the green is a very good color on you. Brings out your eyes.”

Emma scoffs and ignores the waggle of Killian’s eyebrows while she rubs the mask in the space between her own brows. “So, if you stop being an asshole for a second, I have something I wanted to ask you.”

“Is it how I stay devilishly handsome all the time?”

“No, I was saving that for our next conversation.”

“Ah, ah, gotcha,” he sighs, shifting against the stuffed animals until he’s sitting up and the hair that had been pushed behind him is falling in front of his face. “Go on then, Swan.”

Emma brings her bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it with a pop. “How do you feel about going to Portland this weekend with David, Mary Margaret, and Leo?”

“Are you not coming?”

“I was implied in that list.”

“Well, I don’t know, love. If it was just Dave, Mary Margaret, and Leo, I would of course go to spend some time with Ruth. Now that I know that you’re going to be there – ”

“Shut up. You’re lucky that you’re hundreds of miles away. I can’t slap you from all the way over here.”

“Kinky.”

Killian barks out a laugh at his own joke, his head thrown back with the joy of it all, and all Emma can do is shake her head at him. He’s in rare form tonight with his jokes and teasing and that ever-present smile on his face.

Well, no. He’s not in rare form. This is how he always is, but it’s been awhile since she’s seen him be carefree enough to actually feel this good.

It’s a beautiful sight.

“I will make it worth your while if you come.”

The downright dirty smirk that graces Killian’s face after she utters those words makes a shiver run down her spine and regret settle in her stomach for all of the things she just set him up for.

“Worth my while, then?” Killian prods, raising that brow a little further. “What does that entail, exactly? Are you going to come home early and immediately fall into bed to me? Or do you have a nice set of lingerie in that suitcase of yours that we’re about to put into good use despite the fact that you have a green face right now?” Killian gasps, something overdramatic and self-indulgent, and Emma can barely keep herself from laughing even if the tone of his voice is something close to sinful. “Are you going to seduce me in your childhood bedroom, Swan? Is that it? Is that what will make it worth my while?”

“I mean, I was kind of thinking we’d book a flight so we don’t have to spend seven hours cramped in a car together with the Nolans. They play very intense road trip games. Singing is involved.”

His face only falls a little bit. “Damn, okay. Yeah, I’m all for flying there, but I could also drive us. It wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“I’m pretty sure elevating your shoulder for that long is not what you’re supposed to be doing.”

“You make a good point.”

“I tend to.” There’s a knock at Emma’s hotel room door, and she tenses for a second before taking a step to the side and pressing up on her toes to look out the keyhole to find Ariel standing there in a pair of white pajamas with little red bows on them. Emma opens the door, forgetting about her face and Killian for a second. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“A few of us are going to eat pizza in mine and Eric’s room, and I was trying to invite you but I couldn’t get you to answer your phone.”

“Oh,” Emma sighs, looking back into the bathroom to the direction of her phone. “Sorry about that. I was talking to Killian, and I – ”

Ariel’s shoulders perkperk s up, and she steps inside the room without asking, which Emma has learned is pretty par for the course when it comes to Ariel. Emma closes the door behind her and walks into the bathroom to grab her phone, where Killian is still waiting in the screen, and she hands the phone over to Ariel because she knows that’s what she wanted anyways.

Plus, her face mask is starting to crack, and she’s got to get this gunk off of her. The water drowns out the sound of the conversation happening in the bedroom, but as soon as she turns it off, she can hear Killian talking.

“No, A,” Killian sighs, “I am not overexerting myself. Yes, I have talked to Rob this week. No, I didn’t watch last night’s game. You know you can just text me, right? You didn’t have to steal Emma’s phone.”

“I didn’t steal her phone. She handed it to me.”

“You basically stole it.”

“I did not.”

Emma laughs under her breath before walking into the bedroom. Those two are ridiculous. Their friendship makes no sense, but Emma knows they wouldn’t survive without each other.

Seriously.

“Babe, Ariel did not steal my phone. You’re just complaining because I gave you away to her without warning.”

“I am not,” he scoffs, and when she can finally see his face again, the tips of his ears are noticeably red. “Where’d your green face go?”

“Washed it off.” Emma settles down on the bed next to Ariel who scoots over for her. “So, what is this I hear about you talking to Robin? Did you guys finally hash out all of your emotional issues about your penchant for keeping secrets?”

“I still can’t believe he did that,” Ariel tells her, an exasperated look on her face.

“I would say welcome to the club, but you’re already an established member.”

“I feel like I could be co-chair or vice president or something.”

“You might be able to be president.”

“No, you or someone from his family gets that role, I think.”

“Really, because – ”

“The two of you are never allowed to go anywhere without me ever again,” Killian interrupts, and they both turn from each other back down to the phone screen.

“It’s funny you say that because I have planned a vacation with all of the women in your life, and all we’re going to do is plot ways to make you miserable.”

“You are not funny, A.”

“I think you’re hysterical,” Emma combats, winking at Killian. “But seriously. You talked to Robin? Did you tell him the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ spiel?”

“Yes, love, I used the cliché breakup line to explain to Robin that it had nothing to do with my trust in him and everything to do with me being a cowardly asshole.”

“And he accepted it?”

“Yep,” he murmurs. “He accepted it, and we’re all sunshine and roses now. Seriously. We probably talked for an hour or two this morning.”

“Good,” Emma breathes out, a smile on her face. She’s so relieved that they talked. She’s kind of been far too worried about it since she and Robin talked about it in the dugout a few days ago. “I’m going to text you later, okay? I’m going to go stuff my face with pizza with everybody.”

“Yeah, Swan, that sounds nice. Have fun. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Bye, Ariel,” Killian says, waving his hand. “Please don’t plot my death while you guys eat pizza.”

“I make no promises.”

The phone disconnects, and Emma places it on the bed next to her before scooting away from Ariel to give her some space since their bodies were pretty much aligned during that conversation.

“He’s happy today.”

“Hmm?” Emma asks, not really hearing Ariel’s words, her mind still replaying all of the craziness of her conversation with Killian.

“Killian,” Ariel says, smiling at Emma. “He’s happy. Like, he’s got that fresh glow of a man in love. It’s just nice to see is all. I like that you make him happy.”

“Oh no,” Emma protests with a shake of her head. She gets up from the bed, too flustered to stay still, and reaches down into her suitcase for her moisturizer simply to have something to do with her hands. “I don’t – that’s not on me. That’s on Killian and how he’s got a lot of really good people around him. I know I wasn’t around for the last lay-off, but I know it was rough. I think he’s in a better headspace now, even if it did have a rough start.”

Emma dips her finger into the container and swipes the cream across her forehead while she tries to regulate her breathing. She knows where this conversation is going. Ariel is very much like Mary Margaret in all of her love and hope for good in the world, and she likes to talk about these things like big emotional moments aren’t a difficult thing to talk about.

“You’re one of those people he’s got around him, though,” Ariel continues, and Emma keeps rubbing her hands in circles across her face. “Killian is one of my best friends in the world. I know him almost as well as I know my own husband, and I know that he’s so much happier now because of you. That’s a good thing.”

“I know. I’m just – ”

“Scared?” Ariel gets up from the bed and walks over to Emma so that Emma can see her face and see the hopeful smile that resides there. “Does it make you feel better that I’m still scared?”

“No,” Emma laughs, something that settles her stomach a bit. “How would that make me feel better? That sounds like a nightmare. You’ve been married for half a decade.”

“Love is always scary. You never know what’s going to happen when you wake up in the morning. Like, ever. I don’t know if Eric and I are going to have a day where it’s like we’re on our honeymoon again or a day where the sound of him chewing is going to get on my nerves. But I love him, and I love getting to have him be by my side every day. He’s not the sole reason I’m happy, but he’s a big part of it. I think it’s the same with you and Killian. That’s a good thing.”

“Have you ordered a really nasty pizza? Is that why you’re trying to butter me up?”

Ariel laughs and walks toward Emma but seems to step back from giving her a hug. “No, I’m trying to butter you up because I hear you can do all kinds of braids, and I’ve never quite been able to figure out the Dutch braid.”

“Luckily for you, I am an expert in that.”

“Good. Now, come on. We’ve got to go before the boys eat all of the pizza.”

“Who all is in there?”

“Just Will, Robin, and Eric.”

“Well, shit,” Emma laughs as she grabs her phone and her hotel key. “You’re right. They are going to eat it all before we get there.”

Emma follows Ariel out into the hall and follows her down the hallway to the stairwell so they can walk up the two flights of stairs to everyone else’s floor. Before they even enter the room, Emma can hear the three of them laughing. Sure enough, once the door is open, they’re each spread out across the room – Will on the couch, Eric on the bed, and Robin sitting in the desk chair – and pizza boxes litter the room along with beer bottles. Emma has been around professional athletes for most of her adult life, and she’s never seen a group of them so consistently break their nutrition plan like this team.

Not that it bothers her. Though, tomorrow she is eating a hell of a lot of fruit and vegetables to make up for it.

She says that a lot. It usually works.

“Emma,” Will yells as she walks into the room. He holds up his half-eaten slice as a greeting. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I was almost afraid I was going to forget what you looked like.”

“Am I still as beautiful as you remember?”

“Eh, you’re looking a little rough right now.”

“Asshole,” Emma laughs, walking toward the desk and opening a box to grab a piece of pizza. “What about you, Robin?”

He points to himself. “Are you asking if I’m still as beautiful as you remember since I saw you last? Because I personally think I’ve become more attractive.”

Emma snorts, actually snorts, and she doesn’t bother trying to cover it up before plopping herself down on the bed next to Ariel and Eric, squishing herself down on the mattress. It’s not the best pizza in the world, not even close, but the company is top notch and not something Emma would like to ever trade for anything.

In the past, she’s never gained friends from a relationship. Neal had all kinds of people in his life, but they were always temporary. She’d meet them once, ask about them two weeks later, and then Neal would claim to not know who she was talking about. He was always onto the next thing and the next group of people who could help him get what he wanted. Walsh had friends, a group of people he’d met through some kind of club for antique furniture, but they were all obnoxious and unfriendly. She didn’t want to be friends with them, and they certainly didn’t want to be friends with her.

And maybe it has helped Emma now that she already knew most of the people in Killian’s life because of her work, but they’re all so welcoming and supportive that she couldn’t imagine them not getting along.

Usually it helps that Killian is around, but this past week, it’s been kind of nice to get to talk to all of them simply because they want to talk to her. For someone who isn’t used to that, Emma thinks that it could become a familiar feeling.

She wants it to.

Emma pulls out her phone later that night and takes a video of everyone talking and laughing. Will is telling some insane story about a caterer who they interviewed for the wedding who wanted to serve all raw food, including meat, and it’s caused an uproar in the conversation. She sends the video to Killian, making sure that the last frame is her smiling at him.

Emma: Wish you were here.

Killian texts her back five minutes later. It’s a picture of him in Addy’s bed, his legs hanging over the end, with both Addy and Lucy draped over him asleep.

Killian: Same here. I don’t think I’ll be moving for the rest of the night. They’re not quite as good of a bedfellow as you.

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

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haleths · 4 years ago

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BIG thank you to @going-there-and-back-again for tagging me in this!! I’m so sorry for the delay, it’s been a busy week ♡ ♡ ♡

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or a blue pen? I used to write in black pen religiously but now I’ll happily use either

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or in the city? Somewhere in between?? I adore the countryside and would absolutely looovveeee to live there, but I’m also very lazy and would lose my mind if I had to drive 30 minutes to find a supermarket

3. If you could learn a new skill, what would it be? Ice skating, skateboarding, rollerblading. Don’t ask me why, I just think people who can do that stuff are cool as HECK

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? Nope. I drink tea no sugar, no milk. Cause I’m hardcore

5. What was your favourite book as a child? Malory Towers, oh my god PLEASE tell me someone else read those as a kid! I fell asleep listening the audio books every night and named all my Barbies after the main characters.....

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? Showers

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would you be? DRAGON. I WNNA BE A DRAGON

8. Paper or electronic books? Paper. Gotta get that new book smell

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? I own the BEST oversized, knitted jumpers. I’m counting down the days till autumn when I can wear them again

10. Do you like your name? Would you like to change it? I really don’t like my name, I never have. My parents were going to call me Juliet which is wayyyy better than Ashleigh. But it would feel weird to answer to any other name at this point, so I’ll probably just leave it...

11. Who is a mentor to you? My therapist??

12. Would you like to be famous? If so, what for? Hmmm, kind of. I value my privacy too much to be like FAMOUS famous, but it’d be nice to be recognised occasionally or be known in society in some lowkey way

13. Are you a restless sleeper? It usually takes me a while to get to sleep but once I’m out, I’m OUT

14. Do you consider yourself to be a romantic person? I’ve not felt a Romantic Feeling™ in over 10 years so you tell me

15. Which element best represents you? Air

16. Who do you want to be closer to? No one. I’m really content with all my relationships atm

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? No (I'm a real people person, can you tell?)

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory: I remember listening to the Shrek soundtrack on repeat and making up dances for each song. I then performed the whole thing one Christmas to my entire family.... let’s move on

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? Ostrich. It tastes kind of like meaty chicken

20. What are you most thankful for? My mental/physical health, my job, my home. I know that lockdown has been hard for many people and I’m very privileged to be able to say that I've been doing just fine. I do not take that for granted and I’m extremely thankful

21. Do you like spicy food? Oooooo yeeessssss, I put paprika on e v e r y t h i n g

22. Have you ever met someone famous? No, but I’m not sure I’d want to. Spotting someone from a distance is fine, but going up and talking to them? Interrupting their day with my incessant rambling? Absolutely not

23. Do you keep a diary or journal? I did for 6 months when I was 13. I get it out sometimes whenever I need a good cringe.

24. Do you prefer to use pen or pencil? Pen for writing, pencil for drawing

25. What is your star sign? Libra sun, Aries moon, Aquarius rising

26. Do you like your cereal crunchy or soggy? Soggy (I’m so sorry)

27. What would you want your legacy to be? Oh god, I don’t know... I’d like to leave the world in a better state than I found it? To have done some good, made some change

28. Do you like reading? What was the last book you read? You see, I want to like reading, but I just suck at it. My concentration goes after like 10 minutes and I often get stuck on one book for months. I’m currently attempting to reread The Silmarillion

29. How do you show someone you love them? By giving them my time and attention. Being alone is my default state so you know that if I’m actively choosing to spend time with you, I must really care about you

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? I guess. I’ll have it at a restaurant for example, but I’d never buy ice to use at home

31. What are you afraid of? F a i l u r e

32. What is your favourite scent? Watermelon, or anything sweet/fruity

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? First name

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? I wouldn’t live it too differently to now tbh. I’d still want to work, I don’t know what I’d do otherwise! I’m really not into possessions so it’s not like I’d be out there living the luxury lifestyle. Obviously money = security so I’d be grateful for that

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? Swimming pools

36. What would you do if you found $50 on the ground? Leave it there?? I wouldn’t want to get involved idk...

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Did you make a wish? No, I never have :(

38. What is one thing you would want to teach your children? Acceptance, of themselves and others

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? It’d have to be something simple, like a symbol or line drawing or something, wherever it would hurt the least

40. What can you hear right now? Kids screaming outside (they’re just playing, it’s fine)

41. Where do you feel the safest? Home, definitely.

42. What is one thing you want to overcome/conquer? My low self-esteem. I think we’d all be unstoppable if we thought more of ourselves

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be? The 80′s for the music. The Renaissance for the art. And Medieval times for the DRAGONS

44. What is your most used emoji? 🙃

45. Describe yourself using one word: Enthusiastic

46. What do you regret the most? I’m not sure that I regret anything... I dropped out of university over 3 years ago so obviously further education was the “wrong” choice for me. But I love my life right now and I’d never have made it here if it wasn’t for the mistakes I made

47. Last movie you saw? Arrival. SO good

48. Last TV show you watched? Sex Education. SO SO good

49. Invent a word and its meaning:

CHESTURE verb | ches • ture 1. The unbearable frustration when you feel when struggling to perform a precise, intricate task e.g. threading a needle ↪ “Damn, I just can’t thread this needle! I am so chestured!”

I’ll throw this out to anyone who’s bored and feels like answering some personal questions ♡ ♡ ♡

#thanks again :)#tag game #long post

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jlf23tumble · 4 years ago

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diggin’ deeper

I was tagged by @promisethatillnevertell, and it’s day three of a metric shit-tonne of work, I need a break, so I’m gonna bore everyone accordingly! I’ll tag @alienfuckeronmain, @newleafover, @got2ghost, @vibey-lesbian, @kerasines, @statementsue, @pattern-pals, @setsailtomorrow, @dulcimerharry, @calmrry and anyone else who wants to! And yeah, LONG, oops!

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? Blue

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? City (I grew up in country)

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? Too many, but probably fluency in at least three languages and/or the ability to draw

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? NO

5. What was your favourite book as a child? The creepy Time-Life series of books on unusual phenomena that my aunt had

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? Showers, the water roar is incredibly soothing

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? Loch Ness monster (I really enjoy Scotland, okay?)

8. Paper or electronic books? Paper

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? Anything with roomy pockets

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? It’s incredibly generic, but nah, wouldn’t change it! You gotta live with and own it!

11. Who is a mentor to you? The whole mentor/mentee dynamic is inherently flawed because it puts the mentor on some kind of god-like pedestal, while the mentee just laps it up, but there are plenty of people (real and fake-real) who give off that inspiration sensation

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? NO

13. Are you a restless sleeper? Very much so

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? Absolutely!

15. Which element best represents you? Water

16. Who do you want to be closer to? Dunno, I’m not one to pine silently, I tend to throw myself in and get chatty if I’m interested in being closer

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? In this quarantined economy? Very much so, yes, and very many!

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. One of my aunts lives in Alaska, and I remember we flew up there when I was really young one summer--I could not wrap myself around it being so light all night! Who can sleep like that??

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? My grandma was big on making really fucked-up, very white lady, 1950s-style jello salads, like, literally lettuce and carrots and tomatoes encased in jello (topped with mayo “dressing”)

20. What are you most thankful for? Friends and family!

21. Do you like spicy food? YES, and with it being so hot lately, I’m craving the spicy cold noodles I tend to get this time of year with a friend up in Koreatown

22. Have you ever met someone famous? I’ve met tons of famous people, but I’ve only hugged Jeff Goldblum and Orville Peck (separate occasions, of course)

23. Do you do you keep a diary or journal? No, not since middle school (and that was a disaster, so never again)

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? Pen

25. What is your star sign? Pisces

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? Crunchy

27. What would you want your legacy to be? That I made someone someone laugh when they needed it most

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? I LOVE READING, I love it so much I get paid to do it, lmao, but the last book I read for fun is something I’m still midway through, Mindy Kaling’s “Why Not Me”

29. How do you show someone you love them? I gift them with weird things I think they’ll like (either IRL or virtually)

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? Yep!

31. What are you afraid of? Flying

32. What is your favourite scent? The ocean

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? Uh, what? Their name!! What, I’m just gonna be some kind of jock who says, “Hey, Jones!”

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? I’d have homes dotted around the world, preferably near friends and family, and I’d visit a lot; when I wasn’t traveling, I’d probably volunteer and/or work on my fluency and drawing skills

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? Pools (I’ve been pulled under too many times in the ocean)

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? If someone’s frantically scanning for it, fork it over, if not, keep half/donate half

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Did you make a wish? I always feel like shooting stars are errant meteors, and I’ve seen too many Russian dashcams to think that what’s hurling toward earth is a good thing

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? To be aware of their privilege and to use it to help people instead of being an asshole

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? “Had to,” please, I have some! And I want more, same place (upper arms)

40. What can you hear now? Various nocturnal trash animals getting up for the night shift, low hum of the ceiling fan, one or two cars

41. Where do you feel the safest? My mom’s house

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? Giving in to self-indulgence, especially if it’s based on something petty or useless

43. Of you could travel back to any era, what would it be? Too many to choose! Most of them equally good/bad!

44. What is your most used emoji? I’m on desktop, bb, can’t help ya!

45. Describe yourself using one word. What?

46. What do you regret the most? Things I either said or didn’t say

47. Last movie you saw? New movie? Probably Star Wars whatever. Old movie? Mildred Pierce (because i rewatched a parody of it called Mildred Fierce and wanted to rewatch the source material)

48. Last tv show you watched? Does the Untamed count as a tv show? It feels like a mini series, but I’m watching that (just finished the 2019 Great British Bakeoff and have a lot of Feelings about it, if you mean something more TV tv)

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning. Chard...a mix of ketchup and mustard

#tag games #this was actually fairly relaxing #long post

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hobohumanitarian6 · 4 years ago

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This is a long post so please be warned!!! I need to get some things off my chest....

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING POSSIBLE⚠️

Feedback to this post is open-ended. You cannot offend me and will not be blocked.

⭐ So here's the thing: one of my late grandmother's friends just posted that her 29 year old son died in his sleep with seemingly no explanation. This really shook me I guess. For one, I used to hang out with this kid during the summers a lot. My specific memories are very vague, but deep in my consciousness I know that I have called him friend in the past. For another, many things lately have been prompting me to ask the difficult questions ie

Why in the fuck am I here?

What's the meaning of it all?

When is my life going to get better?

How do I prepare myself for better things?

Am I blocking me or is something else blocking me?

What am I doing wrong that the universe doesn't think I'm ready for a new chapter?

Am I really with the right person?

What about the afterlife?

Am I going to be silenced or speak out?

What if I can't do some of things I want/dreamed of?

What is going to satisfy me if my future doesn't go as planned?

⭐ I've been doing quite a bit of soul searching through all of this, established the framework of the person I want to be and

BAM! 🧱 💥 🏃🏻‍♀️

Straight into a fucking. Brick. Wall.

⭐ I am in one of the worst continental states in the US (by even statistic) and before all of the shutdown and pandemic began, I had plans to be relocated with my new job, a place to call home & reunited with family by June 1st. Clearly that didn't happen....

⭐ I am spending $900 a month for a 250 ft² motel room just so I am not out on the streets.

Homelessness. Can we talk about that for a second? People getting arrested for being out past curfew because they don't have a place to go, put in jail because they're in the way, not tested or treated for the virus because they generally have no insurance, giving people loads of food stamps so the emergency assistance funding is broke-

600 dollars of groceries is a lot if you have a fridge, freezer, microwave, oven, toaster, etc not if you have to buy your food from overpriced convenience stores and gas stations and fresh food from grocery stores that 70% of the price is for the packaging it comes with!!

Soup kitchens closing because they don't want to risk contamination. Who's feeding those without a hot meal? Do they realize malnourishment is the quickest way to get sick with any pathogen!?

Shelters closed because of overpopulation. Domestic violence homes turning battered women and children away because there's too scarce of resources and funding. Yet people care about big corporations going bankrupt? Please tell me what the difference is between a goddamn human fucking life and a couple lawsuits because you didn't know how to prepare for an ever-changing economy.

Thank the universe i am sheltered with minimal resources to take care of myself and I have a steady job due to an enormous company's "chance on a down-in-the-dumps contractor." This job I have held steadily for a year despite chronic health issues has been the best thing to happen to me by far in a long time. I am definitely not by any means complaining about my job or that I even have life necessities right now. Several million don't have that.

⭐ The problem with this state is there are no resources for a person who's struggling to make an honest living. I lost my apartment two years ago because I had to take a medical leave of absence at my job then, got behind on rent and was evicted without a chance to catch up. The power was cut three nights before I had to leave, and I owe a deposit on the electric company to get any type of service back in my name. The realty company who owns the apartment complex will not allow a payment plan without a fraction of the principle paid down, so therefore I cannot apply for private or realty housing and I have been on the waiting list for federal housing assistance for 3 years without a single word. I also had my bank card stolen with my ID when I was trying to catch a bus to work a few weeks after that so whoever it was made small purchases that my bank applied interest and late charges to so that is also standing in debt. Thank universe my current employer allows direct deposit to a savings account at a bad credit institution or I'd be royally fucked.

⭐ Before I made the hard decision to doll out almost a G a month just for a room, I tried sleeping in my pickup. I even took the effort to pallet it for a platform bed & make benches to live in free campgrounds, cemeteries, truck stops, boonie dead ends, and behind abandoned buildings. I had a 12V converter that I connected to a rice cooker and made a tin can stove to grill small portions of meat on a single-egg mini skillet. I kept getting chased off by rangers, cops, annoying people trying to do crack and not get their lives better, and eventually violently detained for "suspicious activity" - I was thrown on the ground, put in handcuffs, patted down by a male officer with no female present, searched my vehicle without consent & written a citation: this was 2 am, I had a campsite reservation, I was clearly sleeping & my vehicle was current. The officers did not give me their name or numbers so I could not make a report.

⭐ I have chronic health issues - hip dysplasia & hyper mobility (not severe enough to be EDS), anemia, rexhia (NOT PRO ANYTHING), pre diabetes, H.S, BPD, PTSD, endometriosis & chronic migraines. I have filed time and time and time again for medical assistance but have always been denied. Every time I try to see a doctor, they claim I have this-or-that infection caused by this-or-that disorder, sent to an overpriced pharmacy with illness-irritating antibiotics that just keep me in an unending cycle of flares and barely-managable pain. Do not let anyone privileged or wealthy confuse you - you are not treated the same if you don't have coverage. Sorry to say but it is indeed a fact.

⭐ With this job I work 40-50 hours a week, eat as healthy as I can on a dime sized budget, and cover all my expenses. Yet I cannot move forward in this state on to better things. I want so badly to have a family, to go to college, etc but I cannot do this with living month to month someplace that isn't even my own.

⭐ The emotional affect this has had on me is tremendous. I am embarrassed of my situation, and never allow any guests in fear they'd judge me. I never take any photographs, which is heartbreaking because it has been one of my long-time hobbies. I am extremely guarded and I lie about small details to protect myself. I have severe trust issues and I always hold a dagger at my waist because I have to assume any minute you'll pull out a Glock.

⭐ Naturally I am an empath and this has brought me more compassion and understanding than I ever thought possible. The police brutality against people of color and racism in socio-economic programs truly breaks my heart because as a white female and all the struggles and discrimination I've endured, I can only begin to understand it's 1000x harder for people of color especially. I stand behind your protests 100%. I beseech you, go fight for what you deserve! I will be begging higher powers for your protection indefinitely!

⭐ I have gained a new perspective on non-profit organizations and volunteer work. Some are truly amazing and their stories move people to tears; others are truly wicked stealing from the poor, embezzling cash flow for their own vanities. Please please please research the charity you are interested in thoroughly before getting involved. Volunteer work will always be appreciated- and will teach you many invaluable lessons. If you help these organizations and need help yourself: respect yourself, hold yourself high, and ask for the assistance. They will generally be more inclined to help. If you are turned away, try not to be bitter. Administrators only do as they see fit.

⭐ That's another thing - bitterness. This has been the most vile and roughest character default I've ever had to battle with myself. When you've been through the shit and you can't see the sewer (sts) it's so easy to stay in the dumps. It's so easy to feel entitled because you've clawed your way to the top. It's easy to feel angry with everyone because it's you vs the system. It's so fucking easy to give up completely and stop trying and just lay down and die. It's easy to step in front of a two ton bus, oncoming freight train, taking the entire package of extra strength Excedrin not because you have a migraine, but just not to feel a thing, go completely numb for one single second. It's easy to go down to the head shop and get a nickel bag of weed to chill and get a 5$ pizza and forget you have responsibilities.

IT'S SO FUCKING TOUGH MAN

⭐ Growing up strictly religious, I tend to shy away from Christianity or other "preachy religion" now. I hate having Jesus shoved down my throat at a service before a hot meal on a Tuesday night and the "speaker" automatically assuming I need to stop smoking crack and going to jail and get my life back on track and God will bless me when I'm in the 46% who has never been to county and hold a job while trying to get back on my feet.

ADDICTION IS NOT POVERTY GUYS

I still support people who go to church and speak in tongues if that satisfies them. I still support people who are strictly vegetarian and make a pilgrimage to the mecca if that satisfies them. I still support people who have 7 two week long feasts a year for something that happened 4000 years ago if that satisfies them. I still support people who believe in baptisms for the dead and not drinking coffee if that satisfies them. I still support people who call Jesus the Nazarene and believe that Lucifer the Dark Lord will prevail if that satisfies them. I still support people who call down the power of the moon into their plant babies and give thanks to the triple goddess if that satisfies them. I support religion or practices of all kinds.

I believe I was meant to be tolerant and be good to others. That this life will give back what you put in. That there is a higher power that governs all and it is up to you to determine just what that is to you. Not to tell people what is wrong with their lives just based on your personal story.

⭐ During this pandemic, I have done a lot of soul searching. Journaling, listening to podcasts, listening to seminars on values I'd never know existed, trying to discover who I am. This journey has included empathy training, reiki, yoga, somatic movement, feldenkrais methods, and astral meditation. I just have a list of these questions I'd like answered or given suggestions to:

What do you believe is the meaning of life? Is there any philosophers, speakers, teachers, theologians, writers, musicians etc that can help answer this?

What is your definition of religion in it's rawest form?

Do you know of any resources I may not have thought of?

Is there any criticism you can give good or bad?

Am I focused on one thing and neglecting another?

Do you have any further opinions on the topics listed above?

Do you have a suggestion of the next right step?

Do you have ideas on how I can help with the aforementioned problems?

How do I stop feeling like I'm wasting my time?

How do I find contentment in everything should I die tomorrow?

What is your opinion of the afterlife?

How do you find happiness in the midst of bullshit?

What did a friend/relative/mentor tell you when you were going through an existential crisis?

Have you felt trapped too? Due to the covid or otherwise?

Any curse words, songs, books, movies, etc of use?

🌸🌸I sincerely appreciate any feedback 🌸🌸

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 6 years ago

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Sing Me To Sleep

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky meets a lovely stranger on a commercial flight.

Word Count: 2,062 - One Shot

Bucky fidgeted in his seat as he waited for them to close the cabin doors. No one back at the compound understood why he took commercial flights anywhere. They had jets of their own. They could practically take off and go anywhere at anytime.

But when Bucky wasn’t on a mission, he refused to use that privilege.

Sometimes, he just needed to get away from the soldier’s life.

When missions got a little too bad, he escaped.

But it was a need that was more than just a walk around the surrounding forrest or a long ride on his motorcycle.

Bucky had a map on the wall of his bedroom. It was one of very few things that hung in his mostly bare room. He’d throw a dart at it and wherever it landed, he’d book the next flight out of New York to go there.

He had money. Tony made sure of that, handed him a thick credit card that felt weird in Bucky’s grasp. So, he could easily afford a first class seat. But he went from the Great Depression, to a World War, to a life of brainwashing, to now. He wasn’t comfortable with money or luxury. Therefore, he’d stick to a middle row seat in economy.

He thought the window seat would be empty to the right of him for the flight. But just as they were about to close the cabin doors, he saw a young woman walking down the aisle.

She was wearing business clothes and she looked a little frazzled. Yet somehow he still caught an air of confidence and independence in her strut. Furthermore, she was beautiful. But she also looked exhausted and stressed.

Bucky realized he was unnecessarily staring at her when she stopped at his row.

She gave him and his seat-mate an apologetic look as they moved out of the row to let her get to her window seat.

Any other man would’ve been beaming to be seated next to her. Bucky would’ve been one of them, back in the day. But now he was different. Now she made him nervous and unsure of himself.

She let out a long and heavy sigh, further proving her exhaustion. She must have rushed to the airport right after work. It was 7:30PM on a Friday night and her clothes were much too professional for it to be casual attire.

“Long day?” Oh, God. Was that him? Did he just say that? Aloud?

She glanced at him with an embarrassed smile, now realizing her distress was apparent to the stranger sitting next to her. “Yeah, something like that.”

But he just gave her a lazy and shy grin, immediately regretting trying to talk to her in any way. Who did he think he was, that charming guy from the 30s? No, that man had died long ago.

Then the flight attendant made the announcement that all cellphones had to be turned off or put on airplane mode. Then she apologized that wifi would not be available during the flight.

Bucky swore he could feel the tension leave his seat-mate’s entire body. Like the idea of no one being able to contact her for the next 2 hours was the greatest relief she could ever experience.

He wondered when he became such an empath. Yes, he’d always been ridiculously observant. That was all part of the job. But he felt like he could feel every emotion radiating from her body. Maybe because it had been so very long since he’d been so close to someone he found attractive.

He blinked and shook his head slightly, trying to clear his head.

It took all of his power to stop from keep looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He tried to focus on the TV screen half a foot away from his face.

She had put on an old movie. Something from the 50s or 60s Bucky had guessed. He was still catching up, but learned to recognize identifiers for the time periods of things.

Barely halfway into the flight, he could tell she was starting to fall asleep. Her head was leaned back against her seat, but she didn’t recline it. Sam had once told Bucky that only assholes recline their seats in coach.

Bucky was trying so hard to focus on the stupid movie on his own screen when he suddenly felt a weight on his right shoulder.

She was sound asleep, cheek resting on Bucky’s right shoulder.

He was grateful it wasn’t his left, that her soft skin wasn’t met with cold and hard metal.

If it had been anyone else – absolutely anyone – Bucky would’ve politely and shyly woken them up.

But when he looked down at her, she was so beautiful. It was almost like she was a different young woman. Instead of being powerful and exhausted and beaten down by the day, she looked peaceful and angelic. So Bucky let her stay there. It actually felt nice for someone to be the opposite of scared of him. It took a lot for the body to naturally be at enough ease to fall asleep on the shoulder of the world’s deadliest assassin.

She shivered for a second. It made Bucky want to shimmy his leather jacket off and place it over her. But to do so would a) be creepy and b) be impossible to do without waking her up.

Bucky was glad he could give this stranger this innocent form of comfort, especially after seeing how stressed she had been upon her arrival.

But their flight ended too soon for him.

It felt like only minutes had passed before the pilot was telling the flight crew to prepare for landing.

Bucky didn’t know where to go from there. Should he wake her now? Should he hope that the landing was jarring enough to do it for him?

But they had arrived at their gate, the seatbelt sign went off, and she was still fast asleep.

So Bucky decided to wait for everyone to deplane. That way he wouldn’t have an audience when he woke her. Everyone was preoccupied with grabbing their luggage and getting off as soon as possible that no one noticed the him holding back.

As the last people started grabbing their stuff from the overhead bins, Bucky shook her awake.

“Hey, we’ve landed,” he whispered softly. He didn’t want to frighten her.

Her forehead crunched and she squinted as her eyes opened.

It took her a few seconds to remember where she was. It took her a few more to realize that she had been sleeping on a complete stranger’s shoulder.

She instantly sat up and moved her head away from him.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry. How long was I sleeping on you like that?” She asked with complete and utter horror.

“It’s okay. Really.” Bucky tried to assure her.

“I’m so sorry. I never – I’ve never done that before. I haven’t slept well all week…” Then her words died out, stopping herself from oversharing.

“It’s really okay. It looked like you could use a good nap,” he replied even firmer this time. He added a shy smile for good measure.

He started moving out of his seat and grabbed his duffle bag from overhead.

“Do you have a bag I can grab?” He asked her politely.

She was still embarrassed and shook her head before also shimmying out of their row.

They were the last two to deplane. Bucky gave a polite ‘thank you’ to the pilots and crew as they exited.

“You in town for work?” He asked her. Now that she felt bad about sleeping on him for half the flight, he felt a little braver about talking to her.

They were inside their gate now.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, like all of the stress from when she entered that flight had suddenly come back.

“No. No, I’m here for my sister-in-law’s baby shower,” she didn’t bother hiding the monotony she felt toward the upcoming event.

But she turned the attention to him before he could ask her about it further. “How about you…?”

Bucky realized she was waiting for him to give his name.

“Shit. I’m sorry. My ma would smack me upside my the head for my lack of manners.” Where had his old Brooklyn accent com from?

“I’m Bucky,” he introduced as he held out his right hand.

Her eyes immediately narrowed and she tilted her head slightly, but still shook his hand.

“I thought you looked familiar…” she muttered evenly.

Bucky tensed. It was one thing to be the infamous Winter Soldier, but add his quirky name and people almost almost put two and two together.

He waited for her to look uncomfortable. It was usually the default reaction when people realized who he really was, but were too polite to be outwardly scared of him.

“Y/N,” she finally said.

Bucky gave her his classic, charming smile. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

She just nodded slowly. “Sorry – again – for falling asleep on your shoulder.”

He looked at the ground. “Would it be creepy to say that it was kind of nice?”

To his surprise, she laughed. “No…because I would have to agree.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped up.

She smiled mischievously and started backing away. “It was nice meeting you Bucky Barnes.”

He had a side smirk on his lips. “It was nice meetin’ ya too, doll.” He muttered so quiet that she would never catch it.

She’d walked a few feet when she turned around again. “Oh, and thank you.”

He brow furrowed. “For what?”

She smiled at his confusion. “For always saving the world!” She called back.

Bucky blinked. No one had ever addressed him as a hero. Only children, really. And he suspected it was because it usually happened when he was with Sam and Steve, the actual heroes. ——————

A couple weeks later, Bucky was back in the Avenger’s compound. He was sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee, and reading the newspaper.

Steve was sitting a couple seats down from him with his own cup of coffee. But he was drawing in his sketchbook instead of reading.

It was peaceful. Bucky didn’t need to always be talking to someone or for someone to always be talking to him. Steve seemed to be one of the few people that understood that sometimes Bucky just needed the presence of a loved one.

But their little bubble of domesticity was intruded when Nat came slithering quietly in.

Bucky decided to ignore her. Meanwhile, Steve looked up from his drawing to give her a polite smile.

But Bucky was further interrupted when he heard the sound of paper being slid across the counter toward him.

He glanced down to see that it was a profile printed out. There was a photo of a woman, a woman he recognized immediately, a woman he hadn’t stopped thinking of since they fell asleep on his shoulder.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N” was printed in a large font at the top. It was followed by her age, hometown, occupation, even current address, and other various information.

His eyes widened and shot up to meet Nat’s awaiting gaze. She was smirking knowingly.

Then Bucky turned to his best friend and gave him an accusatory glare. “You told Nat about her?” He growled.

Steve tried to look innocent. “I knew she could help! You seemed so smitten when you got home after that trip.”

“Her cell’s on their too,” Nat added with a wink before disappearing.

Bucky stared at the number.

Suddenly Steve was behind him, looking at the file as his hand gripped Bucky’s shoulder.

“What have we learned about waiting too long?” He asked Bucky. “Call her, punk.” With that, Steve left the kitchen too.

Bucky knew both his friends had a point. He was mostly upset that his cowardice was so blatantly pointed out to him.

With a shaky hand, he pulled his cellphone out of his back pocket. He pressed the numbers slowly, careful not to mess up the order.

He put the phone to his ear and listened to the rings.

“Hello?”

“Is–Is this Y/N?” He asked nervously.

“You know, for an Avenger, I thought you’d track down my number a lot faster.”

-----------------------------

I’m creatively stunted when it comes to starting a new series. So hopefully these one-shots are enough for now.

#bucky barnes one shot #buck x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #meet cute #marvel reader insert #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic

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rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars · 5 years ago

Text

a matter of circumstance, a General Danvers fanfiction | part one

Back at it with the Supergirl fanfiction I really shouldn’t be writing with exams coming up. :)

Find it here on Ao3.

Summary:

Astra In-Ze follows the red string around her wrist across galaxies.

The General Danvers Soulmate!AU nobody asked for.

A/N: Follows a list of 50 one word prompts. Will be posted in five chapters filling in ten words each.

01. hidden

Even though she knows that no one else can see it, Astra wears long sleeves to keep the crimson string around her wrist hidden.

No one else on Krypton has one, not even Alura. She knows this because she has asked, and the memory of her twin’s wide-eyed confusion and worry at her words still makes her feel sick even now, days later.

They are identical in every other way except this, and it unsettles Astra like nothing else does. So she wears long sleeves and tries not to notice any little flashes of red in the periphery of her vision when she moves.

02. flowers

She is eleven when tries to follow it, just to see where it might take her.

After leading her out of the house and into the gardens, the cord simply begins to stretch up into the sky and hopelessly out of reach.

Please Rao, she thinks, staring up at the distant red sun with pleading eyes. What is the point of tying this silly string around my wrist if I can’t even see where it ends?

If the Sun God has answers, He doesn’t see fit to share them with her.

After a moment, Astra lowers her gaze to glare down towards the ivory flowers bursting into bloom near her feet. She kicks at the soil with the tip of her shoe before turning back towards the house and stomping off to look for her data orb.

If Rao won’t give her an answer, she’ll find one herself.

It’s not until she’s halfway to the rooms she shares with Alura that she remembers to pull down her sleeve.

03. joy

When Alura tells her that she is going to be an aunt, Astra feels practically incandescent with joy.

“Jor-El and I have approval from the Council to implant our DNA into the Birthing Matrix as soon as we like,” Alura continues, beaming. “We want you to be there with us when our child is ready to be born.”

“Rao himself would not be able to keep me away on that blessed day,” Astra vows, reaching out to drag her sister into a fierce embrace.

Astra herself has never considered petitioning for a child- her commitment to the military guild supersedes any glimmer of maternal desire she might feel- but Alura? Alura has been dreaming of this enough for the both of them.

The right to use the Matrix Orb is a privilege on Krypton, one that is granted sparingly to the population. Astra and Alura’s birth was a happy accident for their House, but their shared existence had been an accident nonetheless.

The first and only set of twins born in generations since the complete implementation of the Matrix.

They were widely considered to be a gift granted by Rao to an already-prestigious family. Yet another blessing upon the honored House of Ze.

But sometimes, Astra can’t help but wonder if the red string around her wrist is proof that she is cursed.

That between the both of them, Alura is the child who was meant to born.

And that Astra was never supposed to exist.

04. lock

When she rises to the position of General, Astra decides to make a change.

It’s time, she thinks, for something to be different.

For there to be a distinction between her and her sister that goes beyond the robes they wear for the guilds they belong to and the lives they have chosen to lead. For something to truly set them apart from one another. For something that goes beyond the red string that only Astra can see.

She goes out into the city within hours of the celebration the Military Guild hosts in honor of her newly elevated rank and stumbles into the nearest modification shop, a heady mixture of Thanagarian alcohol and determination swirling through her veins.

When she catches sight of the pure white streak in the mirror the next morning and actually remembers asking to have a single lock of her hair permanently stripped of all color, she doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

In the end she does both, but even as tears roll down her cheeks, Astra finds herself smiling.

05. wound

Astra almost bleeds out once, on the barren ground of a desert planet.

Medical officers get to her in time to keep the hole in her side from killing her, but the damage is severe enough to leave her superiors ground her on Krypton for an entire month. The boredom, at times, makes Astra almost wish they’d just let her die right there on the scorched earth.

She says as much to her sister from her sickbed, bemoaning the fact that even with access to the best medics on the planet, she is stuck on bed rest for the considerable future.

“Two weeks trapped in this bed!” Astra would turn to bury her face in the pillows piled around her if the motion didn’t risk disturbing the healing wound in her side. She settles for groaning dramatically at the ceiling of the room. “Death would have been a greater relief.”

“Astra!” Her sister’s hologram glares down at her, a mixture of shock and exasperation written across her features. “Rao help us all, you shouldn’t say such things. It’s a miracle you survived!”

“Aluraaaaa,” Astra sing-songs back, rolling her eyes. “I’m well-aware of that fact.”

“If you had died,” Alura continues in a huff, ignoring her sister’s words entirely, “You would have left your future niece without an aunt and me without a sister! Is that what you want?”

“No, ‘Lura, of course not. It was said in jest. I’m just tired of being stuck in this bed.” She tries to look suitably repentant. “Forgive me?”

Alura’s irritation melts away in an instant. Of the pair of them, Alura has always had a softer, more understanding heart. The combination of her easy empathy and brilliant mind has made her one of the district’s most favored adjudicators. She wouldn’t be surprised to see Alura rise to the position of Councilor in the Lawmaker’s Guild within a few years. Meanwhile Astra’s ability to hold a grudge has managed to earn her quite a bit of infamy in certain circles.

“Well it just so happens that I am making a batch of your favorite stew today,” Alura replies, smiling. “And if you promise to stop being so dour, I might be persuaded to bring you some.”

Astra smiles back.

As much as she struggles with being the shadow to her sister’s light, loving Alura has always been as easy as breathing.

06. promise

Astra has never been one to scare easily, but catching sight of a red string around her baby niece’s wrist makes her heart nearly stutter to a stop in her chest.

“Sister?” Zor-El places a steadying hand on Astra’s elbow and she resists the urge to shrug it off and flee the room. “Are you well?”

There is nothing to be solved by running away, so she forces herself to relax. It takes considerably more time and effort than it should to convince her lungs to let her breathe normally again.

“Of course.” She gestures to the sleeping baby cradled in Alura’s arms and feigns a look of apprehension. “I just didn’t expect her to be quite so small!”

Her brother-in-law bursts out laughing, and just as quickly quiets down when his wife shoots him a stern look.

“Only you, Astra, would be more fearful in the face of a tiny babe than a battlefield,” he says in a stage-whisper.

She grabs hold of the unwittingly offered excuse with both hands.

“In my defense, I was trained for that. Holding babies? Not so much.”

Alura steps closer, and Astra works hard to keep her gaze from drifting back down to the newborn’s wrist.

“Here,” she says, holding the swaddled infant out towards Astra. “It’s easy, you’ll see.”

And, surprisingly, it is.

“Have you decided on a name?” Astra trails a finger down the cheek of the still-sleeping baby now being held securely against her chest with her free hand. “I can’t very well keep calling her ‘little one’ as she grows.”

“Kara,” Alura replies, stepping back to kiss her husband’s cheek. Zor-El wraps an arm around Alura’s waist in response and pulls her close, eyes lighting up the same way they did when the pair first met. Even then, Astra knew he would make a good match for her sister. “Her name is Kara.”

Astra looks back at her niece, unable to resist the smile tugging at corners of her lips.

“Hello, little one,” she whispers, heart beating triple-time in her chest. “Hello, Kara.”

Right then and there, she makes a promise, a silent vow to herself and her niece.

By Rao’s light, I will find out the purpose of these crimson strings.

07. mind

Krypton is dying.

The planet’s core is unstable and decaying and had Astra not been in the archives that night, looking into the history of Krypton in the hopes of uncovering the origins of the red string around her wrist, she never would have found out until it was too late to change anything. The mystery of the strings can wait until her world is no longer about to implode.

She takes her research to her guild, then to the Council, but her words fall upon deaf ears.

No matter where she goes or who she tells, nobody listens.

“You are a great soldier, General In-Ze, but you are not a scientist,” Councilor Syra-Vex tells her. “Leave matters of the mind to the Science Guild.”

Astra only narrowly manages to resist the urge to slap the condescending smile off of the other woman’s face. She leaves the meeting as quickly as decorum allows, a plan beginning to take shape in the back of her brain.

Wrong as they were to dismiss her claims, Syra-Vex and the Council were right about one thing- Astra In-Ze is a great soldier. No one in the ranks of the Sagitari has managed to rise so far so fast in generations.

And if Astra cannot save her world with words, then she will have to do it by force.

08. ash

Astra fails.

Krypton burns.

Astra watches an entire world collapse from her cell in Fort Rozz and feels her heart turns to ash along with it.

09. delirious

She spends twenty-four years delirious with grief in the frozen void of the Phantom Zone, until the impossible happens and-

The ship moves.

Time starts.

And Astra lays on the floor of her cell and wishes someone would steer the whole prison into the red sun of her dead planet.

She doesn’t get her wish, but she does get the chance to save a new world the way she should have saved Krypton.

Under the light of a yellow sun, Astra finds that she is practically invincible. If Rao has seen fit to chain her to life instead of letting her die, she can at least make sure she lives for a purpose.

10. binds

The strings are everywhere on Earth.

Some are red, like hers, long and trailing. Some are grey and cut, hanging from a person’s wrist like something lifeless.

And some are short, stretching a slight distance between two people, crimson turning to gold whenever they touch.

Astra doesn’t quite know exactly what the strings mean yet, but every time she watches two people sharing a string interact in a way that makes it glow gold, she thinks she learns a little more.

The one thing she does know for sure is that all of strings are still invisible to everyone but her.

So Astra keeps watching the humans, fidgeting with the cord wrapped around her own wrist that no longer pulls up and away from her but leads off somewhere to the side. Even if it still did drift off into the sky, Astra can fly now. She could follow the string to the other end. To person who shares it with her.

She could meet them and touch them and watch the tie that binds them burn the most brilliant shade of gold.

Astra could do all of these things, but she doesn’t, because she doesn’t deserve it has a world to save.

A/N: Leave a review, hug a Kryptonian. :D

Word prompts from this chapter: hidden, flowers, joy, lock, wound, promise, mind, ash, delirious, binds

Once again, you can find this story here on Ao3. :)

#general danvers #alex x astra #astra in ze #alex danvers #fanfiction #red string au #red string of fate #ao3 #supergirl

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