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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

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omg hey I was wondering if you could write something about gallavich being walked in on by someone but they’re like cuddling or doing something really soft and intimate? Can be set any season <3

anon i LOVE this prompt <3 i decided to merge it with another prompt that i just got:

Ian waking up before Mickey, and watching him sleep, and Mickey teasing him when he realizes what Ian is doing.

also, i’m using this as an excuse to once again write the bath scene that we all want but never received (inspired by the intro to 11x05😔), and this takes place just before season 11- i hope u enjoy!!<3

It was an early, silent Saturday morning—which was incredibly rare for the Gallagher house, but Ian wasn’t going to complain. The sunlight streamed down in ribbons through the broken blinds, casting a slanted glow onto the bed where he and Mickey were laying. Ian had woken up before Mickey, like he pretty much always did, but today he didn’t get up and put the coffee on or pull on a hat to go on his brisk morning jog like he usually would; today, he curled even deeper under the warm cocoon of his blankets that were staving off the winter chill and wriggled closer to Mickey, leaning into the heat that was radiating off of his body.

Someone had definitely paid the heating bill—thank fucking god—but it was still the dead of winter in Chicago, and the rickety walls of the Gallagher house weren’t known the be the most heat retentive, which meant that most mornings everyone sleeping on the second floor woke up to a drafty chill that sunk into the floorboards until someone decided to crank up the heat when they woke in the morning. But this morning, Ian couldn’t hear the familiar crackling of the radiator in the hall, or anyone bustling in the kitchen like usual- Lip and Tami had some doctor’s appointment for Fred, Debbie had a handywoman job and had left early, Carl was staying over some girl’s house and Liam had slept over at a friend’s. He and Mickey had taken advantage of having a mostly-empty house last night; last night was all skin and sweat and scathing touches, the heat of Mickey’s skin pressing against his. And now there was this- the frigid, fragile silence of the next morning, with Mickey laying there asleep next to Ian, with his mouth half open and an innocence in his sleeping face that was so bare and genuine that it almost hurt to look at.

They’d been so caught up in the flurry of shit going on for the both of them- the pandemic, Ian’s new job, just trying to make ends meet and keep the house running- that Ian realized he hadn’t really sat and looked, actually looked, at Mickey’s face for such a long time. He’d seen Mickey’s face plenty considering they were trapped around each other 24/7, sure, but it was the same catch-22 as when they’d shared a prison cell; being around each other all the time kept them from wanting, kept them from missing, kept them from realizing what was right in front of them. He and Mickey were constantly bumping elbows and getting in each other’s space and pressing against each other to blow off steam, but they hadn’t really sat in silence since this whole thing started- it was pretty impossible to, in the Gallagher house. Ian suddenly realized he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d woken up curled around Mickey- usually these days they spread onto their separate sides of the bed, slept on their own separate islands across the mattress. Ian wasn’t really sure when that had started- he remembered that night on the docks, years ago when Mickey had busted out of prison, and how the entire night as they’d slept in the van he had clung to Mickey like the shirt on his skin, like he wanted to soak him up and absorb him into the soft place in his chest that had always been reserved for Mickey, that everyone else just fit into wrong. But at some point after the wedding, between the lockdown and the bills piling up and Lip moving out, they’d just… drifted.

And now, staring at Mickey in the glow of the morning light, all Ian wanted was that innocent closeness again, that swirl of warmth in the pit of his stomach that made him feel completely and totally safe. He inched even closer to Mickey under the covers, draping a heavy arm over Mickey’s waist. He nuzzled his chilly nose to the base of Mickey’s neck, breathing in the scent of Mickey’s warm skin, all cheap shampoo and earthy cigarette smoke. Ian felt a raw ache unfurling in his chest at Mickey’s solid, comforting presence beside him- Mickey had been here all along, but Ian had missed this.

Suddenly, Mickey shifted and rustled the sheets, and Ian lifted his face from the crook of his neck, keeping his arm resting across Mickey’s torso. Mickey let out the gentlest of exhales as he woke, and Ian’s heart ached. Mickey rubbed the heel of his palm to his eyes, disoriented and probably more than a little confused about how close Ian was leaning to him as he watched Mickey intently with wide eyes.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey asked, his voice gravelly and sleep-soft.

Ian gave him a lopsided smile. “Nothing. Just admiring my husband.”

Mickey’s eyes finally fully opened, wide enough for him to roll them as he pushed Ian away, pressing a solid hand to the center of his chest.

“You’re fucking soft, Gallagher.”

Ian just kept smiling a dopey smile, then reached with double the force in to encircle Mickey with his arms, feeling Mickey stiffen and squirm underneath him at first, and then unconsciously exhale into the bear hug of an embrace. There.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

That was the thing about Mickey; sometimes (hell, most of the time) he rejected intimacy like a cat that didn’t want to be pet, like someone that wasn’t used to soft touches or slow advances and only knew hard and fast and now. It had been an uphill battle to get here, so many years of being apart and together and then apart again, but now they were at the point where whenever Ian made advances to caress Mickey, Mickey would roll his eyes and feign resistance just before preening and melting into Ian’s touch.

Ian listened to Mickey’s steady breaths, and felt the vibration of his heartbeat against his chest. Mickey’s eyes were closed again, his lips pressed in a slight, contented smile as he soaked up Ian’s touch. Ian hummed in satisfaction, then pressed his face against the side of Mickey’s neck, breathing him in. The clouds of sleep hadn’t yet cleared, and for a timeless moment Ian let himself inhale the sweet skin at the crook of Mickey’s collarbone as the morning light pooled on their skin.

After a few minutes Ian softly cleared his throat, which was dry and slightly scratchy from the chill of the room. “What d’you wanna do today?”

Mickey rotated onto his side so he was facing Ian, his eyes still half-closed and his expression soft and dreamlike.

“A whole lot of nothing, Gallagher,” Mickey murmured sleepily.

Mickey’s face was millimeters from Ian’s, and Ian tasted his words more than he heard them. And then Ian couldn’t really do anything except slyly smile and bridge the gap between them, pressing a series of chaste kisses between their chapped lips. Mickey quickly escalated the embrace, pressing his mouth hotly against Ian’s and bringing his blazing palms up to the side of Ian’s neck to pull him closer, pressing his hips against the side of Ian’s torso and making Ian feel a rush of heat that zipped all the way down to his toes. And he would have kept kissing Mickey, if it wasn’t for the blitz of heat that drew such a stark contrast to just how cold the bedroom still was, the sharp chill still numbing Ian’s nose and ears and cheeks. Ian pulled away, leaving inches between his face and the face of an eager Mickey that was still clinging to the back of Ian’s neck.

“It’s fucking freezing. No one turned the heat on this morning.”

“So? Who cares? Bet I can warm you up, hot stuff.”

Ian rolled his eyes in what was supposed to be annoyance, but he knew the gesture ended up looking overly fond. “Mick, the blankets barely cover the bottom half of my legs. It’s not my fault you’re a four-foot-tall blanket hog.”

Mickey shoved Ian away again, then playfully rolled onto his chest. “First of all, fuck you. And second of all, it’s not my fault that I’m married to the fucking Jolly Green Giant. Use your new job money to invest in a bigger blanket and quit your whining, bitch.”

Ian grinned, then gently rolled Mickey off of his chest. “Seriously, Mick, give me two seconds, I just wanna turn up the heater and take a warm shower or some shit.”

Mickey sighed defeatedly but accepted the loss, curling himself up in the blankets as Ian rose from the bed. “Whatever. I’m going back to bed.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Of course you are.”

Ian slowly stretched, then grabbed a discarded towel that was crumpled in the corner beside the dresser. He slid open the flimsy bedroom door and adjusted the thermostat on the wall in the hallway, cranking the heat so at least Mickey could peacefully sleep for another few hours without freezing to death. Then he ambled into the bathroom and turned the shower faucet as high as it could go, the scalding spray immediately raining down.

Ian reached over to the bathroom shelf to grab his shampoo bottle, and his eye landed on the small pink bottle of Franny’s bubble bath. Suddenly, he had the perfect idea. He shut off the shower and immediately turned the tap for the bathtub on, starting to let the base of the tub pool with steaming water.

He turned back down the hallway and peeked his head around the corner into the bedroom. Mickey was probably not asleep again yet, but he was convincingly curled in a cocoon of blankets in the middle of the bed, his face pressed into the pillow and the duvet wrapped half around his head.

“Hey. Mick. You wanna take a bath?” Ian half-whispered.

Mickey groggily poked his head up from under the covers, his hair sticking up in all directions. “A fucking bath?” he asked sleepily, squinting at where Ian stood in the doorframe. “Isn’t that kind of… gay?”

Ian sighed. “We’re gay, Mickey. Calm the fuck down. Do you want to take a bath with me or not? Everyone’s gone, we’ve got the whole day to ourselves.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows, like he was still unconvinced but mulling it over. Then he started to lazily attempt unwrap himself from the layers of blankets around him. “Fuck it. Got too cold when you left the bed anyways.”

Ian smirked. “Water’s running. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Ian turned back into the bathroom once more, and squirted a few healthy doses of Franny’s bubble bath into the tub that was starting to fill with foamy suds. He undressed and slid into the bath, instantly feeling his tense muscles thaw as they hit the warm water. He leaned his head back onto the rim of the tub, letting himself lay there with his eyes closed until he felt the water inching up his torso, the air thick with the sweet floral smell of the bubble bath.

“Mick, c’mere!” Ian called, praying that Mickey had extracted himself from the blankets and not fallen asleep again. A few moments later a very sleepy and rumpled Mickey was standing in the doorway rubbing his eyes, and then zeroing in on Ian laying in the tub.

“Yeah, this might be the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Ian flipped him off, then scooted so he was sitting upright in the bath. “You coming in?”

Mickey seemed hesitant, but started to fumble with the tie of his flannel pajama pants. “Guess so.”

Ian smiled contentedly. “Come on.”

Mickey dubiously climbed into the tub, one leg after the other, and then slid to settle against Ian’s chest. Ian felt Mickey’s muscles relaxing against him, all of his usual tightness succumbing to the ripples of pleasant water enveloping them. Mickey leaned his head back onto Ian’s chest, exhaling.

“Yeah, okay. This is pretty fucking nice.”

Ian smirked. “Told you. Not too gay?”

Mickey scoffed. “Fuck you.”

Mickey closed his eyes, and Ian couldn’t resist lifting a hand to Mickey’s head and starting to run slow circles through his hair, tracing gentle patterns that he knew always made Mickey doze off. The bathroom was full of steam rolling off of the scalding water, the bubbles foaming and fizzing around them. Ian felt so perfectly content, sitting here with the sturdy weight of his husband pressing him down, breathing in the sugary scent of the bubbles sticking to Mickey’s skin and letting his own eyelids droop…

And then suddenly, Lip came barging through the door.

Immediately Mickey’s eyes flew open, his body tensing up. Lip just stood in the doorframe, his posture casual but frozen on the spot, staring at a very frilly smelling (and a very naked) Mickey and Ian laying in a bubble bath together.

Lip pursed his lips, like he was choking back a laugh.

“Uh. Hey guys. Didn’t think anyone was in here, considering the…silence.”

“Well, clearly we are, so get the fuck outta here!” Mickey was no longer drowsily collapsed onto Ian’s chest, sitting up straight and pointing at the door for emphasis. Ian just put his hand to his forehand and grimaced. So much for having the place to ourselves.

Lip snorted, still undoubtedly trying to hold back an avalanche of laughter, but he turned and started the close the door. As he was shutting it, Ian called after him.

“Lip, I thought you and Tami had some doctor’s appointment with Fred?”

Lip was in the hallway behind the closed bathroom door now, but he cracked it to let his voice in. He cleared his throat, clearly trying to compose himself. “Uh, yeah. Those usually only last an hour, though.”

Jesus. Maybe Ian had just been swept up in all the sappy emotions for the morning, but he could have sworn Lip and Tami were usually gone for hours whenever they had weekend errands to run. Oh well, it wasn’t really a big deal- half of the Gallaghers had seen each other in compromising positions, since privacy was definitely a somewhat foreign concept within these four walls. But underneath Mickey’s bravado when he was kicking Lip out, Ian noticed that Mickey’s cheeks were glowing red. And Ian totally got it; the two of them had been walked in on fucking plenty of times- hell, that was the whole theme of their hookups in the back of the Kash and Grab when they were in high school- but there was something about this, being interrupted in a truly vulnerable moment, that felt more excruciatingly embarrassing somehow.

Ian looked down at Mickey, who was still staring off into space at the closed door. Finally, he spoke.

“We’ve gotta get our own fucking place.”

Ian breathed out a laugh, and kissed the side of Mickey’s temple. “Yeah, we really do.”

#my last prompt response didn’t show up in the gallavich tag bc it was too long i think??#so if u r interested pls also read that lol <3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #lip gallagher

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marlahey · 4 years

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under the same roof part one: a stickler for the rules

a harry styles rpf ratings/warnings: references to stalking behaviour by a peripheral character, too many longing looks in a space too small to contain them, she’s clueless sometimes but we love her notes: surprise surprise! it’s good to be back my friends. as far as OG openings go, part one of utsr probably underwent the least amount of rewrites. the most notable change is sylvia’s age: she’s four-ish, going on five. just makes our lives a little easier in terms of continuity and logic! (please visit the masterlist to find all our other writing because I forgot tumblr is a BITCH and hates external links now. ugh.) utsr masterlist | part 2 (7.12.2020)

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• tuesday, 1st february 7:48 pm • In spite of the biting chill outside, it’s about a million degrees in this lobby. You wonder if the heater is broken and if it’s always going to be like this here. The hair escaping your ponytail is pressed flat against the back of your neck, and you’re struggling to balance the crate between your chin and the massive box in your arms.

One of the corners is digging into your gut so you raise a knee to adjust it, but the box slips in your grip and you barely manage to hang on. There’s a faint meow from Chowder’s crate. The doors to the elevator whirr open with a ding and you shuffle inside. “Which floor is it again?” India grunts. The box that she’s carrying is lighter but larger—more cumbersome. It obscures half of her face and the way she’s leaning over can’t be any good for her back. “Eight,” you reply, strained. India stretches an arm out to the keypad, struggling to reach the right number. She misses. “Yeah,” you deadpan, “so press four twice.” The sound of a quiet, stifled chuckle turns your head to the back corner of the elevator. A young man leans against the hardwood of the elevator wall with his hands clasped in front of him. He is tall and lean; silver and gold rings adorn his fingers. His hair is wavy and cocoa brown, as though he used to have a businessman’s haircut but has let it grow out. He’s wearing grey tartan tweed pants and black ward lo Vans. Tattoos poke out of the sleeves of his sweater. It’s an arguably strange ensemble, but he pulls it off well. The man pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up his nose with a thumb, gaze trained on the floor. His lips are still pressed together against a smile that flirts with the corners of his mouth. Only then do you realize you’d been staring. You tear your eyes away as heat nips your cheeks and ears. In your tattered converse, mom jeans, and grubby moving flannel, you feel suddenly small. Chowder moews plaintively, like he needs to remind you of his current status in, on, and surrounded by boxes. “Is it just me,” India murmurs to you as the doors ding open on the second floor, “or did that take… is the lift broken?” “It’s the slowest bloody thing,” the man interjects, like it’s the bane of his existence. “You get used to it.” The elevator jolts to a stop on the fourth floor and the doors peel open in silence. Nobody moves. “Sorry, ” India murmurs. The man just shakes his head. The back of the door to the elevator is a mirror so you’re able to privately relish in the invisible threads of your curiosity that reach out to him. “S’ fine, ” he replies softly. By the time you’ve reached the sixth floor, you’re still peering at the man periodically from beneath your eyelashes. He looks up and holds your stare in the reflection of the doors moments before they part, and a ding sounds again through the small space. He smiles at you, poised, before pushing off the wall and stepping carefully between you and India to the hallway. The doors close once again and you are alone with your friend. She drops her box a few inches and bugs her eyes out at you from over the cardboard lid. “Dibs.” You step forward, laughing, and bump your box into hers. Finally, you reach level eight, pile the last two of your boxes by the front door, collapse on the mattress on your bedroom floor still covered in clear plastic packaging, and order pad thai. • friday, 30th march 7:23 am •

“Hold the elevator!” you call mid-jog, and immediately wince. You need to be better about calling it a lift. You make it through the doors of the lift before they close halfway, but not before noticing an arm outstretched to hold them open for you nonetheless. A cross tattoo and the bottom of an anchor poke out from the sleeve of his suit. It’s black velvet that has a navy lustor in the light. You’re in the same company now as virtually every other morning since you’d moved here—the man with the glasses who noticed you on that first day. You’re pretty sure his name is Harry, unless he’s pinning someone else’s name to his chest every day on a badge beneath red emboldened letters reading, The National Gallery, London. It’s surprising to see him as you get on, however, because he lives below you on the sixth floor. Perhaps he’d forgotten something today and needed to go back up… if this were the case, you’re glad to have caught him by chance. Every so often the cast of characters rotates. Sometimes a stout older man with an emerald green briefcase and a mustache rides down with you on weekdays. A slender woman who is almost always on her headset, hovering by the button pad occasionally makes an appearance. They both live above you. Most mornings, however, are like today. It’s just you and Harry together, without fail, if only for those few measured moments of quiet at sunrise. Perhaps you two are on the same tube schedule. For someone you see so often, you know remarkably little about Harry apart from the observable; he’s not one for small talk, has poor eyesight, and boasts impeccable taste in suits. It occurs to you that you still haven’t had a full conversation with him. You absently wonder if he’s single. You’ve even made progress from polite nods of acknowledgment to a consistent “Good morning,” from him and a nearly unflustered, “Morning,” from you (though realistically speaking, a smile before you’ve had your first cup of coffee is only manageable because India would disown you if she knew that you weren’t taking every opportunity to talk to this stupidly handsome stranger). “Thanks,” you murmur, stepping through the doors Harry’s held open for you. “Sure.” The ride down passes in silence. You can’t work up the nerve to speak until the doors part and Harry gestures for you to exit first, and by then it’s too late. You offer a faint parting smile. But, you reason, there’s always tomorrow. • sunday, 8th april 2:42 pm • The lift stops on the sixth floor in its descent as you look up from your phone. Harry’s voice is audible from the hall as the doors open and it startles you because he’s usually alone. You take a sip of your iced coffee as Harry steps inside, wearing a black knit sweater with pink and orange planets across the front, black jeans, worn leather boots, and wayfarers. In one of his hands, he carries an umbrella and rolled-up reusable grocery bag. In the other—most surprisingly—he holds the tiny hand of a little girl. She’s wearing frog rain boots, rainbow leggings, and a t-shirt that proclaims the future is female. Her dense curls are a shade darker than Harry’s, her eyes are closer to brown than hazel, and her skin is a warmer golden hue—but her smile presses a dimple into her cheek, identical to the one you’ve been staring at for months. He has a kid? Harry pulls her gently inside and she seems disappointed that the button for the ground floor is already lit. “This one pumpkin,” he whispers, pointing at the close doors symbol just beneath. She presses it with a firm clack and beams when the familiar mirrors slide across. “Daddy, can we please, please get bananas?” You almost choke on your cold brew. He has a kid. Is there a ring? Do you see a ring? You’d never noticed him in a wedding band before and he certainly isn’t wearing one now. “Shh, we won’t forget bananas… I wrote it down, remember?” With his free hand, Harry fishes out a folded piece of Hello Kitty paper from his back pocket and holds out her, more than happy to let his child snatch it from him. “Daddy, look at the pretty star!” You almost choke on your coffee again as Harry’s gaze follows his daughter’s waving hand, still gripping the pink, polka-dot paper with cat ears, all the way to the golden star dangling from your neck. “Yes, it’s very nice,” Harry nods down at her, agreeing in a voice that could only be used with a child. “Don’t point, angel… s’not very polite.” He smiles at you, almost apologetic, and gently wraps his hand around hers to lower her outstretched arm. “You have a million stars at home.” The lift stops on the ground floor. You gesture for Harry to exit first, a courtesy he always seems to extend to you, and you melt into a smile as he lifts one corner of his mouth in timid gratitude. He hesitates in the doorway on his way out. “Say goodbye, Sylvia,” he says. He has a dad voice. It makes your stomach flip. Sylvia flashes you those sparkling brown eyes once more and waves, suddenly shy. You wiggle your fingers and she buries her face into her father’s leg. “We’re workin’ on it,” Harry says, like it needs an explanation of some kind. He keeps his tender smile when he glances at you over his shoulder before he and Sylvia disappear out the lobby doors and into the rain, hand in hand. • thursday, 7th june 8:24 am • You’re pinning an earring in as you step into the lift. It stops on the sixth floor and then it’s silent as usual between you, Harry, and the mustached emerald briefcase man. You still haven’t had a complete conversation with either of them, but you hardly mind. It’s gratifying to have a few moments of peace before the triathlon that is your final exams, the gym, then straight into your evening shifts at work. Even though you’re looking forward to drinks tonight with India to celebrate the end of term, you’re weary and your body is stiff. Another sleepless night had come and gone and you’d struggled to cover the bags beneath your eyes with makeup this morning. You frown in your recollection of the nightmare, the same icy stare tormenting you. There is an older man with nearly translucent blue eyes, who you see so often around London that you’re beginning to wonder if he’s a figment of your imagination. Yesterday you’d caught a glimpse of him in the reflection of a shop window on your daily walk home from the tube station. He was staring straight at you, but when you’d spun around to look closer, he had vanished. It had unnerved you so much that you hurried straight home without stopping at the shops for kitty litter. London is a crammed metropolis; at this point it’s likely nothing, but that doesn’t stop you from losing sleep over it. “My daughter has that book,” the man with the emerald briefcase says, pulling you back to earth. You let go of your now fastened earring and hold up the book that was pinned under your arm so that the cover is on display. The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen. “This one?” The man hums, continuing, "I’m ashamed to say I don’t even know what it’s about.” “It’s sweet.” Harry’s eyes flash to the book and then your face as you speak. You flip it over and consider the blurb on the back. “A girl sort of accidentally starts working for this catering company one summer while she’s dealing with the loss of her dad.” The stout man brushes over his mustache with his thumb and index finger. “I never knew you were American!” “Oh, yeah,” you laugh softly through a shrug. Harry looks down to the floor and you catch the last second of his smile. “I am.” “What brings you to London then?” asks the older man. “I’m a student at UCL.” “Impressive. What do you study?” “I’m a third year in Law... um, I have a minor in Art History, though.” You peer over at Harry through the reflection of the doors, but he simply pushes his glasses up his nose. You’re startled by the lift’s ding at the ground floor. “Cheers.” The old man nods at you before exiting. “Cheers,” Harry adds like a reflex, stealing a side glance at you before brushing past into the lobby. You could have sworn you’d seen the dimple forming on his cheek to mask a smile. • thursday, 27th september 8:51 pm • You knead the back of your neck with your fingertips and frown toward the ground as you wait for the lift. You don’t usually get home this late but your research advisor needed you to come in a little earlier to your shift this afternoon, and you hadn’t been able to get in a workout until an hour ago. What’s more, readjusting to London’s time zone after spending the month of August back home is taking a toll on your sleep. You sigh and try to relax your shoulders. The first term in your final year at university seems determined to bury you early. You press the auto-lock button on the set of car keys India had loaned you, then once more for good measure. You managed to finagle a guest spot in the garage beneath the building, though it’s your first time using it. It’s eerie and poorly lit down here; you tread lightly into the lift. You’d seen him again today—the blue-eyed man—and by this point it had just been… too often. You had convinced India to let you borrow her car to pick up some archives for your advisor in Ilford forty-five minutes out of your way. It was the first time you’d been to that part of London, and you were still getting used to driving on the other side of the road, so you were already on edge. You remember crossing the street over to a small brook beside the road and when you glanced over your shoulder, he was there in your wake, watching you. It was the middle of the day but you were alone, so you faked a phone call and took an indirect route to the Ilford Historical Society. It was enough to solidify your suspicions that something more serious is happening. On the drive home, you had mentally worked out a time in your schedule to visit the police department and file a report. The lift stops in the lobby on your way up, and your worries from the day promptly evaporate. You smile at your feet as Harry creeps inside the tiny corridor with a very measured, and even gate. Sylvia is passed out, her arms draped loosely around his neck. He’s in a charcoal grey tuxedo tonight and his usual glasses are switched out for contacts. You reach out to press the sixth-floor button, and Harry thanks you with the beginning of a smile. The two of you are stood at the back of the lift together, shoulder to shoulder facing the mirror, so it’s easy to indulge in your gaze toward the small child in his arms. You don’t try to hide the fact that you’re staring the way you might have a few months ago. Even in sleep, Sylvia’s tiny hand clings to the fabric of Harry’s collar. She nuzzles into his neck when the lift jolts upward. Her cheeks are rosy, and she wears a pyjama set covered in primary-colored dinosaurs. Her dark bob of curls—which have grown longer since you’d seen them last—are spread out across his shoulder, and her bloated toddler belly rises and falls against his chest. You smile absently at the short trail of memories you have of Sylvia, but your reverie is interrupted when you notice that Harry is looking directly into your eyes. It makes you do a double take. Could you have imagined it? Is that a blush? Had you embarrassed him? You’re still staring at each other in the reflection when the lift reaches the sixth floor. Your eyes dart to the floor, and you only allow yourself to look up once Harry is stepping out into the hall, well in front of you. He pauses in the doorway to turn around. “Goodnight,” he whispers. “Night.” You hesitate before adding, “Goodnight, Sylvia.” Harry’s smile only grows wider, as though the two of you had shared some fond inside joke. Something catches your eye when you arrive at your floor. You crouch down and pick up a plush kangaroo toy in the corner, flipping it over in your hands. It’s ratty, and has been washed so many times that the pink cotton on its ears is beading. One of the miniature black buttons for its eyes dangles loose, and the synthetic fur is matted. What was once chestnut has faded into a dull, tawny copper. “S.S.,” you read curiously. The initials are stitched in red to the bottom of the kangaroo’s long feet. The sound of the doors closing catches you off guard. You jump to your feet, tucking the small stuffed animal into your purse as you hurry down the hall and fish around in your bag for your keys. • saturday, 6th october 2:31 pm • You step into the lift, fasten in your earbuds, and tap the button on the keypad for the eighth floor. Today marks your third trip to the Ilford Historical Society this week. Soon you’re going to need to ask your advisor for reimbursement to fill India’s tank, but on the bright side you hadn’t seen the man with blue eyes since the first time you’d made the trip…You just hope that this means he’s retreating and not that he’s getting stealthier. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and increase the volume of your classical playlist by a few notches. A flash of purple, white, and green bolts into the lift as the doors part at the lobby. Sylvia is in a Buzz Lightyear costume today. Harry’s tattooed arm swings through the half-open doors immediately behind her, going for the jet pack wings, but she squeals and escapes his hold. You watch the scene play out like a Tom and Jerry skit with La Traviata in the background as Sylvia darts around the corners of the lift and her father fails to corral her. Harry lunges for her, misses, lunges, misses again, then catches her by the elbow as she screams in laughter, squirming out of his grip. You silently pause your music and press the button for the sixth floor as Harry spreads his feet apart, catching Sylvia in his arms like a goalie as she tries to bowl through the closing doors. It’s fortunate that nobody else is trying to get in. She kicks her legs before adopting that pose children do when they don’t want to be held, and makes a rigid plank with her body. Hair disheveled and glasses sliding down his nose, Harry lurches for the keypad with his daughter wedged under his arm a few seconds after the doors close. “Oh.” He stops in his tracks once he sees the button for his floor is already illuminated. “Thanks.” You flash a quick smile. Harry sets Sylvia down breathlessly and she finds a hiding place behind him, her little arms wrapped around one of his knees. He leans against the back wall of the lift, the smallest backpack you’ve ever seen swinging from one hand with the initials, S.S. reappearing stitched onto one of the straps. You swallow and tug your earbuds out by their chord before slowly crouching down to eye-level with Sylvia. For a moment you look up at Harry because you feel the instinct to ask for permission for some reason, certain your expression is more serious than necessary. He’s frowning but he’s also smiling at you as though to gauge your next move—so are you, to some degree. You shift your eyes back to Sylvia, and reach cautiously into your purse. Sylvia’s eyes widen at the sight of the small kangaroo you retrieve from your bag, her mouth gaping in a tiny, square-toothed grin. It might just as well be Harry beaming at you himself with such a striking resemblance. Both of the kangaroo’s black button eyes are fastened tightly in place now. You make your voice light and ask, “Is this yours?” The sound of a zipper comes from above your head; you glance up to catch Harry pulling another kangaroo out of the backpack. How many kangaroos does she have? He passes the stuffed animal to Sylvia and you see now that it’s quite a bit larger than the one you’d found last week. It’s also different from yours because it has a long white stripe along its front with a wide, empty pouch halfway down its belly. Oh… perhaps it’s just the two. She cautiously approaches you with the larger toy in tow, until you’re close enough to snuggle the joey back into its mother’s pouch. She stumbles backward into Harry’s legs. You sigh in relief before rising to your feet. “Sylvia, can you say thank you?” Harry folds his arms behind his back and leans over to whisper against the top of his daughter’s head, but loud enough for you to hear. Her curls bounce as she bobbles her head in a bashful nod, wrapping an arm around dad’s leg again. “Thank you.” This child, you have to admit, is devastatingly cute. “We tore the flat apart looking for him this weekend,” Harry intones, shaking his head. “Where did you find him?” “In here,” you reply. He makes a noise, like the possibility had only just occurred to him. “Thank you.” “It was the least I could do.” You lean back against the wall opposite them as the lift reaches the sixth floor with a ding and you wave to the two of them on their way out. “Cheers.” Harry nods to you. “Say goodbye, Sylvia.” She gives you a small wave. Harry gently nudges her forward into the hallway with his foot. There is an interim of about ten seconds of quiet before Sylvia is hurtling back into the lift, making a beeline to you, and wrapping her arms around your legs. She beams up at you for the second time with a smile cut-and-pasted from her father. Bubbling laughter overcomes her, and you uncross your legs, unable to help yourself from joining in her smile. “Hello again!” you say, before it occurs to you that you probably shouldn’t be encouraging this behavior. “Vi,” Harry calls from outside the lift. She just giggles and buries her face into your knee. He appears in the quickly closing doorway, one hand keeping it open as he narrows his eyes. There’s something playful in it though, a practiced pretend serious. Your gazes catch and Harry winks, putting a finger to his lips. “Uh oh,” he says, “I think I hear a tickle monster!” Sylvia shrieks, but she’s not faster than her father, who’s crouched low to catch her by the sides, merciless fingers at work until the child instinctively releases you. She laughs and laughs and laughs as he scoops her up into his arms. “So sorry.” Harry’s apology is much less flustered than you would have expected. Sylvia wiggles in his grip, cracking up, euphorically naughty. You simply let out a breathy laugh as they finally both make it out of the lift together. Down the hall, you hear Sylvia’s giggle melt into a screech against gravity; you lean over to catch a glimpse of Harry flipping her upside down on his chest with her belly out, legs flailing back and forward over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re bad. You’re bad.” He does not show his daughter the mercy of waiting until they’re in the privacy of their apartment before the second round of tickling begins. “You’re gonna get Daddy in trouble.” • monday, 8th october 8:23 am • Riding in the lift alone is nice because you don’t have a full-length mirror in your apartment. You brush the cat hair off of the front of your sweater and fix one of the sleeves that had bunched up beneath all your layers. The yarn is a warm, autumnal bay that compliments your thick scarf and the gold buttons of your roomy black overcoat. You hear a ding and your eyes flash up to the floor indicator above the entrance. You almost lose your balance jumping back from your reflection when you see the illuminated number six. The doors separate and Harry steps in beside you, closer than usual. Today he’s in a forest green, double-breasted jumpsuit with faint pinstripes, and you can’t help but find it fitting that he works in an art museum. “Morning,” he murmurs. “Good morning.” You feel something tense pinned to the air between you two. “Did you fix Jojo’s eyes?” Harry asks after a beat, almost accusatory. Your eyes narrow at his reflection in the doors. It takes you a minute to summon to mind what he’s referring to. “Jojo?” He flushes a little, just enough to warm the tips of his ears. “The um—” Harry clears his throat, shaking his head. “He’s… the baby kangaroo.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was embarrassed. But as you’ve come to learn, Harry just loves his daughter immensely. “It was nothing,” you reply evenly. Harry lets out a light, almost defensive scoff. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” “I know.” Part of you wonders if he’s the type to make a fuss over what you’d consider an innocuous gesture. You could see how an unsolicited favor from a stranger might come off as undermining to a young, single parent, come to think of it. The thought that you’d been the cause of Harry’s ire—or even his mild annoyance—makes your chest feel tight. The lift stops on the second floor. A group of three enters in staccato laughter, pulling your attention forward. Harry’s eyes meet yours in the reflection of the doors—just two seconds that maybe you could pretend were an accident—before you both glance away as though you’d been caught. The group leaves ahead of you into the lobby. “I just wanted to do a nice thing, you know. For her.” You’d been staring resolutely ahead in your admission, but dare yourself to glance sideways and look directly at Harry. “And for you, honestly.” You brush past Harry into the lobby without waiting for his usual beckoning you to go ahead, but sense him turn toward you at the last second. You do not look back. • wednesday, 7th november 8:23 am • “Ouch, shit―” You jerk your hand from your pocket, staring in disbelief at the tiny pinprick of blood welled on the tip of your pinky. Returning your hand carefully into your coat, you pull out the red paper flower just as the lift doors ding on the sixth floor and Harry walks in. Sucking on your finger is helping your wound, but consequently draws his smiling, vaguely concerned eyes. “Alright?” he asks. You nod with a little hapless shrug, holding up the offending fake petals with a black button center and protruding silver pin out the back. “Forgot I had this.” It’s only a slightly embarrassing admission. Commonwealth countries mark the day of the Armistice, November eleventh, in a particular, unfamiliar way; India had explained the Poppy Appeal briefly to you last week when the pins had begun to appear all over the city, and you finally had a spare pound coin for the volunteer offering you one yesterday after class. You have a scant three seconds to look at the poppy pinned smartly to the left lapel of Harry’s trench coat before he turns to face forward, but in looking down at the one in your hand, you realize you have no idea how he’s done it. Surely it can’t be that difficult? You frown down at your own jacket. A tentative stab of the pin into the fabric is met with an audible chuckle from the other side of the lift. You flush; Harry’s smiling gently with one corner of his mouth. You try a second time, going at it from a different angle. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” You haven’t had enough coffee yet to justify how warm you’re getting. You shake your head, accepting defeat. “Best let me help you before you hurt yourself again.” Despite his offer, he makes no move to take the poppy until you sheepishly hold it out to him. Neither the mustached, emerald briefcase man nor the headset lady have appeared today, but the space of the lift seems remarkably smaller when Harry gently takes the flower and shuffles forward to get a grip on your coat. An impressive array of rings on each of his hands catches the light. You have no idea what to do besides stand ramrod straight. “Trick is to put the pin through twice so you’re not poking yourself on it all the time,” he explains, his eyebrows pulling together in focus. You watch his chest move as he breathes; the scent of Harry’s cologne wraps around you like an invisible shroud. It occurs to you that this is the longest interaction you’ve had since he noticed your careful restoration of Sylvia’s tiny treasured kangaroo. You wonder how long she’s had the pair of them. You also wonder if Jojo’s eye had been falling loose for a reason―if perhaps Sylvia preferred him a little rough around the edges, and it leads you again down a strange rabbit hole of is Harry upset that you did that? “I hope it’s okay that I fixed Jojo’s eye,” you venture. Harry pauses a moment, then laughs once, which draws you inadvertently closer together. “You’re funny. Which you shouldn’t be when I’m holding something sharp.” You almost stop breathing altogether. “Course it’s okay,” Harry continues without looking up. His nose is now scrunched as he pinches the tough wool. “She loves that thing, and I’m shit with sewing.” His eyes finally flick up to yours, a self-deprecating tilt to his mouth, and you smile tentatively. “Glad I could help.” With that, you’re quiet until he’s done and his concentrated frown relaxes into satisfaction. You watch Harry consider his handiwork, tracing the side of a petal with one of his fingers. “That should do it,” he says, stepping back. Your eyes meet again. You’ve reached the ground floor, but the doors simply sit open. “Looks nice.” He’s talking about the poppy. Your cheeks warm anyway. “Thank you.” Harry smiles slowly, as though he’s trying to pace the expression. “That’s alright.” He turns and ushers you out of the lift. “Have a good day.” “Same to you.” The edges of your poppy flutter as you turn the corner out of the lobby. Don’t turn around. Don’t ruin the moment. Who are you kidding? A quick glance over your shoulder reveals Harry loitering outside the lift, watching you. He starts a little, lifting a hand like he’s going to wave and dragging it over his hair instead. Harry turns abruptly. You almost feel bad for catching him out. You’re too busy walking faster and failing to smother a stupid grin all the way to campus. • thursday, 20th december. 4:11 pm • You’re thankful that everyone else in the parking garage has ruddy cheeks and runny noses from the storm—nobody would be able to tell by looking at you that you’d been crying all afternoon. Just when you thought you’d never see those blue eyes ever again, you’d felt a hand brush against yours on the crowded tube just hours ago. You turned to see whose pinky was resting atop your knuckles as he clutched onto the pole directly above your hand. The fear was immediate and visceral; every follicle of hair above your shoulders prickled, your lips went cold, and you couldn’t get yourself to start breathing again before stumbling back into the chest of some other unsuspecting passenger. How long had he been standing there? You bolted out of the doors the first chance you got, a good seven stops from home. You didn’t think you were followed but of course you couldn’t be sure, so you ducked into a coffee shop instead of jumping straight onto the next train. You used up all your data to call your parents, hardly able to hold your cell phone steady with the sheen of sweat on your palms. The police had no record of such a man you described. He was middle-aged, taller than you could have imagined so close up, and had a deformity or some sort of scarring on his upper lip. You would have recognized him if you stumbled across his photograph, but you’d gone through every headshot on the books within a ten-kilometer radius of London at the police station. You’d lost sleep combing through the online database of sex offenders in your area without any luck. And since you didn’t have a name or a concrete instance of harassment, they could only add the encounter to the file you’d started in October. Once you’d managed to get a hold of India, she immediately came to rescue you from the coffee shop and dropped you off at home. You insisted she pull into the gated underground garage rather than letting you off by the front doors. With a hand on your shoulder, she offered to stay the night. You had declined. There were some days when you swore you were going crazy, but all it took was one last look into his eyes on the tube today for you to know in your gut that he was real, he was watching you, and you were right to be afraid. You hadn’t heard the ding of the lift but you notice when the people around you begin to huddle on. It’s a tight squeeze inside. You sigh when you see that nearly every floor up to ten is illuminated on the keypad. You sneak into a corner by the doors and try to distract yourself by focusing on the overwhelming smell of rain carried into the lift on everyone’s rubber boots. A faint buzzing noise thrums overhead, and the light seems dimmer than usual—one of the bulbs in here must need replacing. The lift comes to a stop at the lobby. Your eyes are on the carpet, but you recognize a familiar pair of black leather boots ambling through the doors. You look up to catch Harry shaking the rain out of his curls with one hand. He licks his lips and scans the lift briefly, only moving from the entrance once he sees you by the keypad. His eyes change, the corner of his lips quirking up. Harry parts a few people to stand in front of you, chest to chest, carrying a box of Legos almost as tall as you, covered in fire trucks and construction vehicles. They’re the bigger, softer type of plastic blocks that come in lighter shades made for toddlers. You didn’t even know they made sets with so many pieces. It doesn’t seem necessary. The thing could be a column. Harry rests the box on the floor against his hip and even more people pack inside behind him, so many that you have to give up your corner spot which was already tight, and sandwich yourself in between Harry and the wall. And why is the person standing directly behind Harry trying to leave a voicemail? The two of you share a small laugh, looking down at your feet and shifting to get comfortable as the lift vibrates into motion against your back. Ding. Level two. Someone to the rear of the lift needs to get to the entrance. In order to let them through, Harry actually has to press up against you and prop his hand on the wall behind your head to avoid crushing you completely. “Sorry,” he says, strained. “It’s fine.” Ding. Level three. The last thing you need is for your heart to race like this after the mess of a day you’ve endured. To make matters worse (or better), Harry is close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body. You’re struck by the most staggering urge to just… lean forward a few inches. It would be so nice to bury your face in his sweatshirt, to be engulfed in the embrace of his arms, and to let yourself cry about your afternoon until you feel empty and full at the same time. Ding. Level four. You choose a button on his open black overcoat to stare at, flustered and humiliated by your own sensitivity. If it were any other afternoon you’d be having a field day with this but you’re too much of a coward to look anywhere near his face in your state. A single drop of rain falls from the end of Harry’s chin and lands on your collar. Ding. Level five. Your eyes are dry and puffy, your breathing is still ragged, and you seriously consider holding your breath altogether until you reach the sixth floor. You’d known since the coffee shop that you were going to cry the moment you stepped foot into your apartment tonight, but you hadn’t considered the possibility that it might happen sooner than that. You shake your head. Ridiculous. You look up idly to find that Harry is watching you. His expression seems serious now, oddly focused. You tilt your chin up incrementally. Harry licks his lips. Is anyone looking? How is nobody looking? You take a small breath and Harry’s gaze flashes again to your lips. Your palm brushes the back of his hand, hidden by the toy box, and he tilts his wrist toward you, spreading his fingers just enough to fit the tips of yours between his knuckles. His hand is cool from the rain and yours is warm from the car. How is someone still leaving the same voicemail? There’s space enough now in the lift for him to give you a few inches of distance so why is Harry drawing closer to you? Why is he leaning in? Ding. “It’s you,” you blurt, and swallow before adding more quietly, “This is your floor.” A few people stuff their cellphones back into their pockets, making their way into the hall. Harry clears his throat and leans over to lift the toy box. Your hands fall apart but he reaches out to gently brush the side of your arm in goodbye—unable, it seems, to meet your eyes. You watch him as he turns on his heel to shuffle out behind someone else, carding a hand through his hair. You close your eyes and exhale without a sound. You only open them in time to catch him glancing over his shoulder at you before rounding the corner. Neither of you had smiled. When the lift reaches the eighth floor, you almost forget to step off. You lean on the back of your door and sigh once you’re in your apartment, dropping your keys to the hardwood with a clatter. Alone in the dark, after one of the single most distressing days of your life, you press two clammy palms to your face and laugh—giddy—like a fool. • tuesday, 1st january 2:33 am • You swing your leg inelegantly out of the cab. Your foot slips on the road’s thin polish of ice. The ankle strap of your stiletto comes undone at the clasp as you only just remember that you began taking them off in the back seat. You laugh at yourself, nearly dropping your half-empty bottle of Prosecco, hobbling to the sidewalk through the rain with one shoe in hand. “Thanks—thank you, goodnight!” You wave your shoe in the air as the cab speeds away after having left a fifty-percent tip—it’s half past two on New Year’s Eve for Christ sake—and turn toward your building. Have the doors to the lobby always been this heavy? Perhaps it isn’t the best idea to try and hop back into your shoe while shouldering through the doorway, because you bang your head against one of the large, protruding handles with a metallic thud. “Fuck.” It hurts a little but the jello shots and bottle of Sangiovese you’d guzzled with India earlier are helping. You squint up because the lobby is spinning, and spy the outline of a man facing away from you with his hands in his pockets. He looks over his shoulder as he waits for the lift, lackadaisical. It’s a familiar profile. The half of his face visible to you is in shadow apart from the crescent moon-shaped hollow of his dimple sinking in as he smiles. “Hi,” Harry drawls with a chuckle. You step into your shoe without bothering to fix the ankle strap and wobble over to the lift. All night you had glided so effortlessly in your four additional inches. Now, you feel as though you’re walking a tightrope in flippers. “Hello.” You enunciate too much in your efforts to sound sober. You and Harry look at each other and smile until you laugh, at absolutely nothing at all. There’s no sign of his specs tonight; his hair is sopping, and the shoulders of his burgundy suit are damp. Harry gives you a once over. “You alright?” He’s slurring a little. You bob your head in a nod. “M’good.” The lift dings and you both lurch forward to step between the doors before Harry stumbles backward and gestures for you to go first. You almost fall forward again in your shoes and have to grip the wall on the way in to steady yourself. These need to come off. Harry moves to his usual corner, leaning against the back wall with a hand on either railing and you do the same in the next corner over. You shimmy off your heels to hold them in one hand while balancing your half empty bottle of Prosecco against your hip with the other. The carpet is coarse beneath your bare feet. You take a gulp of wine and the curled silver ribbon around its neck tickles your chin. You and Harry glance sideways at each other at the exact same moment, both of your heads leaning against the back wall of the lift. You have to lean forward and cover your mouth with the hand holding your shoes so you don’t spit out your drink in laughter. It’s not even funny, really. How many times had you both accidentally caught the other staring over the past year in this very room Harry’s chuckle builds into a laugh and the echo of it reminds you of Sylvia the day she’d clung to your legs. You’ve noticed that Harry’s eyes crinkle like hers, too, if he finds something especially funny. The laughter melts and you stretch the arm holding the bottle out to Harry. He looks down at it, then back up at you before taking it gently from your grasp and helping himself to a swig. “You know wha’s not fair? I’ve—” he hiccups. “I’ve got to wear a badge t’work. With my name on it. And I see you everyday—” “Almost,” you correct automatically. “Almost everyday… so you probably know my name.” Harry’s eyes narrow. “Do you know my name?” You nod, a bit delayed. He passes the bottle back to you and you admire the intricate embroidery on the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’ve got a pretty good guess.” “What’s your name?” Harry asks after a beat, rolling his back off the wall to lean on his shoulder and face you. “Charles doesn’t know either.” You tilt your head, frowning a little. “Who’s that?” Harry rests his pointer finger on top of his upper lip. You grin slowly before answering his question. Harry echoes you with an equally slow smile, his voice italicizing the sound of your name. It sounds like he’s saying someone else’s name—a person you’ve never even met. He says it again, like he needs to introduce himself to each letter. Your heart is about the only part of your body able to move quickly. Harry smiles widely. It’s as though every other one he’s given you before had just been practicing for this moment. “Nice to meet you.” You wedge your shoes and Prosecco beneath one arm, taking a step forward with your free hand outstretched. Harry shuffles to meet you halfway in a handshake and the height difference between you feels staggering barefoot. You remember the feeling of his hand in yours when it was hidden by the Lego box. It would be so easy to just shift a little and clasp them together the way you had before. You can smell the memory of whiskey on his breath and see the flush of his cheeks close up. “You look like a disco ball.” You laugh and he releases you, like the sound had awoken his sense of propriety. His eyes take you in again, almost reflecting the shimmer of sequins scattered across the fabric of your dress before he looks back up at you. “Yeah,” you agree, tugging the hem an inch down your bare legs. “My best friend dragged me to some formal thing the other American students were trying to throw together. Really random.” Harry nods so you go on after a pause. “You’re handcuffed to someone and have to finish a bottle of wine, but India and I didn’t coordinate beforehand so we both brought one.” “Seems like fun.” “It certainly was.” You raise the Prosecco and it sloshes up against the neck of the bottle in tiny waves. “And you,” you raise your eyebrows, “look like a Turkish rug.” Harry grins, inclining his head as if that were the highest compliment. “Where’s Sylvia tonight?” His face is full of mock surprise. Harry pats the breast pocket of his jacket before running his hands over the front and back of his trousers. He looks over his shoulders, comically frantic, scanning each corner of the lift until you begin to laugh. Harry smiles wider, a little too pleased with himself. “She’s with her mum and her mum’s fiancé this week—so I guess her, um… soon-to-be other mum… They were having a little gathering at their new place tonight and we did the countdown a few hours early for her.” “How sweet.” Without a second thought, you inch closer and begin reaching for a stray piece of confetti in his hair. You can tell you’re drunk because you indulge a little in combing your fingertips through one of Harry’s curls, though it’s probably subtle enough for him not to notice. He goes very still. “Did—did you press the thing?” Harry stammers, his attention jerking to the keypad. “I didn’ press the thing.” “Oops,” you laugh, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the doors as you turn to watch Harry hit the sixth and eighth floor buttons. Though the rain has offset India’s efforts to tame your hair, what surprises you more is the bright-eyed expression on your face. It’s out of character for you to feel this exhilarated over a simple drunken conversation. But something delightedly nervous hums beneath your skin all the same. “Why are you so wet?” you ask as Harry returns from the keypad. A tad closer, you note, than where he’d been standing before. You lean on your shoulder to face him and he slouches a little to meet your height. “Walked home,” Harry replies. Your jaw drops. “In the pouring rain?” “S’like ten minutes—really not bad.” Harry shrugs. “I didn’t mean to get so pissed tonight. My New Year’s resolution was to go a little easy on the booze.” He shakes his head in a chuckle. “I can’t really handle what I used to since the little one came along. M’not much of a drinker anymore.” The lift jumps as you reach the sixth floor and your arm flies out to balance yourself in the same moment that Harry offers both hands to catch you. You clutch his forearm and then immediately let go. “Sorry,” you murmur, taking one last look at him. “Well, goodnight Harry. Happy New Year’s.” The look he is giving you is peculiar—on the verge of resignation, but not quite letting go of all hope. As though the last sober part of him is leaning forward on its elbows, asking if you agree without telling you first what it wants. Harry cranes his neck around to look down the stretch of hallway, his head falling back against the wall with a gentle thump. “You know, New Year’s isn’t really over until you finish all the champagne,” he declares, and you laugh a little in surprise. “Prosecco.” He waves away the correction. “Fine, all the Prosecco.” “New Year’s isn’t over until you get every last piece of confetti out of your hair,” you challenge. Harry raises his eyebrows, looking back to you. If he doesn’t get off soon, the doors are going to close. “New Year’s isn’t over until your shoes come off in the lift,” he shoots back. You burst out in a laugh. “New Year’s isn’t over until you’ve broken your resolution two hours into January.” Harry rolls his eyes. He smirks a little and it’s annoyingly charming in the dim, golden glow of the lift’s broken light. He’s stalling. All at once, you’re acutely aware of the lingering smell of rain and the faint hum of the light fixture overhead. You swear you can hear the echo of that never-ending voicemail from the day you’d slotted your fingers into his like it was a secret, just an arm’s length away from where the two of you stand now. He had tried to kiss you once before and you had stopped him. But now, in this moment, with your heart in your throat, you desperately want him to try again. Harry starts to speak and you don’t wait for him to finish. “Well, New Year’s isn’t over—” “—until you kiss someone at midnight.” You’re hyper aware of your own breathing in the daunting silence that follows. The lift doors seal closed. Harry is close enough for you to see the flecks of hazel in his eyes like sea glass. He floats his hand up as though he’s going to cup your jaw, but traces the tip of his middle finger in a line up your cheek to push back your hair so lightly it tickles. His jaw flexes and just when you swear he isn’t going to, Harry leans in. It’s gradual, as though he’s waiting for you to change your mind, but your heads are tilting and then the tips of your noses brush. If you turn, even minutely, the corner of your mouth will meet his. You can feel your pulse thumping in the side of your neck. It dawns on you that you’re both simply waiting to see who is going to do it. “It’s not midnight,” Harry breathes. “Don’t tell me you’re a stickler for the rules.” The warmth and dew of his laugh grazes your cheek. With that, Harry brushes his mouth against yours. It feels painstakingly tender, like he’s never kissed anybody before. You’re so spellbound that you’re hardly even sure how to reciprocate something so soft. Harry’s bottom lip hovers over the very tip of your cupid’s bow just before he pulls away. Was that even a kiss? The very edges of your mouths had met, but only just. You still feel the tingle of where his lips had been moments ago. You open your eyes and Harry is a few inches away now, looking down at you. His hand is still ghosting the side of your face, like he’s afraid he might break you. When had your own hand slid flat against his chest beneath the lapel of his suit? “Is this a good idea?” you whisper, sliding your hand out to trace one of the round, fabric buttons with your fingertip. He swallows roughly. “Maybe not.” “Okay.” “Okay,” he yields. But neither of you move away. “Maybe this should just stay between us,” you suggest after a beat, heart sinking in your chest. “Well then if it’s just staying between us…” Before you have the chance to inhale, Harry presses his mouth against yours, harder, like he means it this time. His lips are warm and soft as they move with yours. You’re on your toes as one of his hands slides to the back of your neck, the other snaking around your waist to pull you into him. It still isn’t close enough. It’s surreal to be kissing him after a year. How much time had lapsed in total since you’d seen him that first day you moved in? How many mornings had been spent beside each other in silence? You’d spoken through side glances and subdued smiles from opposite corners of a crowded lift more than you ever truly had with words. But this… this feels like threads made up of every intimacy you’ve ever shared in this tiny room pulling you together at last. You pull apart just before the lift dings on the eighth floor. You’re both somewhat winded as you rest your foreheads together, and you release two unintended fistfuls of his jacket. Harry slides his hands down your bare arms to cup your elbows, his thumbs stroking circles in the soft crook of your forearm. “Have some water before you go to sleep.” “I will,” you chuckle. You’re unsure why either of you are speaking so softly, there’s no need. “Goodnight, Harry.” “Goodnight.” He says your name like a promise—like he’s determined to make up for all the days he didn’t get the chance to use it. You didn’t know it could sound like that. “Happy New Year’s.” You smile over your shoulder before padding barefoot into the hall as he reaches out to push the sixth-floor button for the second time. The last thing you’re able to see through the closing doors of the lift is Harry rubbing a thoughtful hand over his stubble, smiling down at his feet. (part two)

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #utsr redux

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Blind Date

((gif by moi))

A/N: This is the first smut I’ve ever tried to write sooo let me know how it is!

word count: 3.6 k

tw: smut, swallowing, plain ol’ sex with a plot

masterlist

Spencer spun around lazily in his desk chair, flipping through a case file when Derek walked up to him.

“Pretty boy! Just who I was looking for!”

Spencer looked up from the folder at Derek and groaned internally, “What’s up?”

Derek half sat on the edge of the desk, barely containing his excitement as his leg bounced.

“How would you like to go out tonight on a date?”

Spencer scrunched up his eyebrows, a vague look of confusion painting his face. He was waiting for the punch like of this joke, or prank or whatever it was Morgan was trying to pull.

“A date?”

“Yep, a date.”

“With who?” Spencer dropped the file on his desk, crossing his hands across his chest and looking up at Derek. A date? He hadn’t even talked to a girl since Maeve. How was he supposed to go on a date?

“This nurse Savannah works with, (Y/N), I think you guys would be a great pair.”

So this wasn’t just another prank. Spencer sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hands.

“I don’t know, I haven’t, since—“

Derek cut him off, “I know, but it’s been three years Reid. She’d want you to move on.”

Spencer thought about it for a moment. It had crossed his mind recently that he needed to get back out there if he wanted any chance at a family in the future. He came to terms with Maeve’s loss a while ago, but it still felt like he would be cheating on her if he even looked at another woman.

“Look, kid, I think this one could really be worth it. She’s funny, kind, super smart and outgoing, I think you’d make a good match. I wouldn’t even bring it up to you if I didn’t.” Derek looked sincere, his eyebrows furrowed with worry.

Spencer thought for a moment and nodded, a sudden feeling of confidence coming over him, “Yeah, yeah okay I’ll go.”

What’s the worst that could happen? She could hate him and end up being a crazy killer? The odds were slim.

“Really?” Derek’s eyes were wide.

“Yeah, if she agrees to it why not?”

Derek slapped the desk and then squeezed Spencer’s shoulders, “Savannah and I will pick you up at 7, loverboy.”

“You and Savann–“ Spencer cut himself off, “Wait it’s a double date?”

Derek shrugged, “Yeah, that way if it goes South we can swoop in. But don’t worry. This date is not going downhill, not on my watch.”

Spencer just laughed lightly and tucked his overgrown hair behind his ear. A slight pang of guilt and dread formed in his stomach but he did his best to ignore it. Maybe this would be good for him? He hoped it was.

————

“No,” you said to Savannah over the nurse’s station.

She was trying to set you up, yet again, on another blind date. She was your best friend and you loved her, but she couldn’t let it go. She was constantly trying to matchmake for you, especially since she met Derek. You always told her she got the last decent guy, to which she’d roll her eyes and say, ‘Your guy is out there!’ You didn’t think that was true anymore.

“Y/N! C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

You rolled your eyes, skimming another patient file, “That’s what you said about Dylan. And Brian. And Craig. And they were not fun Sav!”

You started walking down the hallway and she followed you, shoes squeaking, “This one is different though.”

You stopped and made eye contact with her. She looked hopeful, genuine, sincere. Part of you wanted to say yes, but after several disaster dates with the disaster men that she sent your way you were very doubtful.

“You also said Scott was ‘different’ and he ended up still living in his mother’s basement.”

Savannah laughed and shook her head, “Okay, I was wrong about Scott. But I mean it. Spencer’s special!”

“He’s special?” You sounded bored.

“Yes! He works with Derek. The nerdy kid, remember?”

You vaguely remembered her meeting some of his coworkers and nodded, “Yeah he’s like a genius or whatever?”

“Yes him!”

You pretended to think, tapping your chin over zealously and then finally said, “Nope,” popping the ‘p’. You started down the hall way again, her still following you. She always was persistent, and even a little stubborn.

“Y/N, listen to me. Spencer is like 6’1, smart, lanky, kinda awkward but sweet, nerdy, brown shaggy hair; he’s literally your exact type.”

You sighed, she was right. That is your exact type. If you could build-a-man like build-a-bear, Spencer Reid is who you’d make. Savannah did always prefer the more masculine men like Derek, whereas you had a tendency to go for guys who looked like they ran on coffee and adderall and had sensitive eyes.

“Derek and I will be there too, double date style, just in case you guys need a little nudge.”

“But Sav—“

“Nope, no buts. You’re coming. This is a good one, Y/N. I can feel it.”

“But what about work? What if we get called or they do or?”

You were rambling looking for an excuse not to go. You had no good reason to say no, you were just tired of one too many bad dates.

“Work is NOT getting in the way this time! I’ll see you at 7,” she cooed, waving as she slipped into a patient room.

Maybe she was right, maybe he would be special?

————

So that’s how you ended up sitting across from Spencer Reid in the booth of a diner at 7 pm on a Thursday night.

“I swear I reserved the restaurant for tonight!” Derek said, Savannah on his arm as you all walked a few blocks to the diner. They were Barbie and Ken, just hotter. You and Spencer walked side by side, about a foot between you.

When you had arrived at the fancy restaurant at 6:45 the hostess informed you all that Derek had reserved a table for a Thursday three months from now. The backup plan was the 24-hour diner you and Savannah hit many times post shift.

Spencer sat across from you, folding open the massive menu to find something he’d like. He was exactly how you remembered him: wickedly smart and devilishly handsome.

A dangerous combination.

“So Y/N, Spencer’s from Las Vegas,” Savannah started, not to subtly nudging you under the table with her leg.

“Really? That’s nice, I love Vegas,” You said and Spencer nodded slightly in response, “You’ve been?”

You nodded, “Yeah, for a few girls trips.”

He just nodded and let the conversation die. You felt a little defeated. Was this guy that bad at dates? Or did he just not like you?

True to her word, Savannah stepped in again.

“Today Y/N had a patient throw ice chips at her.”

“What’d you do to make them do that?” Derek said, peeking over the massive menu at you.

You laughed, “That’s not even the worst thing that’s happened.”

“What rotation are you on right now?” Spencer asked you and ordered a Shirley temple. What kind of guy orders a Shirley temple? This guy. This impossibly cute guy, who probably didn’t want you.

“Labor and delivery, so I’ve had many things thrown at me, been called many names,” You laughed and he smiled back.

“I can only imagine.”

“Pretty boy here has actually delivered a baby before,” Derek chimed in.

You stifled a laugh, “Really? Is that so?”

Spencer’s cheeks turned a light pink, “Yeah, actually, and it was not what I expected.”

“Well what did you expect?”

He smirked, “I read all the manuals, I didn’t expect rose petals and magic but that much fluid? Where does it all even come from?”

You and Savannah chuckled, “Squeamish Dr. Reid?”

“Surprisingly, birth is harder to see than some of the dead bodies we get.”

“Hey hey, no dead body and grossness talk at dinner. I’m trying to eat here,” Derek said as the food arrived.

Spencer put his hands up in defeat, “No more dead body talk, I promise.”

You did the same, “No more birth talk, promise!”

You all started to eat, and of course you and Spencer reached for the ketchup at the same time, bumping fingers, like in those teen movies.

“I’m sorry, ladies first,” he said. You grabbed the bottle and squeezed ketchup all over your french fries.

Savannah cringed, “She doesn’t put ketchup on the side of her fries to dip like a normal person, she squeezes it all over top like a psychopath.”

You feigned insult and lightly hit her arm, “Hey! Don’t call me a psychopath in front of all the FBI agents!”

“For what it’s worth, Y/N, you definitely aren’t a psychopath,” Spencer said, offering you a shy smile, “I know psychopaths.”

“Thank you Dr. Reid,” you blushed and he took the ketchup from you, squirting it all over his fries just like you did.

“See! I’m not crazy! He did it too!”

“Probably because you’re both psychopaths,” Savannah giggled and the four of you laughed.

You reached over and took a fry from Spencer’s plate and then you both were finally comfortable. You looked at Savannah once and gave her a thumbs up; she was right, this was a good one.

The rest of the night was perfect. You and Spencer joked and laughed and learned about each other, by the end of the night you almost forgot Derek and Savannah were even there. The two of you were in your own little world, and it was amazing. You would’ve stayed out forever if they would’ve let you.

“We can all hitch a cab?” Derek said as you all stood on the corner. It was cold out and Spencer had so kindly given you his suit jacket. It smelled like fancy cologne, how much more attractive could he be?

You looked at Spencer, and he looked at you, and in that moment you made a decision. You were not going home without this man tonight.

“Actually, I live a few blocks that way,” You said, pointing in the opposite direction, the oversized jacket flopping as you did so, “I’m good to walk home.”

“Would you like some company?” Spencer said, his mouth turned up in a crooked smile. He rocked back and forth on his heels.

“I’d love some.”

Derek and Savannah gave each other a knowing look and bid you farewell. Spencer offered his arm and you grabbed it, leading him to your apartment.

As you walked he pointed out sights and told you the history of the landmarks you were passing.

“The Washington Monument was completed in two phases, a private one from 1848 to 1854 and then a public one from 1876 to 1884.”

“Have you ever been up in it?” You asked, stopping to stare up at the huge monument.

“No, have you?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I have.”

“Maybe you can take me up next time,” he stammered out, blushing and squeezing your arm tight.

You smiled, blush creeping up your face as well at the thought of a “next time.”

“Yeah, I’d love to, and then I’ll show you the best bakery in DC. I’m a sucker for an eclair.”

You released your arm from the crook of his elbow and grabbed his hand. He grabbed yours back, looking down at you in his jacket in the moonlight. His eyes were shiny and the brown was dark, almost black. His tongue darted in and out of his mouth and he bit on his lip ever so slightly.

You wanted to kiss him. Scratch that. You needed to kiss him. You stopped again and he turned to face you. Just as you went up on your tippy toes to kiss him, he knelt down to your level and connected your lips.

It was a short, sweet, innocent kiss that made butterflies erupt in your stomach, and other places. When you separated you were both grinning ear to ear.

The rest of the walk was hand in hand, him rubbing his thumb over your knuckles and you both talking. When you arrived at the front door, you both paused.

“Well, this is me,” You said and started to unlock the door. He stayed a few steps down, just smiling at you.

“Do you want my—should I give you my phone number?” He said, his voice laced with doubt.

You smiled and turned, “Actually...”

His face fell, a sad expression covering the smile he had moments ago.

“Oh, it’s okay I understand, I-I thought we were having a good time is all,” he mumbled out, rubbing his arms because he was freezing and you still had on his jacket.

“I was going to say would you like to come in?” You said, feeling just as awkward as he did.

His eyes widened, “Uh- do I want to come in?” Even he knew what that was insinuating.

You suddenly felt embarrassed, like you had misread the entire situation, “I mean, only if you want to?”

He regained his confidence a little, “Yeah. Yeah, I want to.” And he followed you inside.

You slid off his suit jacket and laid it nicely over a chair, “Can I get you a drink?”

He nodded, “Water’s fine.”

As you went to the kitchen to find him a glass of water, he made himself at home on the couch. You could’ve sworn you heard him mumbling to himself, but shrugged it off. You sat next to him and placed the two glasses of water on the coffee table.

You turned to him, “So—“

To your surprise, he immediately kissed you again, this time with less innocence and much longer. You kissed back, nipping slightly at his lower lip. The kiss got more and more intense, your tongue moving between his slightly chapped lips. His hands found a home on your hip bones, using his thumbs to rub small circles there. When you separated you both had to take a few slow breaths.

“Sorry, I don’t usually do this on a first date,” you mumbled, scooting closer to him so your thighs were touching.

He grabbed a stray piece of your hair and tucked it behind your ear, “I don’t usually do this at all.”

His hand went to cup your face and he was kissing you again. This time, you leaned back so he could hover over you, his tie laying over your chest.

His hands were on either side of you, and your fingers were running through his messy brown hair. You tugged slightly at the root, making him moan and open his mouth even more to you.

Slowly you reached down to fumble with his tie, his hand reached up to stop you.

“Patience,” he mumbled into your lips before kissing down your cheek and across your jaw. Each kiss sent jolts through your body, making the peach fuzz on your neck stand up. You put your hands back where they were in his hair, and one of his hands stayed next to you, supporting him, and the other landed on your hip. His lips found a spot just under your ear, and he sucked on it slightly making you moan and shut your eyes.

“The ears are a neglected erogenous zone,” he said against your skin before nipping and biting at the lobe.

“I-I like it,” you breathed out as you reached back for his tie and undid it, tossing it somewhere across from the couch.

“Should we take this somewhere else?”

You nodded, and in one motion he picked you up bridal style. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and giggled as you led him to your bedroom. He laid you on your bed gently.

You scooted up to the pillows and propped yourself up on your elbows, “Lose the shirt, Dr. Reid.”

He raised and eyebrow at you but did what you asked and soon his dress shirt and undershirt were on the floor. He was slim but covered in muscle. You bit your lip at the thought how scratch marks would look down his back.

“It’s rude to stare,” he joked, and another redhot flush graced your cheeks.

You absentmindedly rubbed your legs together in anticipation as he began to undo his belt. You felt like it was only fair that you undressed too, so you took off your dress and laid out in your bra and underwear.

When he returned to hovering over you he smiled, sloppy kisses running from your lips and down your neck. You silently cursed yourself for not wearing nicer undergarments, but Spencer didn’t seem to mind as he palmed your breasts over your beige bra. You moaned into the skin of his shoulder and started to kiss and suck there. Your hands scratched down is back, leaving red lines in their wake. He grabbed your bra straps and pulled them off your shoulders, pulling the bra down to expose you to him.

With a sharp intake of breath, his mouth was around one of your nipples, sucking on it and twisting it between his lips. His free hand came up to pinch the other bud, making you moan loudly again. You arched your back to meet him, and his hand left your chest to force you back down.

You whimpered as you felt him hard and hot against your thigh. Then he switched sides, wanting to give you equal attention. He stayed there until you begged him to stop.

“S-Spencer,” you said between breathy moans, “Just fuck me already.”

He pulled back and blew on your chest lightly, sending shivers down your spine and wetness to your center.

He stopped and looked at you, his eyes warm and full of concern, “Are you sure?”

You writhed underneath him, “Yes, I’m sure. I’m clean. I’m protected. Please. I need you.”

He completely removed your bra and underwear now, leaving you naked beneath him. You pulled his boxers down slightly, so he could spring out. You pumped him a few times and ran the tip across your entrance, making both of you groan. He kissed you kindly, like he had in front of the washington monument, and then slid inside of you.

You groaned at the feeling, clutching the sheets beside you as he let you adjust.

“Okay?” He whispered and you nodded.

“Do something Spencer, please.”

And with that he began thrusting in and out of you slowly, stopping when he bottomed out. You wrapped your thighs around his waist and pulled him in closer to you while your hands tugged at his hair. The sounds falling from both of you were obscene and delicious. It was hard to tell where he started and you ended.

“Fuck,” he groaned, falling from his hands to his elbows over you. Your chests touched and he stuck his thumb in your mouth. You instinctively sucked in it and he took it between your thighs to start stroking figure-eights on your clit. You groaned and arched into him.

“Don’t stop,” You mumbled, kissing whatever skin your mouth could reach.

“I’m close,” he whispered, sweat dripping off his forehead and onto you but you didn’t care. All that mattered was the way he was winding you up with his fingers, getting you closer and closer to the edge. You stared up at him, his hair stuck to his forehead and his eyebrows furrowed. You made eye contact and he caught your lips in a lusty kiss.

“Wait for me,” you ordered, scratching more lines down his back as your orgasm took over. Your vision went black, your whole body tensing as you pulsed around him.

He rode your high with you while chasing his own.

“Where can I?”

“My mouth,” you said, as he pulled out and put his tip between your lips. You used your hands and mouth to finish him before he came.

The two of you flopped on the bed panting, then started laughing. You turned to lay your head on his chest, “I’m glad I went out tonight.”

He pulled you close to him, so your head was just above his pounding heart, “So am I.” And he kissed your forehead.

You snuck out of his arms to get cleaned up and returned to your spot on his chest. There he stroked your back lightly until you both fell asleep.

————

The next morning you were turned away from Spencer, your butts touching slightly making you chuckle. You looked over at him and he was still soundly sleeping, looking even more adorable than he had the night before, if that was even possible.

You looked for your phone and saw two missed calls from Savannah. You called her back.

“Hey,” you whispered so you wouldn’t wake Spencer.

“Sooo what’d you think? What’d you guys do? Did you....”

You rolled your eyes, “It was a great night Savannah.”

She squealed on the other side, “YES! I knew it. You owe me $15!” She called to Derek, who was no doubt listening on the other end. You had to stifle a laugh.

“So there’s a second date in your future? I don’t have to keep setting you up?”

You looked over at Spencer, his hair falling in angelic waves around his face. You admired the lips you had grown to know last night and couldn’t wait to feel them again.

“No more setting me up,” You whispered, “And you were right Sav, this one is special.”

You couldn’t tell but Spencer was awake, his mouth turning up into a smile as he overheard your conversation. When you hung up he stretched as if he has just woken up.

“Hey,” he said, voice raspy and groggy.

“Hey,” you placed a peck on his lips.

“How about breakfast is date number two?”

#spencer reid smut #reid smut #spencer smut #criminal minds #spencer reid #reid #gifs by me #spencer reid fic #spencer x you #criminal minds fic #cm

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multi-lefaiye · 2 years

Note

hiii I'm a bit late this week but! here I am! :D I was gonna ask about Roach but I know you have a Roach Ramble in the works so... maybe I could coax a handful of Oliver facts out of you instead? what's his favourite possession? what's something he's never told anyone? where can he be found if he has a free afternoon to himself? :3 (but also feel more than free to answer for Roach too, I love them both!)

hi hello yes!!!! that's okay!!! happy storyteller saturday to you!! :>

YES my boy Oliver......... a very nice young man. he is very polite and kind. I would love to talk about him,,,, at some point I should do a full Oliver Ramble once I stop rotating Roach in my mind 24/7. It'd be fun to give each cast member a Full Ramble in the style of the one i'm doing for Roach.

okay ANYWAY yes Oliver facts!!!! I will answer the questions you offered and a couple of others!!! Because Oliver is a sweet young man.

Oliver's favorite possession is a scarf his Auntie Ruth made for him when he moved out and started living on his own! He taught himself how to knit so he could make one for her in turn, and now he likes to make things for those he loves when he has the time.

Something he's never told anyone... the first one off the top of my head is that he has a crush on Roach, honestly. He's not very subtle about it, sweet boy he is, but he hasn't admitted it to anyone, not even the others in the group. Roach is very aware of it, though, and they're not sure how to feel about it (not because they dislike him, but they have big-time self-esteem issues).

When he has free time to himself, Oliver most likes to spend most of his time either at home with his cat or at the local library. He's very much an introvert, and he loves to read. His favorite books are fantasy, but he enjoys other genres as well.

Now for a few rapid-fire Oliver facts!!!

He has a fondness for animals of all kinds, but cats (as you can guess) are a favorite of his. If he had the money, he would love to have more, but for now he's happy with just his baby Sparky.

He believes in ghosts and believes he has had a few experiences with the paranormal in his life. However, he's very casual about this and doesn't usually talk about it.

His favorite food is apple pie.

He has two younger brothers named Joshua and William.

Unfortunately, his parents passed away when he was young, and he was raised by his Auntie Ruth. They're still very close to this day.

Officially, he works as an assistant editor and camera operator for the team, though he has a day job as a substitute math teacher.

Roach is the first person he's had romantic feelings for since he was in college, and he's not really sure how to go about asking them out. For now, he's happy to love them from a distance, and he's more than happy to be their friend rather than their boyfriend, if that's what they want.

I was planning to share some other Roach Facts but. Roach Ramble is coming soon..... :3c Anyway yes I adore Oliver, he's wonderful.

#a modern ghost story #oliver cox #talk to the bunnykitty #albatris #storyteller saturday #thank you so much!!!#i really like thinking about oliver... like roach has taken center stage in my brain #but oliver is a delight as well #and i was so excited to talk about him a little asdfjk;l #i want. to draw him.#romance mention cw #just in case

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jaxsteamblog · 3 years

Text

I’ll Save You from the Pirates

Click here to read the entire fic on AO3

Katara made sure everything was zipped and buttoned before stepping out of the small control building. She was grateful for the early morning survey trip; being in the South Pole brought in a lot of things too close for comfort.

The village she had selected for the initial drilling was on the northern side of the mountains watched over her childhood. On an especially clear day in summer, it was possible to see the far distant peaks of the Air Nation archipelago.

Or else, that’s what she assumed those smudges on the horizon were.

Shaking her head, Katara forced a smile at the workers waiting for her at the dock. She assumed she had a touch of midnight sun sickness, since her body was used to the perpetual darkness of the northern winter at the moment. Even with the new simulated nighttime, Katara was not adjusting as quickly as she had hoped.

It made her head feel like a balloon despite her body feeling sluggish.

“Shall we?” Katara asked, looking from man to man. They were unfamiliar to her, but so were many of the people she met in the South Pole.

The only time she had ever left her village was the once. And she hadn’t properly returned from that trip.

A lifetime ago, Katara had stepped onto a different sort of rickety boat. This one was made of metal, required some sort of crew to operate, and was probably more likely to survive a squall in the open ocean.

But her head still rocked violently when she was fully onboard.

“Gum, Majesty?” One of the men offered. Katara smiled in a closed lipped, queasy sort of way. Taking the thin rectangle of foil, her fingertips felt numb while unwrapping it. The gum was a pale pink, like the meat of any arctic fish.

That image didn’t help her head.

Her jaw worked slowly, feeling the gum nearly disintegrate between her teeth. The flavor was odd, but there was enough mint to calm her a bit.

Sitting on a box of supplies, Katara looked over the edge as the ship pulled away from the dock. The Beifong representative had been complaining of pirates for weeks. Small, quick boats that harassed their supply ships. Usually the attacks were pointless; the expensive equipment had been installed months ago. But medical supplies, shelf stable food, and other minor sundries were beginning to add up on the list of pirated goods.

Fire Nation engineers weren’t bothered by the pirates. Many of them were former military and were not at all subtle over their wish to interact with sea bandits.

Not to be inferred as wanting to fight Water Tribals of course, your Highness.

They were a congenial sort, in their own way.

As they continued on, Katara rubbed her eyes. A migraine was building at her forehead and she called up the cold water to attempt to heal it.

The brain was tricky, and sometimes she had trouble healing herself as she often didn’t think it was bad enough to worry over. Pressure pounded, but the pain stayed as that cloudy prophecy of worse to come.

In her mouth, the gum quickly lost its flavor, so Katara spat out the wad into her palm. The pink was long gone, and the wrinkled gray lump looked foul.

“What even was that?” She muttered and turned around. The man who offered her the gum was standing next to her, a bag in his hands.

Thinking it was trash, Katara moved to shake out the used gum.

The bag went over her head.

When she came to, the sun was setting. This meant two things: that she had been unconscious for a very long time and that they were no longer in South Pole waters.

And noting that she was also in a straight jacket, bound to a tree, Katara figured she was in the Earth Kingdom.

The pirates, as she assumed them to be, were near enough by that Katara could see them at their small fire. The light faded before it got to her, and so she couldn’t make out faces or words.

Looking around, and trying to shift into a comfortable position, Katara knew she was in the woods and far from the ocean. The straight jacket kept her arms and hands from bending, and her legs were shackled tightly together.

Rohan had told her stories about how the late King Bumi could earthbend by wriggling his eyebrows, but Katara wasn’t that skilled. Yet.

Sighing, Katara looked back at the fire.

Historical pirates had been her people, but they were effectively wiped out during the war. Airbender Bumi had created his Sky Pirates, and now they had been replaced by Earth Kingdom citizens. A counterclockwise Avatar cycle.

Bound and still feeling sick, the night air was at least steadying her senses. But she really didn’t know what to do next.

And yet, she really didn’t feel the need to plan. The situation almost made her feel calm. It took the sudden figure behind her to tell her why.

“I’ll save you from the pirates.” A soft voice whispered into her ear.

Katara snorted, turning it into a sneeze in case she was overheard. She was, and one of the pirates got up to investigate.

“Oh no. A ruffian approaches. Whatever shall I do.” Katara said robotically.

The man frowned as he neared.

“Don’t think of calling for help.” He said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Katara replied and smiled broadly.

“You think something’s funny? I’d like to see you try your bending now.” He said.

“Neither of us needs bending to kick your ass.” The shadowed man said.

The pirate straightened just as the hilt of a sword smashed into the side of his head. The man collapsed as his assailant moved into the dusky light.

The blue oni mask sent electricity through Katara’s veins.

“Let me help you out.” Zuko said, crouching next to her and slicing through the straps.

“You might want to focus on them.” Katara said, wiggling out of the restraint.

Zuko stood and turned, separating his dual swords and rotating his wrists to loosen them.

“Be right back my love.” He said and darted forward.

Katara watched as closely as she could, shoulder off the straightjacket. Zuko moved quickly, as he always did, and many of the pirates were unable to even reach their guns. Those that did nearly lost a hand before Zuko knocked them prone.

To her surprise, there was an actual Earthbender among the group and Katara wondered if she should intervene. She was working on the shackles on her ankles when the cannonball of earth slammed Zuko into a tree. But the Blue Spirit leapt back onto his feet and kicked debris into the Bender’s face. By the time Katara snapped off the frozen metal, the Bender was face down on the ground.

Zuko paused to put out the small fires made when he kicked their cook fire before walking back to Katara. He held out his hand to help her up and she dusted off the back of her pants as he sheathed his unified sword.

“How did you get here so quickly?” She asked.

“Sokka helped.” He explained.

“But this?” Katara questioned, gesturing to his costume.

“I had plans.”

“Plans?” She stepped in close, running her fingers along the edge of his mask. “Did it involve a veil?”

“For you it involved only veils.” He answered, putting a warm hand on her lower back.

“KATARA!” A man’s voice bellowed and they jumped apart.

“My dad?” Katara choked out.

“It would make sense that others would be responding to this incident, yes.” Zuko said stoically, like he was also just realizing this.

“You need to go.” She hissed, shoving at Zuko’s side.

“Where?” He whispered back. “I don’t really know where I am!”

“KATARA!” Hakoda called again, much closer now.

“They can’t see you! You’re a wanted man!” Katara continued to shove, but Zuko didn’t move.

“My boat is that way!” He said, pointing past her to where Hakoda’s voice had come.

“KATARA!” Hakoda sounded desperate, and it actually raked at Katara.

“You have to get-” She stopped as she heard multiple people run into the clearing.

“GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!” Hakoda yelled. Katara turned, spreading her arms wide.

“He saved me dad!” She yelled back.

Hakoda halted and looked around. Seeing the very recent carnage, Hakoda made quick gestures. The others with him ran forward, securing the unconscious pirates.

“Who are you?” Hakoda asked cautiously, walking slowly up to them.

“This is the Blue Spirit. I’ve actually met him before, during the war.” Katara explained haltingly. She lowered her arms and glanced upward. “He’s….mute?”

“Well then.” Hakoda was awkward and his words were just as fumbled. “Thank you.”

He then made a sort of pained face, tilting his head slightly. “Are you really a spirit?”

“Probably not.” Katara said and heard Zuko huff behind his mask.

“At least, the Fire Nation thinks he’s just some traitor.” She added.

“I haven’t much cared for the opinion of the Fire Nation.” Hakoda muttered and Katara frowned.

“But I thank you for rescuing my daughter.” He continued. “Man or not, I must thank you properly for your help. It’s my duty as a chief, and a father.”

As Katara started to protest, Zuko moved from behind her and bowed. It was a modified gesture from the typical Fire Nation salute. It was meant to show respect to other nations.

“Great, now we can see what a spirit eats.” Katara growled, her jaw clenched.

“You know, we should hope he is a spirit.” Hakoda said as they started to walk in the direction Katara assumed the boats had moored.

“Why’s that?” Katara asked in exasperation, knowing Zuko would want to ask himself.

“You said you’ve met before. I don’t think the Fire Lord would appreciate the competition.” Hakoda finished.

Zuko huffed again and Katara sighed.

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#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes #modern au #the fic that prompts built #zutara month 2021

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elisela · 4 years

Text

giving off sparks buck x eddie, 1.1k I told @tylerhunklin to choose a meet-ugly prompt and she picked this please blame her for this sloppy mess okay. 41. I’m at the 24/7 gym at 2 in the morning and I thought I was alone so I’m singing in the showers, but when you start singing with me, I’m startled and slip so the first time we meet, we’re both wet and naked.

Filling in on B-shift has really thrown Buck off. Being down crew members is never easy, and not only does he miss his team (not that he’s ever telling Chim that), he misses his schedule. Buck thrives on routine, likes that it keeps him grounded and comfortable—something he hasn’t felt much of since Abby left six months ago. So of course as soon as they break the new probie in, Leo goes and gets himself hurt sliding down an elevator shaft like a big damn hero and catching his arm on some looped wires, tearing his rotator cuff and ripping his skin to shreds to top it off. As if that wasn’t enough, Mitchell’s wife had gone into early labor and he’d taken off eight weeks earlier than his planned leave (Buck wasn’t blaming him for that, of course, he’d dropped by the hospital a few times with gift cards and dinner for them, but it certainly wasn’t helping matters).

Down two, was bad enough, but then the ladder had collapsed with Macy at the top, and Bobby was scrambling to find coverage. They’d be getting some probies on loan starting the next day, but the last week has been difficult, and all Buck wants to do is get back to his usual schedule.

Honestly, the only good thing about this one is that when he wakes up from his nap at 2am, the 24 hour gym down the block from his apartment is usually pretty empty.

It’s leg day, and Buck takes the advice to never skip leg day very seriously. How else is he supposed to climb up endless flights of stairs, carry people out of burning buildings, or look good in those new pink shorts he bought for the next time he had a chance to hit the beach? And it’s been a hard shift, so he pushes himself a little more than he normally does, racks an extra forty pounds on the prowler sled that he pushes across the mat, adds an extra set to his split squats, and finishes up with a double-time Cupid Shuffle workout, because he’s seen it on TikTok too many times to not do it at this point, basically.

He doesn’t always work out to music but he blasts it tonight, jamming his AirPods in and hitting play on a random Spotify workout playlist, letting music he doesn’t know for the most part carry his energy. For the cool down though—he misses Maddie a little, because their schedules conflict now, so he scrolls until he finds one of the playlists she’s made and stretches while Bon Jovi sings about holding on and listens to Jenny’s phone number being scribbled on the bathroom wall.

He’s heading into the locker room for a desperately needed shower—the water pressure is more stable here than it is at his apartment—when Total Eclipse of the Heart comes on, and—

Well, Buck is only human, and the song basically demands you sing along to it. So, one earbud shoved in his locker along with his phone and the other still in his ear, he steps into the shower and belts it out.

It’s just his bad luck that he squeezes body wash onto his hand with a little too much enthusiasm, causing it to drip off and onto the slick tile floor, just before someone comes around the corner and joins him in the chorus, startling him.

He jumps, right foot sliding in the soap, and he can’t counterbalance himself fast enough on exhausted legs to do anything but fall—which would have been fine, if he hadn’t hit his head on the shower knobs on the way down. But he does, and he must black out for a second because when he comes to, there’s a very hot, very naked man kneeling next to him, and Buck would like to die very much because this stranger’s dick is right next to his head and what his traitorous mind chooses to say is “sorry, this isn’t how I usually pick up men.”

Apparently, his prayers for a swift death go unanswered, but tall, hot, and naked just laughs. “Sorry for surprising you, man. Can you look up here for me? Track my fingers?”

“Hot and a doctor?” Buck asks, because if he’s in this far he might as well just keep going. Shame can come later, when he’s drowning himself in whatever alcohol is in the cupboard to forget about this moment.

“Former paramedic,” the man answers, grinning. “So definitely not as rich as you’re thinking. Can I touch your head?”

“You can touch anything you want,” he says, and then “if loss of common sense is a symptom of a concussion, you should probably call 911.”

There’s laughter, and then the man’s hands are cupping his neck, lifting it gently and prodding his fingers around. “A little swelling,” he says, “but no bleeding. Honestly, you seem pretty good for someone who hit their head that hard. Anyone at home that can watch you for a few hours?”

Buck allows himself to be helped up and resists the urge to drown himself. “I’m heading into work in a little bit,” he says. “I’ll let them know. Thanks a lot.”

“I can give you a ride if you need—”

“I live just down the street,” Buck says, embarrassment catching up to him now that they’re standing in the small shower stall, too close together for no real reason. “But thanks, I appreciate it.”

He dresses quickly—carefully, not wanting a repeat of the shower incident, but quickly—and leaves, shampoo still in his hair. Whatever, he can shower at home, he just needs to get out of this locker room.

Hen’s still on shift when he makes it in to the 118 two hours later, going straight for the coffee maker and downing two cups; he tells her briefly that he hit his head, giving no other details, and she fusses over him for a few minutes before she also declares him to be fine.

It’s a slow day for the most part, just two calls until lunch, when Bobby comes jogging up the stairs while Buck is digging through the refrigerator, hoping to find leftovers. He’ll steal Chim’s if he has to, but he had sworn there was some leftover lasagne from the night before. “Alright, listen up,” Bobby says, “this is Eddie Diaz from the 136, he’s ours for the week. Buck, show him the ropes.”

“Sure thing, Cap,” he calls, pulling out the hidden pan of lasagna triumphantly and turning around—

“Hey,” says tall, dark, and very much dressed. “How’s the head?”

Buck is so screwed.

#buddie fic #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #meet ugly??#entirely unedited #i wrote this in an hour to challenge myself so now you have to read this disaster i'm sorry #this is just a lot of silliness

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shining-red-diamond · 3 years

Text

Ch. 20: A Path

Cast of Characters//Ch. 1//Ch. 2//Ch. 3//Ch. 4//Ch. 5//Ch. 6//Ch. 7//Ch. 8//Ch. 9//Ch. 10//Ch. 11//Ch. 12//Ch. 13//Ch. 14//Ch. 15//Ch. 16//Ch. 17//Ch. 18//Ch. 19//Ch. 20//Ch. 21//Ch. 22//Ch. 23//Ch. 24//Ch. 25//Ch. 26//Ch. 27//Ch. 28 (coming soon)

Words: 1.6k

Pairing: ATEEZ OT8 x OCs

Genre: Adventure, Pirate AU

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mentions of deadly traps, bug attacks, blood, and venom

A/N: Italics means they’re speaking Korean

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Phoebe asked as she rushed over to help him up.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

Grace-Anne then kneeled down to get a good look at the stone staircase. The open itself was about as wide and long as a large cardboard box with a descending stone staircase. Each step disappeared more and more into the dark underground, and the cold dampness cut through the jungle’s humidity. Pulling out her flashlight, Grace-Anne switched it on and shined it down the staircase. Nothing out of the ordinary except for a few dead snakes, but she felt uneasy about immediately taking the steps down.

A rock sat idly next to her, and it was immediately serving as a guinea pig. She tossed it down where it could still be visible by the light beams. Landing on a stone in one of the steps, it sank down halfway, and a spear shot up from the middle of the stone. The rock was split into two pieces before falling away somewhere.

“Do any of the notes say anything about this?” Grace-Anne asked as she stood.

Hongjoong was already ahead of her and reviewing the notes on both the map and the journal.

“Yes,” he nodded once he found the page. “Any of the stones with a golf-ball sized hole in the center has a deadly spear. Have your flashlights ready.”

One by one, the crew switched on their lights just before descending down the stone steps, tip-toeing over each holed stone. The air seemed to grow colder and more dense, and a soft blue glow could be seen up ahead. When they reached the bottom, a foul stench attacked their noses as they turned a corner.

“If I see one more corpse,” Dinah threatened, “I will kick a stalagmite.”

“I don’t think it’s a dead body, we’re smelling,” Grace-Anne replied as they walked a little further. “It smells more like mud after the rain.”

The sound of a river rushing could be heard overhead. Hongjoong used his flashlight to read the notes again. “The blue light tells us that’s where the next piece is.”

“What is that light anyway?” Mingi asked as they strolled closer to the light.

“Yeah, there doesn’t seem to be any electrical fixtures down here,” added Yunho.

An opening marked where the blue light was hiding, and once the crew walked in, the light turned out to be what seemed to be twinkling blue clusters sticking to the wall and reflecting off of clear quartz fragments blooming from the ground to the ceiling. With this kind of light, the crew switched off their flashlights.

“Glow worms, of course!” Dahae recognized. “Their bioluminescence gives off a sort of blue or green light.”

“But where’s the diamond piece?” Seonghwa reminded her as the crew looked around. “It could be anywhere here.”

Jongho was about to try to move a quartz piece to investigate any nook and cranny, but Dahae stopped him with a gasp.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“These aren’t just any of the regular glow worms you hear about,” she explained. “These quartz’s have minerals that provide this species with their nutrients, and they’re aggressive if they’re touched by any other living organism. Touch the crystals, and a few of them will attack.”

“They’re not poisonous, are they?”

“They just give you deep cuts, but the bleeding is bad no matter where the laceration is.”

“Found it,” Taeran declared as she looked up something in the ceiling.

Surrounded by clusters of the glowing blue, a shining fractal seemed trapped in another microvine structure surrounded by crystals. Beside it was a sort of lock code identical to a lock combination, but rusted into the ceiling.

“What’s the code?” Dahae asked.

Hongjoong flipped through the journals and notes a few times, scanning each page individually in case he missed it. He found something on the exact lock, but no direct answer as to free the diamond.

“There’s a riddle,” he shrugged as scratched his head. “‘Not a full circle, not an angle, not even a cute angle, only a straight path will you find the key.’”

“What path?” Dinah exasperated. “The only way out is the way we came in, and even then it’s deadly.”

“And we can’t exactly pry open the little binding it’s in without touching the surrounding crystals,” Grace-Anne added.

“Maybe it’s talking about the sun, hills, and a path on a hill,” Seonghwa guessed.

“We’re in a freaking CAVE!” Dinah retorted while motioning towards their surroundings.

Taeran stared up at it and recited the riddle. Circle, angles, path. Circle, an angle, a cute angle, path. A cute angle stuck out to her. Did it mean an acute angle?

“Wait a second,” a lightbulb went off in her head. “It’s not a regular piece of land at all. It’s geometric angles. A full circle is three-hundred and sixty degrees, a cute angle is an acute angle that’s forty-five degrees, and a right angle is ninety-degrees. What we’re looking for is the straight ‘path,’ and it’s a straight line. One-eighty degrees.”

“1-8-0 is the code?” Phoebe asked.

“It has to.”

“How are you going to reach it?” Dahae wondered. “The ceiling is taller than Yunho and Mingi.”

…

Finishing up in the bathroom, Celestia took one last look at herself in the mirror, double-checking for any fly-away strands of hair before standing back and seeing her pregnant self. Her stomach wasn’t as huge as a typical pregnant woman’s, but she still found it cute despite feeling like a bloated fish some days. Baby girl kicked, and the mother-to-be smiled.

“You’re so gorgeous,” San commented groggily as woke up.

“Hi, handsome,” his wife replied as she waddled back into the room.

The curtains were opened just slightly to allow some sunlight in, but not enough to disturb San in his sleep.

“How are you feeling?” Celestia asked as she eased herself on the bed.

“Better.”

“You look better, too. Your color is back. Are you sore?”

San shook his head. “I can move more freely, but it only stings when I move my back a certain way.”

“Dahae said it’ll be like that for a bit, but you’ll be back to exploring our next destination.”

A smile nearly bloomed on the young man’s face, but abruptly stopped. He wanted to see the new site, but Celestia couldn’t go anymore when she’s days from delivering.

“I don’t want you to be alone,” San shook his head.

“I won’t be alone,” she promised. “The girls will rotate out on who stays with me at each stop.”

“But what about when it’s time for you to give birth? We would have to flag down an ambulance or something to get you to a hospital if needed.”

San had wanted his wife to give birth in a medical facility that was safe, and she and the baby would receive proper care; but Celestia had put her foot down on having the birth on the boat since Dahae would help with delivery. However, she was becoming more open to having the aid of a medical facility if things were to go wrong.

“I’ve heard you can’t plan for how a birth is going to go,” was all Celestia could say. “But we can be prepared.”

San just smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “Such a clever woman, you are.”

Celestia scoffed playfully before asking, “Are you hungry? Grace-Anne left us some breakfast.”

“Can you get up?”

“Watch me.” Immediately she scoot to her edge of the bed, sat up, and rolled to one side to stand. “Cake.”

San giggles as the love of his life waddles out of the room and towards the kitchen. Celestia found her meal of eggs and Greek yogurt covered in plastic, and San’s bacon and omelettes were in the same shape. She removed the covering and put them in the microwave for about a minute while she retrieved both of their drinks.

A fit of childlike giggles erupted from San back in the bedroom. Celestia thought his medicine was making him loopy until he started baby-talking and cooing in his mother tongue. Was he looking at the ultrasounds and somehow talking to the baby? It wasn’t until she returned with their breakfasts when she saw what had happened.

“Angel, we’ve got a little stowaway,” San smiled as he was now petting a Siamese cat sitting on his stomach. “Isn’t she cute?”

“She is,” Celestia smiled as she set the food tray on San’s nightstand. “Hi, kitty.”

She held her hand to the feline, palm open and face up; and after a couple of sniffs, the cat licked her fingers and rubbed her face against Celestia’s hand.

“Friendly, aren’t you? How did you get on here?”

“She must have wandered up the landing gear from outside,” San guessed. “I managed to sit up, because I had to pee; and when I came back from the bathroom, there was a super cute cat sitting on your side of the bed.”

Celestia gave the purring cat a few more scratches behind her ears before thinking for a moment.

“What’s the captain gonna say?” she asked as she sat on the edge of the bed.

The captain had a thing with animals on the ship. It wasn’t that he didn’t allow it, it was that everyone had a job to do and wanted everyone to always stay on task that getting a pet for one crewmate or for all to share seemed impossible. Everyone, including Dahae, had begged Hongjoong multiple times for a furry friend, but he always said no.

“Well,” San thought, “I mean we already have a baby on the way, so he might say our new friend has to go; but since you’re going to be here on each stop, maybe she can help keep you company.”

As if excited by his idea, the cat leapt off of San’s lap and tip-toed to Celestia’s bump. She began to purr as she rubbed up against it. It was as if she now knew there was something precious being nurtured and developed in a protective shell.

“I think we might have found our guardian for Baby Choi,” San jokes with a chuckle.

Tagging: @not-majestic-bluenicorn @actuallythatwaspromise @barsformars @philosopher-of-fandoms @daybreakx @lilhwahwa @hongism let me know if you’d like to be added or removed

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drxwsyni · 4 years

Text

Healing (pt.1/3)

Yandere Chisaki Kai/Overhaul x quirkless!f!Reader

Part 2︱Part 3

a/n: please do not read this piece if themes of poor mental health are upsetting to you. i am in no way attempting to romanticize these issues, having dealt with them in the past and knowing all too well how serious it is. i have never endorsed the harmful actions of people in my work and never will. please take care of yourselves and read at your own discretion. also this is a repost because it disappeared from the tags for some reason?

warnings: mental health problems, injury

4.2k words

_____

This is for your own good, he said.

The world is a disease ridden place, and remaining in it has left you broken.

You weren’t broken, you were fine. Sure, handling the pressures of simply existing as a result of being born without a quirk were tasking. People had not exactly been kind to you growing up, and that may have affected your health significantly. But you were handling it just fine.

While you couldn’t disagree with the fact that people did seem to enjoy using you, whatever had developed as a result of him discovering this reality wasn’t better in the slightest.

He said you needed time to heal, both physically and mentally. You could trust him, he was the only person who saw how faultless your existence was.

At some point you felt like you deserved to be mistreated by everyone around you, given how common of an occurrence it was. So when the yakuza leader came to you himself, going on about how unfairly you’d been handled all your life, it was hard not to trust him.

Now, you realize just how big of a mistake doing so was.

To be fair, he did live up to his promises. Kai said he wanted to help you heal, and what better way to do that than to move in with him. He had all the necessary equipment, and more than enough money to provide for you during your rehabilitation process.

However, he failed to mention the lengths he was willing to go to ensure your ‘good health’. Thinking you would stay with him until you got better, and then go back to living on your own once any pre existing issues had been taken care of slowly started to become an unattainable dream.

Upon arrival at the yakuza’s base, Kai instructed that it’d be in your best interest to not leave the premises. There was plenty of courtyard space for fresh air, and anything you needed would be picked up for you. Your room had been spacious enough, luxurious almost. Aside from the underground network of facilities, you were permitted to have free range of the base. The only condition was that you kept an escort with you at all times. Generally, these terms didn’t seem too bad.

It wasn’t until you sat down in his office to go through the rest of your new living plan that you realized just how committed he was to seeing your health improve.

Everything was planned to a T. When you’d wake up, take medication, bathe, eat, go to bed. He had taken into account any intolerances or allergies and developed a comprehensive meal program that catered to them. The most important element was the checkups scheduled twice a week to monitor your physical health.

While you didn’t enjoy the idea of being examined so regularly, you couldn’t argue that you’d neglected many problems over your lifetime. Sure, blood tests and vaccine administered supplements weren’t fun. But for the sake of rehabilitation you supposed that it was just another necessary evil.

What was concerning was his policy on electronic devices, specifically for recreational use. According to him, having a phone would only hinder the process, and therefore it wasn’t something you needed.

“Should you require anything you need only to ask either myself or a subordinate. Seeming as you should always have an escort there will be no issue with the matter of not being able to contact anyone.”

Kai truly had everything covered, and with how reassuring he was it became hard to see any flaws in the plan.

And so you took up residence in the leader’s base, grateful for the opportunity to live without being weighed down by society's corrupt expectations.

_____

The first few weeks went fairly smoothly, using the time to learn the layout of the establishment. Not that you could ever get lost, with one of his subordinates trailing you in case you required assistance. You quite enjoyed the company of Chisaki’s underlings, along with that of the man himself.

Every day you’d spend time in the courtyard, or go for a walk along the path against the inside edges of the base. Oftentimes Kurono would accompany you, and the two of you would make small talk over menial subjects. Later on you’d return to Kai’s office where you’d sit on the sofa positioned to the side of the room, reading a novel he’d selected while he worked at his desk.

Generally, your experience went fairly smoothly. The distance you’d put between yourself and the reality outside those tall concrete walls had done a lot of good. However, not everything can be solved with simply removing yourself entirely from a bad situation.

Although your living quarters were comfortable and welcoming, there was something unfamiliar about it that was off putting. To combat this, you decided a quick trip home to pick up a few belongings couldn’t hurt.

It’d only taken you roughly twenty-five minutes to travel back on foot to your small, cheap little single floor house on the edge of town. Another ten to gather some items, and then you walked back to the base. However, upon returning you’d come to understand how badly you’d messed up.

It was early in the morning before you’d left, and there were no examinations scheduled either. Not wanting to bother anyone with your needs, you had left the base alone without notifying Chisaki.

That was your first mistake.

He was waiting for you at the front entrance, arms crossed with an aggravated look on his face, although it was hard to read given the mask hiding a good half of his facial features. But if that didn’t give away his anger, then the death grip he placed on your forearm as he dragged you to your designated bedroom did.

He practically threw you inside the room, slamming the doors behind him. He only took a second to compose himself before speaking. “I thought I made it very clear that you were not to leave the premises, let alone by yourself.”

You knew Chisaki was quite the stern man, seeing first hand once or twice with how he treated his subordinates. But this was new, he’d never gotten mad at you, let alone get physically aggressive.

“I didn’t think it’d be a big deal, I was just grabbing some things to make my room a little more comfortable.”

“Did I not tell you that whatever you needed would be picked up for you?”

His demeanour suggested that the question was not rhetorical. “You did, I know. I just didn’t want to bother Kurono or anyone else to go with me so early.”

Something about your open concern for others seemed to pacify his rage, letting out a sigh before moving to sit on the short couch next to him. Leaning forward, elbows propped on his knees, Kai responded. “Staying inside the base is a crucial part to your healing, I can’t let you leave knowing the danger you’d be putting yourself in without protection. You should refrain from doing something so reckless moving forward.”

You moved from your standing position to sit down next to him, of course keeping a respectable distance knowing his abhorrence to bacteria, and generally people as well. “I’m sorry for making you worry, I was just a bit homesick is all.”

The yakuza turned his head to look at you, brows furrowed in a somewhat inquisitive manner. His amber eyes pierced through yours, seemingly searching for answers to questions that couldn’t be asked. “I hope you’re aware of how important someone like yourself is to my cause. Those without quirks are growing increasingly rare, and it’s causing more issues than the world can keep up with.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I believe it goes without saying that I’d be deeply upset if anything were to happen to you. Normally I couldn’t be bothered with such a thing… but you’re the exception.”

Chisaki stood up and walked toward the bedroom door before facing you again. “Take a bath and then return to my office with your book. Kurono will be waiting outside your door to escort you.”

You watched him leave the room, waiting for the door to completely shut before letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding all this time.

Whatever that was, you never wanted to encounter it again. Maybe, you thought, I’d be better off getting out of here sooner rather than later.

_____

After the first incident occurred you presumed things would return to normal, but of course that would be too convenient. It seemed that there was now a slight increase in security around the base. The development was immediate, making it hard to miss. Any exits leading outside―those literally outside, say to the courtyard―and gates to exit the compound were guarded by one of Chisaki’s underlings.

On top of that, he had one of his men stationed outside your bedroom 24/7, whether you needed an escort or not. He never bothered to notify you of this change in particular. It only came to your attention after hearing the verbal exchange of two men outside your door, doing what you assumed was rotating shifts.

It was unnerving, to say the least. The incident had been minor as far as you perceived it, but the unspoken changes around you demonstrated otherwise.

Aside from that, you thankfully regarded the steady improvement to your health. Your energy had returned significantly, likely thanks to the mandatory eight hours of sleep. The daily walks had eliminated the general weakness and lack of stamina you experienced. Even your face took on a warm glow, eye-bags almost non existent and blemishes quickly fading.

It would seem that your departure from this temporary rehabilitation would come sooner than you expected.

Yet the more your condition improved, the stricter Kai became with your routine. Not only that, but he also seemed to be growing more comfortable having you near him.

Now, with any normal person this familiarness would only be expected. But you knew better, and a voice deep in the back of your mind was telling you that this new predicament wouldn’t end well.

_____

The next incident seemed to be the thing that set him off, solidifying your future.

It had been roughly a month and a half since you accepted being cared for at the yakuza’s compound. By now the problems which put you in this situation were almost entirely taken care of, but that didn’t stop Kai from enforcing his rules more than ever.

Frankly, the repetitive, unwavering routine you’d been following was starting to create its own problems within your health―you were going a bit stir crazy.

After the last warning, you’d be lying if you said the main thing keeping you from leaving was fear for how Chisaki would react. Now however, it’d been too long since you experienced the real world, and even if it was only for an hour, you desperately needed to go outside the walls of the compound.

You took the issue to Kai during the time you spent reading in his office. He was going to have to let you do this, staying cooped up any longer wouldn’t be good for you and even he couldn’t ignore that reality.

After what felt like an endless back and forth discussion, seemingly getting nowhere on either side, you started to believe that he really didn’t think the situation was an actual problem.

But you knew he had a soft spot for you, and eventually the man did cave to your request.

Accompanied by one of his more trusted subordinates, you were allowed to leave the base for two hours. You took this much appreciated freedom to do some window shopping here and there, at one point stopping to buy latte―of course not before fighting with your escort over how Kai would disapprove of you doing so, the caffeine apparently being bad for you.

You were nearing the end of your time limit, and still you remained unsatisfied with what felt like an all too brief reintroduction to society.

Pushing your luck, you headed to the center of the downtown area, hoping the bustling life and bright colours would be enough to satiate your need for external stimulation.

Before you had left the compound that day, Kai had stopped you for a moment at the front entrance. The statement was quick―he advised you to stay out of any heavy populated areas. According to him it posed too high of a risk to your safety, and you should heed his words if you knew what was good for you.

However, now that you were out and getting a taste of everything you didn’t even realize you were missing, those warnings were the last thing to concern you. Oh, how foolish you were to even believe there was nothing wrong with going against him for a second.

You heard the destruction before you felt it. The cause of it was unidentifiable, as before you could steal a glance from the source of exploding brick and concrete next to you, an unseen force sent you flying across the pavement and out onto the road. Thankfully traffic immediately came to a halt once onlookers realized the situation, effectively preventing you from being run over. But that did little to console you as painfully, you comprehended your now significantly injured state.

Giving your body a once over, it was clear that the force that threw you away from the building was from the blast of air pressure likely due to an explosion. The damages weren’t too severe, but you were still now sporting a throbbing headache, and what appeared to be a sprained ankle. Aside from that, only developing bruises remained as evidence of the violent event as far as you could tell in your shock induced state.

Understanding you had to get yourself away from the violent, still ongoing conflict, you feebly attempted to stand up. It was a good effort, and if it weren’t for the head injury that was proving to be much more serious, you most likely would’ve been able to get away.

But luck was never on your side to begin with, and only a few seconds went by before black spots appeared in front of your vision. A moment later and you were out cold.

_____

A hospital room was what you expected, what anyone would expect after being nearly blown to pieces.

Pulling yourself out of unconsciousness to assess exactly where you were was a trying task, but the fear growing in the pit of your stomach served as more than enough motivation.

You remembered being downtown. An explosion. Pain. Then darkness. Taking in your surroundings, you identified the room to be that which you sat through examination after examination in the yakuza’s base.

But Kai was nowhere to be seen, and that only made the feeling of distress worse.

You had no idea how you got there, figuring the likely outcome would be you in the care of an actual doctor. Except that wasn’t the case, and instead you were laying on a bed, wearing clothing that you did not have on before blacking out.

It appeared to be a fairly loose but comfortable sleeveless knee length dress, with a long sleeve sweater overtop of it, both shaded with a pale light blue. In the midst of examining your new outfit, your eyes laid upon a heart monitoring device lightly clipped to your index finger.

Amidst the sudden realization of your current predicament, you failed to notice the steady increase in your heartbeat. But Kai hadn’t.

At that moment one of the two doors of the room, the other attached to a bathroom, swiftly opened. Chisaki stood in the doorway for a moment, seemingly evaluating your now awakened form for a moment before entering, closing the door behind him.

You questioned him before he even had the chance to come near you. “What the hell am I doing here? Why aren’t I in a hospital?” He approached you as you spoke, taking a seat on a wheeled stool next to your bed.

Unfortunately you couldn’t control the shaking in your voice, and it served as a clear indication to the man at just how uneasy you’d grown with the situation.

“My subordinate alerted me of the attack after he found you unconscious. You were brought back here amidst the fighting so I could tend to your injuries, which fortunately are not life threatening.” He spoke in a calm and consistent tone, pausing momentarily before continuing. “There was no need to bring you to a hospital when I’m more than capable of taking care of you.”

Not life threatening? You looked over your body, assessing the damage for yourself. It appeared that you had injured your ankle, as it was now wrapped in some form of brace. Along with that were bandages woven around your knees, and more that you could feel constricting your upper arms where you landed on. Lastly was the dull pain in the back of your head, bringing you back to the moments before blacking out when you experienced a similar sensation.

“I think I should still go see a professional, no offense of course. It’s just I’d feel more comfortable with an expert opinion on the whole thing.” You truly didn’t want to set him off, not after what happened the last time you went against his advice. However, this was not something you could just take lying down, despite the fact that you were literally lying down in bed at the moment.

“I’m going to have to insist that you remain here, it’s the best option for your recovery which may I remind you has not been completed as of yet, and will only be delayed due to this. Not to mention that in your state excessive movement to bring you to a hospital would not only be quite difficult to manage but further damaging to your body as well.”

If it weren’t for the unsettling, stone cold stare he was giving you as he spoke, you would’ve likely retorted with a defense. Yet under that gaze you felt it was impossible to remain strong willed. You’d let him have his way for now, there being only so much time remaining in which his care was necessary.

With that you agreed to his concerns, and perhaps if he wasn’t wearing that obnoxiously large mask you would’ve seen the smirk of satisfaction appear across his face.

_____

Later that day Kai returned with your dinner, a task he normally left for his subordinates to complete. He set down the tray atop the sliding overbed table, a clipboard in his other hand. Sitting down on the rolling stool next to your bed, he began talking, you listening in silence as you ate.

“I hope you don’t mind but I took a blood sample while you were asleep in case your injuries were more severe than outwardly observable.” He flipped through a few pages on the clipboard before continuing. “It would seem that the supplements are steadily improving your overall condition. It’ll still take some time for certain levels to reach a normal amount for someone of your physique, but this is still good news nonetheless.”

You hummed in response, not wanting to be rude by talking with your mouth full. Chisaki moved to place the clipboard on the counter to your left before facing you again.

“I’m sure by now you’ve taken note of the change in your attire from that prior to being injured.”

You stopped chewing, looking worriedly in his direction. You hadn’t forgotten about this reality, it was more like you chose to ignore it for the time being, hoping nothing would come of it between the two of you.

“You should know that I had one of my female underlings do this for me, the fact of the matter being your clothing was partially destroyed from the explosion and was therefore prohibiting necessary medical attention.”

The pulsing of your heartbeat quickened, having an idea of where this conversation was headed, much to your apprehension. You stared down at the meal in front of you to avoid eye contact at all costs.

“I was able to properly tend to your wounds, but I’m sure you understand when I say that I couldn’t help but notice certain… remnants. Those of past trauma, along with others I didn’t directly observe, those that my subordinate notified me of.”

It was obvious that to access the bruises and cuts sustained from being thrown across the pavement, Chisaki would inevitably see parts of your body that you were all too familiar with just a few years ago.

Things had gotten better since then, they really had. You would never even think about using those same coping methods anymore. But that didn’t change the fact that those memories weren’t something that could just fade overnight, nor would the physical damage they left behind.

It was the last thing you wanted to discuss with Kai right now. He already knew, albeit vaguely, that you used to struggle with your mental health. Not that you weren’t still struggling, it was just now you had healthier ways of handling it. The only thing you could do now was deter him from pressing you further on the matter.

“Listen Kai, I know what you’re referring to, and I understand why you’d be concerned. It’s just… you don’t need to bother with it. I’m better now, at least in that regard. I get that you want to help me, and you have, but this isn’t something you need to worry about. I’ve already taken care of it, I promise.”

Glancing up at him after finishing, you saw more emotion than you’d ever thought someone like himself would be capable of. Although to most it would be insignificant, his intense stare coupled with the furrowed eyebrows, looking as if he truly wanted to comfort you in that moment was reassuring.

He exhaled loudly before responding. “That’s fine, (y/n).” You watched as he removed those white gloves that he seemed to wear like a second skin, placing them on the counter. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you during that time. Someone like you should have never been subjected to such treatment, and if I had known you back then I would’ve made sure such an occurrence never took place to begin with.”

Now this was… jarringly out of character.

If there was ever a red flag that you missed before, the ensuing events would surely be enough to make it blatantly obvious what exactly was going on.

Wide-eyed and dinner long forgotten, you followed the movement of his hands as they went to gently hold that of your left.

The yakuza waited for what felt like an eternity before carrying on, doing what you could only assume was anticipating the disgust of coming into contact in such a way with you, absent of his constant protective articles.

But the aversion never came.

“All I can do now is ensure you’re never dealt the same treatment again.”

Another moment of silence, stillness.

He gave your hand a small squeeze before releasing his hold, standing up and retrieving his gloves. You were too dumbfounded by the events that just unfolded to respond, so you continued to sit in silence while Kai gathered his belongings.

“Finish your dinner, Kurono will come later and turn off the heart monitor for you to get ready for bed.” He finished pulling on the gloves, picking up the clipboard once he was done and headed towards the only exit of the room.

“You’ll be remaining in this room while your injuries heal. I’ll keep one of my men posted outside if you need anything.” Kai placed a hand on the doorknob, pausing before looking back in your direction.

“Also, you should know that an alarm will go off if you remove the heart monitoring clip on your finger. There’s a button on the side of the bed you can press if you need assistance turning the machine off, say if you need to get up. Otherwise please leave it as it is.”

At that moment he left the examination room, the door closing with a heavy metallic thud that reverberated off the walls.

The feeling in the pit of your stomach was subtle, almost overshadowed by the persisting hunger from abandoning your dinner. But you knew it well to be fear.

A fear that you only suspected would grow the longer you remained in the confines of Chisaki’s compound, the confines of his so-called ‘care.’

(End of Part 1)

#yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere overhaul #yandere bnha x reader #yandere overhaul x reader #yandere mha x reader #yandere chisaki kai #yandere chisaki kai x reader #tw self harm

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millytempesta · 3 years

Text

Mine and only.

Chapter 2, chapter 3.

Paring: Bokuto Koutarou X reader

Rating: fluff.

Summary: After another date went horribly wrong, all that (y/n) wished for was for the only man in her life that ever understand her, to become a human.Little did she knows that her pet owl wished for the same thing, and that magically their dream became true.

Warnings: This story will contai SMUT.

A/n: I realized that this chapter is a little rushed, it’s the first time I’m writing somethin, sorry. Also I'm already sorry for all the spell and grammar error, english is not my first language.

Tapping sound is all that can be heard around the office.

Tap tap tap…“Ugh…” a groan can be heard from one of the desks.“My head is killing me…” (e/c) eyes scan the office, almost empty at this hour of the day.The clock shows 8.45 pm ‘Only 15 more minutes left and I’ll finally be able to go back home’. Her eyes land back on her desk, where a small frame is situated. Her small hand takes hold of it, studying the picture inside of it. A dreamy smile appeared on her pink lips. ‘My Bo, he must be worried I’m this late… I need to finish this quickly!’. With a look of determination the (h/c) haired girl turned back to her computer and started typing again.

‘For my Bo!’

“And.... Done!”, with a satisfied nod, she turns off the computer, ready to finally head back home. ‘I should stop by the store to buy some of Bo’s favourite food as a sorry, and maybe some more wine for the weekend’ she thinks happily, moving to the elevator, but before she could even get near it a squeaky voice calls her name. "(Y/n)! (Y/n)! Wait, I need to tell you something!!!” The blond girl jogged to her with a huge smile on her face. With a sigh, the (h/c) haired girl turned to face her, already knowing what was going to come. “You are not going home, are you?”

“… Yes…?” A whine escapes from the younger girl in front of her. “But it’s Friday night, we don’t have work tomorrow and the day after! Come to have a drink with me and my friends, you’ll have more fun!” With an apologetical smile, she answered “I’m sorry Ichika-chan, but I’m too tired today… Maybe the next time okay?”

But was only met with a disappointed look “You always say so, but never come… You know, in my group of friends there are a lot of hotties, I bet you’ll find someone of your likening”. “I’m not-” the blond girl waved her off “Yeah yeah, you are interested in dating at the moment, because you all heart belongs to Bo… Yeah same story every time, when will you change your mind? You are already 25, you won’t be young forever you know? It’s now that you need to experiment, to truly live your life. Not passing all your time playing the housewife, you can do that once you’ll have your kids.” Green eyes lock on (e/c), searching for something that apparently she did not find, since a defeated sigh escapes from her lips. “Look, I don’t like to nag you every time, I am just worried about you… Since that guy accident happened you stopped going out, closing yourself in your apartment with Bo… You know I like him, but I miss my friend, and I want too some time to spend with her, getting drunk, doing stupid things and talking about sex experience of the night before”. Guilt starts expanding in the older girl for making her friend worry so much and making her feel left alone.

(Y/n) didn’t have many friends, they all stubbed her in the back. Ichika was the only constant in her life, way before she met Bo. She knew about this point that all the little girl said was only for the best, that’s why she always found it almost impossible saying no to her. With a sigh she locks eyes with her “I promise you I’ll come tomorrow night out okay?”. A huge grin spreaded on Ichika’s face, happy that her friend decided to spend some quality time together. “Hey I’m counting on it, I’ll tell the guys too. We are gonna have so much fun tomorrow!!”. With a last hug and excited exchange of location and time, the two went their separate ways back home.

After stopping by the shop, (Y/n) finally arrived home. Opening the door she announced herself “Booo, I’m hoome”. A loud flap sound can be heard before a big gray and black mass of feathers appeared from the bedroom door. “CRIP”. A big horned owl made his way towards the girl, who is waiting for him with her arms wide open. Yes, the guy who is stuck on her head 24/7 is none other than her lively and cuddly pet owl.(Y/n) and Bo met 1 years ago, during her morning jog in the park, where she heard his screaming. A dog had one of his wings in his mouth, shaking the poor bird from side to side. She couldn’t leave him there, so she runned to him and scared the dog away. Turning back, she felt like an electric shock runned through her, when yellow eyes met her (e/c) ones. It was like in that moment, a bond formed between the two, proved when the injured animal itself moved closer to her, letting the girl lift him in her warm embrace. It was only natural for her to take the pet in her home, taking care of his healing and loving him beyond any other relationship that she ever had. In exchange, the horned owl, once healed, didn’t once leave her side, always waiting for her to come back home, and going out hunting for treasure to show her on her return.

“Hi big boy! I missed you so much!” she says sweetly, stroking the bird’s head who is resting on her chest. With an annoyed tone, the owl looked at her “HOOT!” Trying to calm the bird stroking under his chin,“I know, I’m late… I’m sorry, I had lots of work to do” she tried to explain. But that seemed to don’t convince him, as he took a step back and opened his wings to her “Hoot hoot!” showing how he was not happy about it. Fidgeting with her hands, the girl looked at the owl through her lashes, and with her best pout she continued “But I bought you your favorite for tonight… Will you forgive me?”. At that the howl started jumping happily “Hooooooot!!”

A giggle escapes her at the cute image of her happy pet. Moving to the kitchen, she started unpacking the groceries, taking out the rabbit for her pet, and the vegetables to prepare her pasta. After some cooking, she placed their food on their plates and moved to the sofa, where her olw was waiting for her. “HoooOOooT!” he started jumping as soon as he saw her with the food. Giggling she sat on the floor, placing his plate next to her “Calm down, or you’ll spill it everywhere!”. Ignoring her warning, he started devouring the food, sending bits of it everywhere. Shaking her head she turned and started eating her food “At least I know you like it, cooking for you always brings me so much satisfaction”. In response she received a purred like “hoooot”, emphasizing her point.

After they both finished she sat on the sofa, bird laying on her tummy, watching some action movie on the tv, Bo’s favourite.

When the scene with the main character kissing came, a sigh escaped the girl’s lips. “Hoot?” a curious sound came from the big feathers-like-tummy-warmer. Without looking at him she started talking “You know… I miss it…”. Looking down at the confused yellow eyes she continued “I miss being kissed, touched… I miss being in love, being for once the one pampered” Turning back to the screen, another sigh escapes her “I’m going out tomorrow night, I might pass the night out if I’ll find someone…”.

“CRIP” Suddenly the bird stood up and flapped his wings. “Hey I’m coming back in the morning okay? And we’ll have a cuddle day together-” The bird interrupted her flying away in the bedroom “Booo, please, it’s only tomorrow night” no response. After some seconds, worried, she made her way in the room, but found it empty. It’s not the first time the bird went out, so she tried brushing it off and decided to go to sleep, knowing he would be back and cuddling next to her. But after one hour of waiting under the covers, alone, she started panicking.

Bo always came back during night time, never letting her sleep alone. Moving to the window, relief washed on her, seeing her pet sitting on the big tree in their garden. She could swear she saw her bird in an emo-like mode, pouting at her when their eyes met. “Bo… What are you doing there? C’mon, get inside” she said using her sweet voice. The owl seemed conflicted if giving up on his sulking state, but apparently deciding she didn’t deserve his time that night, he turned his back to her. “Bo… I can’t sleep without you… Please… I need you next to me…” at that his ears perked up and, rotating his head of 180°, he looked back at her. Smiling, knowing she already won, she finally said “You are the cutest bird, and best horned owl I ever saw, and I loooOOOoove you!! Can you now come and cuddle on the bed?”. Pumping his chest out -provoking her to roll her eyes- he quickly made his way on the bet, jumping in a way that meant for her to get into bed with him. “I’m coming, I’m coming” she said giggling. Cuddling near the soft feathers, her eyes became heavier. With a yawn she gave her the good night and before falling into the land of dreamland, a whispered “I love you Bo” made his way out of her.

This night couldn’t go worse.

She knew that going out was going to be a total mess. She knew she had to stay at home with Bo, watching some action film and eating meat all day.

But no… She decided to go out…

And now she found herself having to kick out the guy she met that night, who was screaming like a mad man at her, saying the worst offences she ever heard, in complete contrast with the world he was telling her when he was trying to get in her pants, because he tried to hurt her pet. On his defense Bo tried to attack him, having seen him as an intruder on his territory and a threat for her owner, probably not understanding the moans that escaped her while he pushed her against the wall. But she couldn’t find in her to be worried about the man, who risked his eye probably, when he tried to grab Bo’s wings as a defence from his claws. All she could see was her lovely pet, risking to be seriously harmed from a stupid madman. And now she found herself with a sulking owl and a man screaming at her door at 1 in the morning. She’ll have to deal with all the noise complaints tomorrow. “I’m sorry… I should have known better to take a stranger in the house”. No response from the bird, who was now under the small table, back turned to her. “I put you in danger, when I promised you no harm would have come to you in my presence” Her voice started shaking. Still no response. A tear fell from her eyes “I am so sorry Bo” a sob escaped her. Closing her eyes, she let herself cry, knowing how much she fuked up, and that maybe her pet would never trust her again. A soft and warm wing spread across her back, followed by a softer head nugging at her harm. “Hoot…” he sounded so fragile. She turned and looked back at him “I am sorry Bo, it won’t happen again”. The owl nugged his head under her arm, making her space for him to cuddle her side. “Hoooot” the purring-like sound made her smile, a reassurance for her that he was no more mad.

Taking him on her arms, she made her way to the bed, laying down with the soft animal on her chest. That night she fell asleep with the weight on her body increasing, and with the most beautiful voice whispering in her ear a soft “I love you (Y/n), I promise you I’ll protect you from all those men”.

#haikyuu!!#hakyuu x reader #bokutou Koutarou x reader #fanfic #smut #lemon #fluff #reader

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uwua3 · 4 years

Note

Bunniiiieeeee, have you considered being a goose or a duck? Ohohoho jkjk~ could I request Azuma blushing hc? Ily so much 💜

it’s my Sworn Enemy and Mortal Rival ruri *goose honk intensifies* but because i love you, i will Answer: i have T_____T now back to fighting you ♡ i hope you love it~

summary: who knew you would meet an angel at a 7/11 when it was 3am?

warnings: impossible beauty standards, insecurity, late nights, overthinking, unrealistic expectations

author’s note: this is for my favorite azuma stan of all time! my great friend who is definitely just as head over heels for him like the mc in this headcanon ♡

i wanted to touch upon azuma’s ego. although he’s definitely not arrogant about his looks, i feel as if pretty people can develop some sort of imposter complex of whether they really are who people see them as. i wanted to recognize maybe an inner people pleaser within him and someone who actively sought validation because he lacked it before he was considered “pretty”. this is mainly a romanticized take on imposter syndrome and what it means to have fake love for temporary satisfaction

word count: 1,335

music: water fountain – alec benjamin

convenience store angel.

❄️🍶 yukishiro azuma

why did everyone want azuma to sit still and look pretty?

it was like he was some victorian doll people played around with before becoming bored, abandoning him for someone so much better. someone, prettier

so azuma grew up following the latest classy fashion trends, locking himself in his bathroom to spend hours taking care of his hair, cashing out thousands to preserve his youthful appearance to defy his age

no matter what time of day it was, he always came off as the best version of himself. pale like the snow, because no one liked it when his face was red. azuma learned how to maintain his porcelain complexion to be even prettier

azuma knew he was pretty; after all, if he wasn’t, all his hard work would be for nothing in the end. he had to be pretty, easy on the eyes, it’s what he was meant to do

compliments had no effect on him anymore, he’s heard it all before: how delicate his dainty fingers were, how smooth his luxurious voice was against their ear, how he was the best they’ve ever had. he knows they lie, and lie, and lie, just to steal a moment with veludo way’s resident ethereal god. they all wanted something underneath their corrupt surface

azuma never believed any of them, no point getting his hopes up about a one night stand. he was just arm candy, something to show off like he was an a prop mannequin

they were all the same: azuma would leave early in the morning and never reached out to contact them again. they did the same, no wonder, he wasn’t pretty enough to be worth their phone bill

azuma would be by himself in the dangerous streets after sneaking out, walking hurriedly from the dark alleyways. he knew no matter what time it was, wolves in sheep’s clothing wanted a bite of him

even though it was safer to stay within his one night stand’s four walls, he couldn’t risk feeling something in any affair. staying in the morning meant wanting more, more visits, more time together

he didn’t have time for anyone else but himself

it was the same process: leaving at midnight, meeting up for drinks, and disappearing into the night at 3. for years, that’s all azuma knew how to do

but then you came along like out of a dream, appearing into his life out of thin air one night

azuma had his face down as he quickly walked towards the dorms silently, his blazer too tight and v–neck too revealing for the hungry eyes staring at him

passing by the convenience store, the LED lights glowed as azuma stepped inside to avoid the heavy set man that was just trailing behind him again. thank god for rest stops, azuma refused to have someone taint his appearance

maybe he was doing something right with his looks if men couldn’t stop following him home, azuma thought, unaware of how he was basing his self worth on creepy attention

the store was lined with racks of cheap food that was sure to give him acne and oily skin. azuma grimanced at the idea of breaking out, or god forbid, having a wrinkle! he’d get the worst possible attention, the one that came with gossips and insults. no, he needed every stranger’s validation on his beauty. he was pretty, right?

turning into one of the aisles to make a call for a ride home, azuma stopped dead as he saw you bent over your cart that was surely not cleaned, debating over two food options that were not healthy in the slightest

shit. he didn’t look, presentable, right now. azuma’s hair was tied down to the best of its abilities, but he could feel the flyaways from his scalp. his casual suit had lint and creases. even his shoes were smudged despite polishing them last night

a first impression, and you were going to forever remember him as an unkempt, messy fool who wasn’t socially acceptable. azuma felt his heart skip a beat as he maintained a charming, easygoing aura, attempting to scoot past you without drawing attention for once

“hey, you! come here a second!” you ordered, not even looking up as you were staring at the colorful advertisements labelled on each plastic bag

azuma held in a sigh as he turned around slowly, forcing a pleasant smile as he hummed a questioning tone against his will. his clients never liked it when he disagreed or talked too much, so wide eyes and thin smiles were the way to go

“what’s the best snack—” you began, pushing your hood out of the way as you finally looked at azuma. azuma who believed he was too ugly and your silence was a confirmation of that

“whoa.” you dropped randomly, squeezing one of the bags so hard that it popped open loudly much to both your dismay

flinching, azuma reprimanded himself mentally for showing any sign of weakness before hearing your laugh amidst the quiet neon store. you sounded out of place over the consistent fan rotating in the background and rare car or two speeding outside

“my bad! sorry, you’re just...” you trailed off, putting both bags anyway into your cart to buy anyways as you stood up to his level

azuma was ready to hear it. how he wasn’t even good enough to be outside right now. how he should try harder to please society’s beauty standards. how there were so many better and—

“beautiful. yeah, that’s it.” you finished, nervously smiling as you suddenly found the stock of usa–imported snacks the most interesting in the store

you’d never tell him until much later on, but azuma appeared like an angel in the dinky, rundown gas station. looking up, you saw his silver periwinkle hair illuminated in the bright white lights like a halo. his white undershirt was bright against his smooth skin and his striking sharp yellow eyes felt like a godsend. azuma was so beautiful in that moment, he took your breath away. he was so gorgeous and heavenly, it was a surprise you didn’t drop to worship him

azuma paused, his mind blanking for the first time in his entire life. he always had something to say, something to add that made the other person want him even more. but you, you didn’t look like you wanted to devour him whole and take advantage of him. you just looked... in awe? like, he was really pretty.

azuma turned red

azuma was blushing uncontrollably, because it’s almost as if you meant it. did you really think he was beautiful? more than pretty, more than an artificial sense of self? even like this? he wasn’t even at his best, he was average. there was no reason he could have warranted such a dramatic reaction

typically, azuma would easily take the compliment and have a graceful act of appreciation as his consistent insecurity over his appearance thudded in his ears

but this time, he didn’t know what to say. there was nothing to say. did you actually think he was beautiful?

azuma subconsciously lifted his hand to his ear, which was burning hot to the touch. but he didn’t feel embarrassed, he wanted to feel like the summer more

less cold, less frigid like he was frozen in time like a snowman. maybe for once, azuma wanted to be as fluid and everchanging as the water. azuma wanted to be melted, and your sunny smile burned him

two people stood inside a 24/7 convenience store, staring at each other with hundreds of questions but comfort they hadn’t found in anyone else. the cars outside whizzed past in the distance, the street lights changed colors, the sun was about to rise on their relationship. things were changing. they were changing

azuma blushed as red as the string of fate looped around their pinkies. he would do so many, many more times and you were always there to make it happen

#yukishiro azuma #azuma yukishiro #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #azuma x reader #a3! azuma #a3 azuma

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argylemnwrites · 4 years

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Looking Back

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC (Cassie Vanderfield)

Book: Open Heart (almost 2 years after Chapter 1 of book 2)

Word Count: ~1900

Rating: PG-13 (light language, innuendo)

Summary: A night of celebration causes Cassie and Bryce to take a look back.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry it’s been so long since I wrote Bryce fic! The pandemic writer’s block was particularly brutal for this couple, but I am pretty happy to be back with our favorite flirty, confident surgeon! This story is for two of the “Things You Said” prompts - 11. Things you said when you were drunk (as requested by @sunnyxdazed, @choicesarehard, and an anon) and 22. Things you said after it was over (as requested by @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl and @omgjasminesimone). It also works for the Choices May Challenge Day 29 prompt (Memories).

“Nah, I’m good,” Bryce said, shaking his head as Jackie attempted to pass him a shot of tequila.

“Lahela, you can’t pass on drinks tonight! We’re celebrating!” she called out, raising her arm and drawing cheers from several others around them, including Cassie.

“You might be celebrating, but I still have to preround at 6 am tomorrow,” Bryce replied, shaking his head as Cassie grabbed the shot glass Jackie kept trying to hand him, throwing it back in rapid succession with the shot Jackie had already given her. Man, tonight was going to get sloppy.

“That’s on you for choosing a specialty with such a long residency,” said Jackie, quirking an eyebrow before downing her own shot. “It’s not our fault you surgeons are so dumb and cocky that you need those extra years of training just to be competent physicians.”

Bryce grinned at her, grabbing the empty shot glasses Cassie handed to him as she reached for a lime. He would let her have that one tonight. After all, it was her graduation night.

The internal med graduation had been pretty much what Bryce had expected. Decent food, but watered down drinks and boring speeches by the hospital bigwigs, all culminating with the program director going over each resident’s career plans and handing them a certificate. At least Cassie’s table had been a good one with Elijah, Phoebe, and his parents, a med-peds resident named Amber who Bryce didn’t know well but who had been fun to talk to, as was her husband when he wasn’t trying to corral their two year old son, plus Cassie’s parents and Keiki, able to come thanks to Amber only needing two tickets. And thankfully the faculty member assigned to their table was an endocrinologist named Dr. Liz Aubly, not Ethan Ramsey. Bryce had forced more than enough awkward small talk with the man at the monthly diagnostics team dinner he’d gone to with Cassie last week, and he got the feeling Ramsey was not thrilled that he was now officially Cassie’s date for all such events. Over the next two years, with Bryce on his research years while Cassie remained at Edenbrook for her diagnostics fellowship, their paths were going to cross often.

But tonight wasn’t about looking forward, it was about looking back and remembering three years of patients and long hours and crappy coffee and not enough sleep. Now that the formal portion of the graduation was done with, most of the third year IM residents had ditched their families and taken over Donahue’s, celebrating having only two weeks left as residents. It was the only time they all were off at the same time, excluding the annual resident holiday party, since starting residency, and people were letting loose.

“Wait, we didn’t toast to anything with this round,” Elijah noted after he tossed his lime slice onto the growing pile in the middle of the table. After the first couple of rounds, things had turned decidedly sentimental, with the group rotating what event from their three years of residency they were commemorating. So far, they had toasted to adopting their pet turtle Sal Monella, Jackie being named one of next year’s chief residents, Cassie getting reinstated, and swapping out Landry for Aurora as a roommate.

“You’re right!” Cassie cried out, stumbling off Bryce’s lap. “I’ll go get us another round so we can do things properly.”

Bryce grabbed her wrist, stopping her abruptly. “What?” she asked, her eyes blazing as they locked on his, clearly ready to fight him if he dared to question how much everyone was drinking.

“I’m going with you,” he said with a grin, standing up and subtly sliding his hand down her back, hoping she saw it as a loving, flirty gesture and not an attempt to steady her and keep her upright. Cassie was typically a pretty agreeable drunk, if a little handsy, but she got absolutely livid if anyone implied that her coordination and proprioception were at all impaired by her drinking. He had enough sense not to tell her there was a good chance all the drinks would be ending up on the floor if she did this by herself.

Together, they made their way over to the bar, crowded with dozens of other IM third years. Cassie leaned over the bar, trying to find a free bartender, but quickly abandoned her mission when she wasn’t immediately successful.

“You should do the next toast,” she said, spinning to face Bryce, steadying herself just slightly by leaning back against the bar.

Bryce shrugged, “Nah, tonight’s for you guys. I’m still just a lowly resident for the next four years.”

Cassie grinned, sliding a hand forward and grabbing a belt loop on Bryce’s pants, pulling him toward her. “Where’s all this modesty coming from?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I know I’m still the best surgical resident at Edenbrook. In fact, now that you are moving up in the world, I am losing some competition for best resident in all specialties.”

Cassie laughed, dragging her hand across his hip and sliding it into his back pocket, giving his ass a light squeeze, prompting Bryce to waggle his eyebrows at her.

“I see you’ve reached a very boldly flirty stage of drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes, but sliding her other hand into his other pocket at the same time, “I just found a comfortable place to rest my hands. Besides, in a couple of weeks, I’ll officially outrank you, so I gotta enjoy this-” she added, giving him another squeeze for good measure, “-while I still can.”

He chuckled at that. She wasn’t going to be supervising him at all, so it didn’t really matter, but Jackie had taken to teasing Cassie that their relationship was going to become suddenly scandalous and forbidden when Cassie became a fellow. “Are you sure you want to move in together, then? It might be hard to keep your hands to yourself around all of this-” Bryce gestured an open hand up and down in front of his body “-when you have 24/7 access.”

Cassie tilted her head to the side, a coy little smirk forming. “Yeah. You know why?”

“Why?” he asked, humoring her as he lifted a hand to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.

“Because you helped clean up after that first party in our apartment.”

His hand froze next to her cheek. He’d completely forgotten he’d done that. He’d mainly just been looking for something to do while waiting to say goodnight to Cassie, or rather, hoping he wouldn’t have to say goodnight. Pitching in with cleaning up the trash had just seemed like the natural thing to do. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“It’s when I knew you were a good person, not just some overconfident hot guy. It’s when I knew you were boyfriend material, not just a casual fling.”

Bryce didn’t quite know how to respond to that. His feelings for Cassie evolved gradually, slowly, naturally over the past three years, going from seeing her as that cute dark-haired medicine intern to the person he loved and trusted most in the world bit-by-bit, day-by-day. He didn’t have some moment with her that was some great epiphany where he realized he wanted more or saw her differently. He just cherished getting to know her better, seeing different sides of her, and adoring nearly everything that he discovered or she revealed. But Cassie had apparently seen depths in him from the start. He wasn’t sure if it put their early hookups in a different light or not, but all he could really do at this point was appreciate that they had come this far together, no matter how they got there. So he gave her a gentle kiss, pulling back as he saw one of the bartenders coming toward them and flagging him down, ordering another round of tequila shots, plus a glass of water for himself.

Soon, they made their way back to the table, Bryce carrying the shots while Cassie focused on not bumping into people. She waited for him to pass around the drinks and sit back down before she plunked herself back onto his lap, looping one arm behind his neck and grabbing one of the shot glasses with her other.

“What are we toasting to this time?” Jackie asked, raising her glass and looking around the table expectantly.

“I have one,” said Bryce, causing Cassie to twist her head to look at him, her eyebrows raised and her pupils blown wide, “To that first party you guys threw at the apartment. It really was the start of everything.”

Everyone clinked their glasses together over the center of the table, with some “Hear hears” and “To the parties” scattered in the mix, but Cassie didn’t throw back her shot right away. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on Bryce’s, offering him a brilliant smile before wrapping her other arm around his neck in a tender hug... and unfortunately dumping her shot of tequila down his neck and under his shirt in the process.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” she cried out once she realized what she’d done.

“It’s fine,” Bryce said with a little shrug, “but I do think that signals the end of the festivities for me.”

“Party pooper!” Elijah yelled out, but Bryce just shook his head.

“Someone has to actually be functional enough to take care of patients tomorrow, and it’s certainly not going to be anyone else at this table. Cassie, you coming over to my place, or are you going to keep the party going with this crew?”

“Your place,” she said without a moment of hesitation. “I spent the night with you after my first party of residency, so who am I to buck tradition at the last one?” Bryce grinned at that, noticing Elijah just shaking his head out of the corner of his eye before Cassie leaned over and kissed him, sliding her hands along his shoulders before pulling back.

“Get a room,” Jackie said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m trying,” Bryce replied over Cassie’s shoulder. “Come on, babe,” he said, helping Cassie to her feet before standing up and slinging an arm around her waist, waving goodbye to their friends as he navigated her towards the door.

“I can’t believe I’m basically done with residency,” Cassie said as Bryce pulled out his phone to order a Dryve. “It’s been three years already. How has it been three years?”

Bryce just chuckled, guiding her down the large step off onto the sidewalk as they left the bar. “Time flies when you’re working 80 hours a week for minimum wage, huh?”

“Something like that,” she replied, pivoting to face him and tugging him into a loose hug.

“Looking back, anything you’d want to change?”

She seemed to ponder that for a moment before shaking her head, “I mean, I probably could have done without the suspension, but I think it helped me grow. I don’t know. I guess even with all the drama, I’m happy with how things turned out. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, Cassie,” he said, squeezing her tight and running his hand along her spine, “it does.”

Permatag: @walkerswhiskeygirl @riley--walker @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5 @mfackenthal @thequeenofcronuts

Open Heart: @tallulahshh @rookie-ramsey @omgjasminesimone @ao719

Bryce x MC: @thequeenchoices @fortunatelywaywardsandwich @dreaming-of-movies @choicesarehard @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl @maria-soederberg @mskaneko @sunnyxdazed

Event Tags: @choicesmaychallenge @kinda-iconic

#choices may challenge #bryce lahela #bryce x mc #open heart fanfiction #oph fanfic

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