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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we’re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying—!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

taglist : @criminalmindsvibez @moreidstrobed @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @temily @enbyspencer @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids (add yourself to my taglist via this form!!)

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sneezefiction · 3 years

Text

answers

oikawa x reader

desc: oikawa changes some lyrics in taylor swift’s song “love story”

a/n: please keep in mind that most of this is just humorous & there’s no serious characterization in this particular story. i laughed a lot while writing it :,,) for @cutiekawa because you gave me the idea; thank you for that! and also for @seroto-rin because this is very similar to your husband’s lyric changing habits lol – i still laugh whenever i think about it <3 warnings: language, mentions drinking/being drunk

wc: 3k

— It’s 2 am when you hear Oikawa pattering down the hallway and past your room. From the gentle footsteps and the occasional whisper of “shit” when the floor creaks, it's obvious that he’s trying to stay quiet.

But his attempts are in vain because, one, you’re wide awake and, two, he’s just knocked over an empty beer can from earlier. It was probably the one he’d left on the hall table – you’d told him to throw it away but he’d refused saying that he’d “throw it away in the morning when his arms weren’t so tired.”

This is just karma.

The clatter of the aluminum on wooden floors echoes throughout the dorm. A much louder, especially frustrated, “fuck” follows right after it.

The word, though crass, sounds deceptively attractive on his tongue. But most things Oikawa-related just happen to be attractive.

You muffle your laughter with a blanket. He’s probably disoriented from the alcohol – it’s only been an hour and 5 drinks each since you both called it a night. You’d headed straight to bed but he’d fallen asleep on the couch where you left him, hair a-mess and lips parted.

But, for someone who used to stay out till daybreak on weekends, he’s spent most Fridays hanging out with you instead.

This weekend was no different.

Oikawa ordered Thai takeout, you found a mindless Netflix series to binge, both of you had a little too much to drink, laughter ensued, the doe-eyed boy found his head in your lap, and…

You pull a face – one that goes unseen because of the dark, but you make it anyway.

Okay, that last part was a little different.

He’d had his head in your lap.

His head… in your… lap.

And, if you’re not mistaken (or delirious), you’d had your hands in his hair, twirling strands and tracing circles at the base of his neck. A foggy image of him gazing up at you with softened eyes, deep chocolate in color, begins to solidify.

That lazy smile, a hand on your thigh, tresses tickling your skin...

You turn over in your bed, bunching up your sheets and holding them close to you like a shield of fabric — a flimsy, make-shift defense against tipsy mind-wandering. It isn’t very effective.

Your brain is not wandering but racing around this hand-in-hair realization.

Like an iron rod poking at hot embers, these prodding memories make your cheeks grow hotter by the millisecond. You bury your face in your pillow, embarrassment tight in your throat.

Somehow you’d forgotten that he’d practically climbed into your lap. You’re not in the clear quite yet, but your brain is functioning well enough that it wishes you’d had a little more to drink – just enough to forget about it entirely. You starfish out on your bed, arms and legs dramatically splayed across the mattress.

Do (hot, charming, charismatic, windswept) flatmates usually get this... cuddly? Is that normal?

Does Iwaizumi wrap his arms around his roomies after a long day and a few bottles? How about Mattsun? Makki…?

Okay, no, none of them really seem like the type to get up close and personal with their roommates without good reason. Well, maybe Makki, but he’d do it to be a pain in the ass – not to charm the living-hell out of someone.

You try to take in a deep breath and wrap your head around what this means for you… but end up inhaling a feather from your pillow instead. As you hack and cough, you try to smother the noise in more cloth material – you really didn’t need him coming into your room, much less leaning over your bed to check on you.

Oikawa is messing with your head.

If you knew any better, you’d have run away screaming the moment he’d asked you to room with him. No one that pretty and charismatic is good news. At least, not when it comes to shared housing.

But, here you are, writhing under the covers and hot like a fever all because he couldn’t keep to himself. Screw him and his charming smile for putting you in this position.

He either knows you’re crushing like he’s the last man on earth or he’s blissfully unaware and way too physically affectionate for his own good.

You don’t dare consider that he likes you back though. Only deer and Olympic athletes made leaps like that. Oikawa had too many admirers… an irritating amount.

The blankets scrunch even tighter between your fists, likely thanking their maker that they don’t have nerve endings.

Every fiber of your being is begging to know if these feelings are reciprocated. You’d hate to live out the rest of this semester knowing the boy down the hall may not like you back. Worse, that he finds out you think he’s hot shit and doesn’t like you back – that would be unrequited love at its finest.

But, with a degree and your mental health on the line, why should you care about such minor, itty bitty, pointless details.

This isn’t that big a deal.

And even if he did like you back? Well, Oikawa isn’t someone you can simply “pin down.” He comes with a distinctive, dramatic personality and a meddling side. Not to mention, he’s already the embodiment of chaos – he’s proven this to be true over the past 4 months he’s lived with you.

There’s a familiar squeak of the shower faucet handle and the hiss of hot water. You jump at the sound.

Maybe he’d forgotten, but your bedroom shares a very thin wall with the bathroom. Though you recall him saying he wanted to take a shower earlier, so you guess that he’s only just remembered.

You pick up your phone, blue light casting a less-than angelic glow on your sleepy face. You pray that TikTok will have some sort of life-changing “I’m in love with my hot, crazy flatmate” advice. Or that it will distract you from your inner turmoil. Either would be appreciated but the latter seems more likely.

Scrolling slowly, you get through about 3 videos before something else catches your attention.

There’s a deep reverberation buzzing through your wall. A gentle hum, much like a shower-concert lullaby.

But the noise is getting louder. And the humming? A lot more lyrical.

You shift into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your hands. With your side sunken into a pillow, you press your ear against the cool drywall. Your ears tune into the sound.

Oikawa, voice confident and free, is… singing.

“...But you were everything to me, I was begging you ‘please don’t go’…”

But he’s not just singing.

“And I said…”

He’s belting Taylor Swift with the enthusiasm of an 11-year-old Swiftie super-fan. Like the world would end if he didn’t put enough passion into this performance. Like the showerhead is his microphone and the surrounding tiles are his adoring audience.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run...”

Most people would be pissed if their friend were singing in the shower at 2 am… but you can’t find it in yourself to be anything but enamored.

God, you hate him for doing this right now. Hate that he’s inadvertently endearing you to him. Hate that, no matter what you do, he’s somehow always there.

Pressed up against you on the couch, meeting you for dinner at his favorite restaurant, fussing at each other over a shitty cup of coffee in your even shittier kitchen, calling you when he needs somebody to keep him company at the library…

“You'll be the prince & I'll be the princess…”

And now he’s accidentally serenading you with Taylor’s “Fearless” album. In the shower.

You facepalm, sinking into your hands, exasperated and just so… done.

You sink back down into the bedsheets, wishing your earbuds were nearby to drown out the regrettably adorable performance.

“It's a love story y/n, just say ‘Yes.’”

And your heart drops, panic setting in like the touch down of a whirling tornado. A fire tornado. A fire tornado with frogs and lizards and sharp objects spinning around inside of it.

What… did he just say?

The lyrics… they were muffled. You definitely heard them incorrectly. You… you just need to get your ears checked. Yes, that’s it. That’s all there is to it. You’ll schedule an appointment first thing tomorrow morning.

Because who the fuck sings like that at 2 am in a shared dorm? And who the fuck puts someone else’s name into a song like that? No one? Yes, no one.

Especially not the Oikawa Tooru.

And especially not with your name.

Because that’s just... weird.

The grip on your phone is mighty – thank God for durable glass because any other material would’ve splintered or shattered in your hold.

But what the hell.

“Y/n, save me, I've been feeling so alone,” he sings as though he were Beyoncé’s son.

This time it’s clear as day. Oikawa is definitely still out of it and he’s undoubtedly singing your name.

No, no, no.

“I keep waiting for you but you never come…”

You bolt out of bed, feet hitting the floor at lightning-strike speed.

“Is this in my head? I don't know what to think,”

In one swift movement, you fling the bedroom door open and rush down the hall. You shouldn’t be listening to this.

“He knelt to the ground & pulled out a ring, and said...”

And before you can stop your hand, it’s knocking rapidly on the bathroom door.

There’s a gasp, what you assume to a bar of soap hitting the shower floor, and an abrupt silence that follows.

You’d only wanted to stop him from singing.

However, you hadn’t thought through what you were going to say to him about this whole... lyrical mess. Your face feels like the surface of the sun, burning and flaring and flushing. What are you supposed to do now?

Oikawa speaks up, voice quiet, “Hello?”

Shit.

Maybe if you’re careful you can get yourself out of this. Just act like you didn’t hear anything and bring it up tomorrow when you’re both thinking straight. A thorough and sober discussion would be needed.

You had questions. Questions that needed answers.

Why did he have his head in your lap? Had you said anything to him that you’d regret later? Does he like you? Where should you two place your boundaries if he doesn’t like you back? And why Taylor Swift?

“Y/n, is that you?” He asks, nonchalantly.

Who else would it be?

The handle squeaks and, with that, the water stops. Only the gentle swirl of the drain and the occasional drips and drops from the showerhead are audible.

It’s too late. You’re already there. You’ve knocked and, in doing so, you’ve sealed your fate.

“...Yes,” is your whisper of a reply.

“What’s up? Was I too loud for you?”

You’ve got the entire building on high-alert singing that loudly.

...is what you would say if you weren’t currently imploding. This is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. And nothing you ever want to experience again.

“Um, yeah, sorry.” You look down at your shuffling feet.

The hallway is pitch black, hardly allowing for even a mere shadow. Rushing out of your room, you’d forgotten to turn on even a single light.

You hear him step onto the tile floor and the rustle of a tower from the bathroom closet.

“Wait, can we talk?” He asks as though it weren’t the question of the fucking year. “I mean, preferably after I get out of the bathroom.” There’s a lack of tact to his words.

This isn’t the charming Oikawa you’re used to. This is a blunt… confusingly straightforward Oikawa.

His tone wavers like maybe he’d had a little more to drink than you’d last remembered. Your memory was proving to be disappointingly unreliable tonight.

You swallow thickly, “Sure.”

Because what else can you say?

“Can I stop by your room in a minute?”

You take a deep breath, “Yeah.”

And you patter back to your no-longer very safe haven. Oikawa is about to infiltrate your space… with your permission. And the weapons he’ll bring will either harpoon you or leave you emotionally paralyzed – whether that emotional paralysis is a good or bad thing will be decided in the near future.

Your bed, though soft and blanket-covered, looks far less appealing now. It may as well be a bed of nails because you would rather hide beneath it than sit atop it.

But you sit anyway, letting the mattress dip and the springs twang.

The bathroom door cries as it opens, putting you on edge. Your heart is pounding like a drum at a summer festival – hotter and louder with every beat.

The trod of footsteps tells you he’s approaching and, sure enough, the open door reveals Oikawa.

With only a lamp to brighten the space, he’s more contoured than usual. His hair is wet and heavy against his head, taking on an even darker brown than before. You’ve seen him fresh out of the shower before, but this… is different. Oikawa’s shirt sticks to his chest slightly – he must’ve thrown it on without drying off fully to get to you faster.

He takes a few steps into your room, choosing to lean his back against a wall next to your work desk. Oikawa brings his hands behind his back, pressing his weight into them. Brown eyes flicker from you to the wall behind you and back again.

Naturally, tension lays thick as a fog in the air space.

“Hey, I’m…”

You cut him off, “You don’t have to say sorry! It’s… it’s okay.”

Oops, you’d said that a little too loud. Not that it mattered much after Oikawa’s passionate performance.

An eyebrow raises and confusion sparks across his face. Your body freezes.

He brings a hand behind his neck. “Oh, I was just gonna say that I’m still kinda drunk.”

You knew that much. Though you really thought he’d say something other than that. Preferably something about the, uh, devoted love-song?

Why is he acting so casual right now? Is this even Tooru? Had he read too many alien conspiracies and been abducted for learning too much about extraterrestrials?

Maybe he doesn’t realize you’d even heard him say your name in the shower.

“Oh... right.” You say slowly, lips staying parted at the end of your sentence.

“Which… probably isn’t good for either of us,” Different words drawl out and there’s a soft slur to some syllables, but at least he’s easy to understand, “me drinking too much, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you mutter.

“I think we should both just go to bed then.”

Your chest tightens. Of course, you want answers.

They’re likely embarrassing, face-reddening, Taylor Swift-centric answers. But you want them, nonetheless.

Although, it’s probably for the best that you don’t bring this up tonight. It was all probably a joke or a harmless accident – and, anyway, he admitted to being drunk.

“Right.”

“But I think you should know that I like you. A lot.”

“Yeah,” you respond again, automatically.

There’s another heavy silence. The pretty boy just stares at you, cherry colors tinting his cheeks but showing no expression of fear or embarrassment. You stare back, processing his words at turtle-like speeds.

The words tumble out, “Wait, say that again?” You double back, your own face reheating to its earlier temperature.

“I’m gonna be mad at myself in the morning if I don’t leave right now. And I really need to stop listening to that stupid song,” Oikawa says to himself.

“But I wanted to see how you would respond if I changed the lyrics,” the words are pointed back at you again.

He stands up, feet moving slowly toward the doorway. Did he just… completely ignore your question?

Your jaw drops, “Did…” you can hardly speak.

Clearing your throat, you try again, focusing intently on your words, “...did you mean for me to hear you?”

“...Maybe.” He draws out the “e,” looking back at you.

That’s it. He’s lost his fucking mind. You’re going to strangle him.

No TikTok advice could have prepared you for the monstrosity that is Oikawa Tooru. How Iwaizumi put up with that... that child for all these years, you have no idea.

You have to make a note of sending him a “get well” card, because nobody could be mentally okay after dealing with him for that long.

“B- but… why? What?” You stammer out, back stiff as a board.

“You like me don’t you?” He tilts his head, hair flopping cutely with it.

You gape like a fish, mouth opening and closing.

And it’s not that you don’t want to respond.

It’s that you can’t. You have no words. You vocal chords are on a panic-induced lockdown.

Because he knew.

He knew this entire time. Which you thought he might, but that doesn’t make the situation any less infuriating.

“And I like you back.”

You’re dumbfounded. You can’t think. This is ridiculous.

You open your mouth once more but he has no intention of continuing this conversation.

“Sleep well!” Without further comment, Oikawa flashes you a sleepy smile and begins scampering back to his room after having wreaked havoc on your poor heart.

Your voice comes back just in time for you to wake up the entire building once more,

“No, you get your ass back here and explain yourself!”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa scenarios #oikawa imagines #seijoh #what did i just write #this is gonna go under: 'things i gave up my sleep for'#ughsjdljlds'ldsdjd #also #i dont like the term crack fic anymore? so i think just calling it humorous is... a good way to go #goodnight yall #queued up!

258 notes · View notes

sevlgi · 3 years

Text

promises, promises

requested: yes

group: dreamcatcher

pairing: bora x fem!reader (plus bora x siyeon)

genre: basically just angst

contents: established!relationship between bora and siyeon but they don’t love each other, coworker!au, y/n just pines alone lmfao, but there IS a happy ending

warnings: none

synopsis: Bora and Siyeon are so used to their relationship that it feels like they can’t ever change. But at this point, is continuing together really their best option?

a/n: afdfasfkasdn i hope y’all like this!!!

word count: 2.6k

“Hey, Bora, if you’re coming home tonight, can you bring some takeout?”

The word ‘if’ echoes in Bora’s headphones as she stares at her phone screen. Siyeon said the word so offhandedly in her message, obviously used to her girlfriend’s constant absent and apparently unfazed by it, but it stops Bora herself right in the middle of the road as she listens to the message.

Honestly, her situation with Siyeon is... difficult. They’ve lived together for years, so they’re both used to having schedules that never match. To an outsider, the minimal amount of time that they actually spend together would be nothing short of a red flag, but neither Bora nor Siyeon think much of it.

There’s a certain comfort of knowing what waits for you at home, even if it is figurative most of the time. Bora has had the same emergency contact for years, and she always knows who to call if she has left something at home. She never has to call a babysitter, and whenever she gets hit on, she can say that she has a girlfriend of 5 years.

But maybe saying it like that sounds too much like a business contract.

The harsh reality is that the rare time she does spend with Siyeon is almost always filled with stilted silence, made awkward by two people both too exhausted to put effort into their relationship. And when it isn’t that suffocating silence between them, it’s anger, arguments that can be brought on by the most marginal mistaken word.

All of that culminates into the fact that Bora doesn’t really go home. Neither of them have the energy to actually talk things through, but neither of them want to let go of that familiar stability either. So they’re girlfriends by name, and nothing else in their hearts.

Bora supposes that it’s as much her fault as it is Siyeon’s.

“Yo, Bora!”

A smile prods the corner of her mouth up, and she pockets the phone. “Wassup, bro?” she calls sarcastically, accepting the overly enthusiastic fist-bump from you anyway. “Since when do you greet me with ‘yo’, especially when you’re about to ask for a ride home?”

You pout. “Is it that obvious?”

“You never come after me after work ends for any other reason, so, yes.” Bora opens the passenger side of her car for you anyway, spinning her keys around her index finger. There’s a hammered silver heart hanging off the other side with her and Siyeon’s initials.

“If you wanted my company more often, all you had to do is say so,” you sigh. As always, you reach for the aux and plug it into your phone. “Are we making any pit stops along the way? Because I’ll shoot you a coffee as payment if you want it.”

“Actually, I’m gonna pick up some takeout for me and Siyeon.”

“Oh. Cool.” You pick some song that you’ve played at least 10 times in the past week, but Bora doesn’t comment on it.

She can’t help but notice that her passenger’s seat bears more evidence of you sitting there than anyone else. The seat itself is adjusted to the way you like it, and you have a habit of leaving your phone in the exact same place on the dashboard, the only rectangle that isn’t covered in dust.

Bora isn’t actually sure about how Siyeon would adjust her seat, actually. Before she can stop herself, she asks you, “Hey, Y/N. What would you say is strictly necessary for a relationship to work?”

You glance at her, surprised. “Uh. Are you forgetting that I’m single?”

“I’m taking that as a sign that the date from last night didn’t go well?” When you shake your head, Bora sighs, “Sorry to bring it up, then.”

“No, no, it’s fine. We only went out like three times.” You lean back to think about the question, biting on your bottom lip as you do. It’s endearing. “I think... sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice? What, like Simba’s dad sacrifice?” Bora tries to joke.

You roll your eyes, “You watch too much Disney, dumbass. I mean like... taking pictures together because one person likes to, even if the other doesn’t. Alternating your favorite pastas, taking like one hour of work off each to have a date night. That kind of sacrifice.”

“Oh. I get it, I think.” Bora does understand it; she thinks about how often Yoohyeon misses a day of work, because she claims that one paycheck isn’t worth a missed anniversary. She thinks about how JiU does the pasta thing despite not really liking Yoohyeon’s favorite, and she thinks about how she and Siyeon never do that anymore. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Bora gets out of the car to get takeout at one point, but she’s deep in thought for the rest of the ride home, even when you wave her goodbye at your own place. Sacrifice, huh?

She thinks that the only thing she sacrifices is her wallet.

Siyeon opens the door for her with a small smile, though, which makes Bora happy enough. Her girlfriend says, “I’m gonna guess you got Chinese?”

“Thai,” Bora shakes her head. The apartment is cold because Siyeon read somewhere that it helps you fall asleep faster, but Bora herself hates it. “I don’t eat Chinese food much anymore, remember?”

“Since when?” Siyeon frowns, locking the door behind her. “Last I remembered, your favorite food was those dumb little dumplings from the place down the street.”

“Last year, yeah. It doesn’t matter, though, let’s eat. What did you do today?”

It’s a boring question, but the other woman accepts it gratefully. “Uh, went to work early, but I got lunch with my mom.”

“Oh? How is she?” Bora questions, already spreading the takeout boxes all over the table. She hasn’t seen Siyeon’s mom in a while, but she misses the motherly figure.

Siyeon shrugs and reaches for her chopsticks. “She’s fine. She wants to know when we’re getting married.”

Bora’s heart stops, and not in the good way. She and Siyeon have talked about marriage before, but it was all in the honeymoon stage, when they first started dating years ago. “Oh? What did you tell her?”

Her girlfriend raises an eyebrow. “That we aren’t even engaged, obviously. Unless I missed an important conversation?”

“N- yeah.” Bora stuffs a shrimp in her mouth to quiet herself, at least for a little bit. It’s not that she doesn’t want to get married-- she just doesn’t want anything to change.

Of course, Siyeon doesn’t let her shock at the question go. “What?” she prods. “Is getting married that scary?”

“I mean... do you want us to get married?”

Siyeon hesitates at that. Eventually, she shakes her head in silence, and that’s enough of an answer.

There’s really nothing wrong with their relationship. But as Siyeon bids goodnight right after she finishes eating, and Bora remains in the living room, she thinks that there might not be anything right anymore either.

Bora asks about the closest engagement ring store before she can stop herself, and you stare at her. “Are you two getting engaged?”

“No. Well, it’s complicated,” Bora sighs, turning right when her phone tells her to. “Siyeon’s mother wants us to get married, and I was thinking about what you were saying. It’s time to make some sacrifices.”

You stammer, “Th- that’s not really what I meant? I meant, like, take a day or two off work and get a vacation together, maybe talk things out for more than a minute? Not... proposing. Bora, I don’t...”

“Well, what would you do if you were in my shoes? Or, better yet--” Bora holds up a hand-- “what would you do if you were Siyeon? How would you deal with me, your girlfriend of 5 years?”

Suddenly, you feel like it’s 500 degrees in the car. But you answer, “I’d... I’d plan a trip. One of those cruises that offer dinners, and then I’d just try and talk with you. Bora, do you really think you’re in the right state to get married?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Bora questions. “We’re comfortable, you know. Siyeon got promoted a month ago, we make more than enough money to afford a wedding, and we’ve been together for so long, I don’t know anything without her.”

“I don’t mean financially,” you sigh. “I mean... do you think she’d say yes? Are you happy?”

‘Do you think she’d say yes?’ To be completely honest, Bora doesn’t know. She doesn’t even know what kind of a ring Siyeon would want, though she does know her ring size. She answers forcefully, “She will. I know it.”

“Okay.” You lean back, thumbs fiddling with your phone. “Bora? Would you mind dropping me off at work first? I don’t think I’ll be much help if I go with you.”

Bora nods. “Sure.”

She ends up buying a simple ring with a blue stone, something that won’t really make a dent in either of their bank accounts, but will still be enough for Siyeon to show off. The box is a heavy weight in Bora’s pocket as she arrives home, quite a bit earlier than she normally does.

“Siyeon-ah?” she asks, rapping on the door as she pushes it open.

“Bora? You’re home early,” her girlfriend replies, turning from where she is at the sink. For some reason, Bora’s relieved that it’s all Siyeon does at home when she’s alone, though there’s no reason for her to suspect anything else. “Did you get off work early?”

“Uh, I took time off.” Bora sets her bag down and takes her jacket off, watching Siyeon open the fridge for something else. “I... remember when your mom asked when we’d get married?”

“Yeah. I remember that, why?” Siyeon silently hands her a glass of water.

Instead of saying anything else, Bora takes the box out of her pocket and pops it open before sliding it over the counter. Blue glints brilliantly under the kitchen’s lights, but even to her, it looks dull.

Siyeon glances at her in surprise, saying softly, “Bora... that’s not what I meant when I told you what she said.”

“Then what did you mean?”

The younger woman sighs, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. “I. Look, aren’t we happy just as we are?”

A little bit of anger fires up in the pit of Bora’s stomach. It isn’t that she seriously wants to get married, or that it matters all that much that Siyeon doesn’t seem to, but she put in the effort. Like you had told her to, she made a sacrifice, and it hurts a bit that it doesn’t have the effect she wishes it did. “You tell me, Siyeon. Didn’t you tell me when we started dating that getting married was your goal?” Bora demands.

“I did, and that was 5 years ago,” Siyeon snaps back. “Why are you so hellbent on this, anyway? I thought you never wanted to get married.”

Bora hesitates, but she still ends up being honest. She answers quietly, “To make a relationship work, we have to make sacrifices.”

“Don’t--”

“Siyeon. Do you still love me?”

“Obviously! What kind of a question even is that?” Siyeon bites back, anger starting to furrow her eyebrows. Bora wishes she could say that it’s an unfamiliar sight, but it isn’t anymore. “Who told you all that sacrifice bullshit anyway?”

“Y/N, not that it matters.” Bora’s hands clutching tightly in her hair, she sighs, “Look, I got it wrong, okay? I’ll return the ring--”

Siyeon interrupts, “Bora, do you know why Y/N told you sacrifices make relationships work?”

When the older woman doesn’t respond, Siyeon just continues, “It’s because she’s the one making sacrifices. She understands what ‘sacrifices’ should be in a relationship, and it isn’t you buying an engagement ring when neither of us want to get married at all.”

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay?” Bora snatches the box up from the counter and grabs her keys again. “I’m going out.”

“What, to talk to Y/N?” Bora turns to stare at Siyeon, who only stands there with crossed arms and the air that says she knows she’s right.

Bora doesn’t respond, but she does slam the front door after her a little too hard.

Whenever she needs to talk to you, Bora takes advantage of the fact that you can always be found in one corner of the office. Unlike all your other coworkers, who like to roam and chat, you’re always in the same space, unless Bora drags you out.

And she does, slamming her palms down on either side of your desk. You don’t flinch, and she says lowly, “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay, but did you have to mess up my sticky notes?” you attempt to joke. Bora just grabs your wrist to tug you out of the office, leading you straight to her car without a word to anyone else. “Bora. Bora, what is this about?”

She takes a breath as soon as the two of you are sitting down, your eyes completely trained on her as she says, “Siyeon said something.”

“Oh. I’m assuming you aren’t engaged, then?”

“What- no. No, nothing close,” Bora sighs. “I tried making a sacrifice like you told me to, because I thought she wanted to get married. Spoiler, she doesn’t.”

You groan, placing your head in your hands. “Bora, that isn’t what I meant.”

Siyeon’s words about you understanding ‘sacrifice’ ring in the other woman’s head, but Bora stays silent and lets you continue, “Look, sacrifice in a relationship doesn’t mean literally sacrificing your own wants and stuff. It means accommodating the person you love, going out of your way to do nice things without doing damage to yourself.”

“Like you do?” Bora’s voice is soft, almost too soft for you to catch, but you do hear it.

And instead of an adverse reaction, instead of denying it, you nod. “Yeah.”

Silence fills the car, and you don’t dare to raise your head. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t think I ever knew.”

“No, I know you didn’t.” You sigh and reach over to fiddle with the keychain you left on the passenger door handle. “I mean, you were so in love when we met. And now...”

“I’m not,” she finishes.

You shrug, “Well, that’s up to you to figure out. You’ve figured me out, anyway. And I’ve waited this long, I won’t blame you for whatever decision you do make.”

“What if you didn’t have to wait?”

Bora suddenly remembers the box sitting in her pocket, and digs it out. She doesn’t know if it’ll fit your finger, or if you’ll even like it, but it’s spontaneous, and Bora thinks it’s the way that things should be. “Take it,” she offers, “as a promise. I know what I have to do, but I want to promise to you that... I’ll come back to you. And I think I should promise that I’ll start loving you the way you’ve loved me.”

You take the box gently, and as light as it is, Bora feels a weight taken away. You’ve always had that effect on her, after all. “Okay. I accept your promise, and I’ll wait. For you.”

The ring is a little tight, and you put it on your pinky instead of the normal fingers, but it feels secure. It feels like Bora will keep her promise this time, to both her and you.

#dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher x reader #sua x reader #dreamcatcher sua #kim bora #sua #sua imagines #sua scenarios #dreamcatcher scenarios #dreamcatcher bora #dreamcatcher reactions #dreamcatcher imagines #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #dreamcatcher icons

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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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havethetimeofyourstyles · 3 years

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Chapter Four.

a/n: this was one of my fav chapters to write, so hope you all enjoy! I think you’re all gonna like this one hehe :’) pls reblog to share and leave feedback as it continues to motivate me <3

SERIES MASTERLIST | word count: 10.1k

come talk to me about WTSGD! i’d love to know your thoughts!

October 31, 2017

A lot had happened in the last five months that felt like an eternity.

After Luci’s very first performance for Miss Saigon and her unfortunate breakdown that was caused by one of the biggest critics of Broadway, practically insulting her, she performed almost every night after that.

When one bad review on her performance was ratified by hundreds of tweets and reviews, saying that Luci’s performance was one of the best they’d ever seen, she’d say she did her damn job. The night of her breakdown, she received a text from Nina, who sent her a link to a few reviews on her Broadway debut. Those articles directly addressed how unprofessional and poorly written Adam West’s review was, and that he needed to open his eyes to observe and admire brilliant, wonderful, and beautifully performed talent. On top of the important names next to Adam West, theatre-Twitter seemed to agree with the positive articles that were written about her, tweeting that Luci was the next face of Broadway; and who cared if she started her career in commercials and Off-Broadway because getting the role in Miss Saigon had proved that she worked her way up and that she was good.

After reading the articles and tweets, her mood had drastically shifted. She was so overwhelmed by the positive comments that defended her from a misogynistic man that she cried again, but it was tears of happiness this time around. She walked out of her apartment, headed to Harry’s door to show him the uplifting reviews, and he was happy to see that she was ecstatic—he was happy for her.

They had definitely become closer since that day.

Harry and Luci hung out a lot. Whenever they had the chance and they both weren’t busy, they would knock on each other’s doors or text one another, asking to hang out. For the most part, he opened up to her, showcasing his true personality and becoming more comfortable around Luci—enough to joke around and be himself. He loved the way he didn’t feel like he had to be someone he’s not; everything felt true and real.

It was refreshing for Harry to have a real friend, a best friend, other than Jeff and Mitch. Although he developed a small crush on said friend, it was nice to just have a chat and walk around the neighborhood with her. He’d been talking himself up to ask her out, not knowing if she’ll say yes or if she even feels that way about him; but from what he could tell, he thinks that she’s sort of infatuated with him. Luci would flirt with him from time to time, and would tell him that he’s adorable and sweet, making Harry’s cheeks redden from the sweet talk.

Luci’s situation with Daisy and Samuel never got better. Ever since she started to perform more and more—sometimes even more than Daisy—they would be nothing but rude to her. They weren’t used to someone taking their spotlight; it was like someone stepping right in front of them on center stage to steal the show—especially if it was someone they despised and was new to Broadway. The two tried to take it up with Tal, demanding and arguing about how they deserved to perform every single night, but Tal kept her word to Luci and the rest of the industry: that she would stand up for her cast and run the show herself.

Throughout the months, Luci had been talking with Harry about something very, very important. It was a few weeks ago, during their walk to a bagel place in the morning, when she first brought it up.

“Remember that lady who came up to me after the show?” She asked as they walked along the sidewalk. Harry nodded, letting out a ‘mhm.’ “So, she’s a talent agent…” Harry raised his brows, thinking she was an agent for Broadway. “In Hollywood.” Samantha Stone was one of Hollywood’s greatest and biggest agents; she mostly worked with actors who were first starting out in the industry before making them successful. Samantha was always on the hunt for new and fresh talent; she walked the streets with an eye like a hawk.

In early September, Samantha was in New York for a small getaway, as well as to meet one of her side pieces in the city. She figured she could watch a show or two since she was already in the city, and it’d been ages since she'd seen a Broadway show. Deciding on Miss Saigon because she saw the tweets and reviews of Luciana, she decided to give it a shot and see what her hype was about. And it did not disappoint. She was so intrigued and invested in the story, and was absolutely blown away by Luciana’s performance. Naturally, even though she shouldn’t be working, she waited until the cast was coming out of the theatre to approach her.

Luci was in complete shock because she’d never had anyone walk up to her, telling her to give her a call because she was a talent agent and hoped to work with her soon. When Luci got back home, she looked up Samantha Stone and her breath hitched as she found out who she had worked with and what she did for a living.

“Holy shit!” Harry completely stopped walking, making Luci stop as well. They stood on the side of the sidewalk as people passed by them. Harry beamed excitedly, but soon his smile softened, noticing Luci’s didn’t match his. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you excited?”

“I-I don’t know. I just get nervous thinking about it, like she wants to work with me.” Luci fiddled with her fingers.

“Isn’t that great?” Harry asked softly; he didn’t see what was wrong with that, but he was being patient with Luci to try and understand what she was feeling and thinking about.

She nodded. “It is. I’m just nervous; I hate disappointing people. What if I call her and I do an audition or whatever, and she realizes that I’m not meant for the job? She’s the biggest agent in Hollywood, Harry. That would mean I’m not meant for any job,” she explained worriedly, anxiety bubbling up in her stomach as if it’d been simmering for hours on the stove.

Harry slightly frowned. He couldn’t imagine how it must feel to doubt one’s own talents, and he absolutely hated that Luci was doing it.

“Luciana, listen to me.” Well, that definitely caught her attention. “You’re remarkably talented, end of. If you end up being dropped by that agent, then fuck her. She shouldn’t be a talent agent if she can’t see clear talent right in front of her. Literally everyone in the same room knows you are so incredibly gifted. Plus, wouldn’t you like to try it out? It doesn’t hurt to try because you have nothing to lose. You’ll still be on Broadway; and then you’ll try again later if right now is not your time.”

Smiling, she appreciated his words. She nodded, knowing he was completely right. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.” Her response seemed to satisfy Harry. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’ll always be here for you.” She smiled. “Still gonna help me grade papers?”

She chuckled as they started walking on the pavement again. “Yup. Believe it or not, it’s actually fun grading papers.”

He turned to her shockingly. “Oh, really? Then maybe you could be my TA and I’ll have you grade all the papers.” Luci laughed, saying that she didn’t mind; she adored moments when they were playful. Their friendship was refreshing to the both of them.

A week after her conversation with Harry, where he reassured and encouraged her, she called Samantha, who was delighted to hear from Luci. Samantha asked if she wanted to meet for lunch; Luci was hesitant, but she remembered Harry’s words, and it really didn’t hurt to try, so she agreed and they met in Midtown at a Thai restaurant.

It was a casual luncheon where Samantha got to know Luci before she decided if she wanted to sign her or not. Luci completely rocked her socks; she was funny, kind, and very humble—traits that not a lot of stars had. So, Samantha immediately thought she was perfect and very likeable. After thirty minutes of eating and chatting, Samantha pulled out her business side, along with a contract, and discussed what this could mean for Luci. She went over her contract very quickly, and Luci knew she couldn’t keep up so she pretended to listen, nodding and letting out a ‘mhm’ to be interactive.

Samantha had a pen ready for her to sign, but if Luci knew anything, it was to not sign contracts right then and there, and to go over the contract in further details on her own. So, Luci told her that she would look over the stack of papers once more before she got back to her potential agent.

Luci wished she took a business class to understand such things about contracts and how to handle things herself, but she thinks that she might enroll in some classes some time soon. She attended Boston University and graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Performing Arts in Theatre Arts. On top of auditioning, solo acts, musical pieces, and countless shows for the four years she was there, she maintained a 3.5 GPA in her general education, and that’s something she’s incredibly proud of herself for. There were a few classes during her freshman year that she failed, making her consider dropping out, but she picked herself back up and promised herself to work harder, and she did.

When she got back home, she tossed the contract on her coffee table as she sighed, grabbing a glass of water. She had felt stressed out about the situation, but then she remembered that Harry’s sister, Gemma, was a lawyer in London. So, she sent Harry a quick text, telling him about her situation, and asked if Gemma was able to help out. Harry was on his lunch when she texted, but he quickly asked Gemma and she was quick to comply, anything to help her brother’s friend.

The day after, Harry and Luci both sat down on his couch, FaceTiming Gemma on his laptop; it was the very first time his sister and Luci were meeting each other. Harry warned Luci that Gemma was a bit tough with his new friends, but once the two women chatted for a few minutes, Gemma was smittened with her; Harry was shocked at how quick they seemed to become friends, but he cherished it because he liked Luci…a lot.

Luci had sent over a scanned version of the contract, so they went over it together with Harry sitting next to her for moral support; and from what Gemma said, the contract was clean. The most important thing that Gemma was looking for was that Luci had a say to back out of the contract, and it stated that clearly. Gemma told her that she could sign the contract if she wanted, and that eased Luci’s anxieties, making her thank Gemma almost a million times for her help.

The next day, Luci met up with Samantha for brunch with the signed contract in her hand. Samantha was delighted to see that it was inked with her signature; she told Luci that this won’t be the only thing she was going to sign because so many people are going to want her autograph. That made Luci smile, giggling a tad bit at the thought of it.

By the beginning of October, Samantha called Luci and informed her that she was booked for an audition for a supporting character in Ocean’s Eight that was to be released late next year. Luci was surprised at how quickly Samantha was able to get her an audition, but they didn’t call her the best for nothing.

With only two weeks to prepare, Luci put her time and effort into rehearsing the few pages of the script Samantha had sent her. Luci didn’t have a talent coach whatsoever, so she tried her best to see every aspect of her acting, jotting down notes on the margins so she could further better herself. She was hiding her stress and nerves quite well as she tried not to freak out about how insane this opportunity was to even audition.

When her audition was only two days away, she called Ren for the traditional pep-talk that inspired and motivated her to do better and to try her best because that was all that she could do. She wished that her family was physically next to her so she could feel the comfort and warmth that they provide because after all, they are home and always will be.

Luckily, some producers were in New York holding auditions, so she didn’t have to fly to California for a day or two. She’d never felt more intimidated and nervous than the moment she stepped inside the medium-sized room that was painted in a light gray tone. A long foldable table was in the middle of the room with a small camcorder on a tripod next to it. Luci’s had many auditions, but this…this was real shit, the real deal. She was standing in front of Hollywood and big name producers who’d never heard of her name until the moment she walked in and they had a glimpse of her portfolio.

She introduced herself, masking the nerves that were crawling up and down her body with a warm smile—not too bright, but enough to show her gorgeous grin. They asked her to read off of page twenty-three to twenty-five; taking a breath, she gave all that she could. And in her opinion, it’s the best acting she’d ever done, which is saying a lot because she thinks she did quite well after every show of Miss Saigon.

The producers’ faces were unreadable as they simply looked at one another, writing a few notes on their yellow notepads. Luci wanted to lurk, to see what they were writing as she hoped they weren’t disappointed or had immediately crossed out her name from their list.

They thanked her for coming in before dismissing her; she thanked them as well, waving as she walked out the door where she released the biggest sigh. It wasn’t from relief because she was still on edge of the result of her audition, but she felt like she had been holding her breath for the ten to fifteen minutes that she was in that room. Her heart was pounding quite sturdily; and if she was being honest, her mind had completely blanked out once they yelled ‘action,’ but that was usual for her.

Now that it was ten days after her audition and Halloween, Harry practically begged Luci to get out of her apartment. She knew that she couldn’t stay cooped up in her room as she overthought the audition constantly. She began to get headaches from overthinking every single thing she did in that audition, and it drove her insane.

So, when Harry suggested that she should go to the Halloween party that Daisy was throwing on the rooftop of her building, she dreaded it at first, but the thought of going out was calling her. She assumed Daisy wouldn’t want Luci to be at her party, but she invited the entire cast and a few more people that she knew personally, so it wasn’t like Daisy was going to speak to her. Since it was a party, everyone could bring a guest or a few friends, so that was when Luci begged Harry to attend with her.

“Please, come with me.” She had her best pouty lip on, looking at him with doe eyes. Just by that look, he almost gave in, but he wasn’t sure if this type of party was for him. Harry was a mellow and chill guy; he didn’t need rooftop parties and unlimited amounts of booze. He was fine with a small gathering, a few movies and board games—now, that was his type of party. “The party would be so much more fun with you there.”

Harry playfully scoffed. “Please. Luci, I’m the most boring guy there is.”

Her brows furrowed in disagreement. “No, you’re not. I happen to think you’re quite fun.” He smiled softly at her in appreciation. “Please. We wouldn’t even have to stay that long.”

He could tell that she wanted, no, needed him to be there with her. She wasn’t very close with her cast mates—despite all the months she’d been part of the production—besides Nina. But Nina knew everyone so Luci would be left awkwardly standing there, waiting for her friend to come back.

“How long would we stay?”

Her eyes brightened with hope. “However long you want.”

“An hour? Hour and a half, tops?”

“Sounds perfectly fine to me.”

“And what would we wear?”

Luci was a bit shocked by his question. “You wanna match?”

“I mean, that would be fun, right?” She nodded, agreeing. “Since it is quite last minute, I say we dress up as the 70s or 80s era. Pretty easy, right?”

She liked the sound of that. “Yes, let’s do 70s! I wanna raid your closet because I know you have some gems in there.”

Harry laughed out loud—her favorite laugh that was music to her ears. He knew he had a great sense of fashion, and he’d always go to the thrift store to pick up something that he’d never worn before. It wasn’t like he was not going to wear it, he just needed to be more comfortable with himself to wear the clothes that he buys. So, for now, he settled with black skinny jeans and patterned-print button downs, which is the most ‘flashy’ he’d dress as…for now.

“I knew I liked you for a reason because I was hoping you’d say 70s.” Luci felt her cheeks warm up before they went to Harry’s apartment.

It took an hour and a half to find an outfit that Harry liked; it would’ve been shorter, but with Harry’s 70s playlist that was playing in the background, they took breaks to dance and sing. Harry had a beautiful voice, Luci thought; and she wondered if he was ever in a band before or wrote music because he does have an elaborate music taste, and that added to Luci’s liking for him.

They proceeded to go to Luci’s apartment so Harry could help her find an outfit. He brought his wireless speaker so the music wouldn’t stop; and she continuously threw the articles of clothing onto her bed—where Harry was lying on his stomach—every time he shook his head no.

With the same amount of time it took Harry to decide on an outfit, Luci settled on hers. She looked in her full-body mirror, twirling around to see if it looked okay and if she was satisfied with it. Harry remained on her bed, admiring how beautiful she looked as he thought that she was way out of his league. As Luci was dancing and prancing around her apartment, Harry was deep in his thoughts; he didn’t know if asking Luci out was the way to go. Not only would he lose her as a friend when or if she rejects him, but he couldn’t bear the ache he would feel in his heart.

For his own sake, he needed to protect himself before the heartbreak; and if that meant refraining himself from making a move, then that was completely fine to him.

“Ready?” Luci called out from the doorway. Harry got off the bed, looking her up and down.

She was wearing peach colored pants that flare at the bottom, sitting high on her waist; a white silk blouse with orange accents, a long brown coat because it was quite chilly outside, and pink glasses that were transparent. He thought she looked absolutely beautiful, and her outfit was meant for her. The colors matched Harry’s outfit as he wore rust-orange pants that sat wide at the bottom, a flashy patterned long-sleeved blouse with the collar matching his pants. Luci gave him a similar pair of glasses as hers, so they weren’t wearing shaded lenses in the nighttime.

“Yup. You, uh, look really good.”

Luci smiled, shrugging one shoulder. “Thank you! You look good, too. This color looks amazing on you.”

Harry looked down at his outfit, hiding the blush that formed on his cheeks. “Thank you. I like it a lot.”

They headed out and towards Daisy’s apartment building where the rooftop was large enough for everyone to stand comfortably without feeling like they were shoulder-to-shoulder. There were plenty of lounge chairs, and a few tall bar tables next to tall heaters, considering it was just below fifty degrees.

Some people were making their way towards Daisy's apartment since it was too cold outside, but Harry and Luci decided to stay, both agreeing that the heaters were keeping them warm as they sipped on their drinks.

“Luci!” Nina walked over towards her, giving her a hug; Luci made sure not to mess up the placement of her fairy wings.

“You look amazing!” Luci complimented as Nina put her hands on her cheeks, thanking her friend. Luci could tell that Nina was a bit drunk already as her eyes were drooping and she couldn’t stand straight on her own two feet.

“Harry! I’m so glad you’re here.” He smiled saying hello to her. Nina and Harry met in July when he had gone to see another show. He was giving Luci another bouquet of flowers—the same bundle that he gave her the last time since she told him that she really liked them, and they looked amazing on her windowsill—and she dragged him to find Nina since she was performing the same show. Nina immediately gave Luci that certain look that said ‘he’s really cute,’ and Luci just nodded, giving her an apparent look as well.

“Did you bring anyone?” Luci asked, knowing that she was talking to a few guys; her favorites, from what Nina told her, was Laurent and Alec—the two guys that are in her Soul Cycle class, one on Monday and the other on Friday.

Nina shook her head. “No. I wanted to get fucked up today and didn’t want any of my mans see that shit. Oh! Can I take a picture of you two? You both look so cute!”

Luci looked at Harry, silently asking and he nodded. She stood beside him, not knowing whether to put her arm around his waist. They’d never taken a picture together before, after all the months of knowing each other. Luci handed Nina her phone before she turned on the flash, taking a picture of the two. Harry hesitantly puts his arm around Luci’s shoulder, making her look at him, smiling. She then wrapped her arm around his waist as they both smiled at each other before looking back at the camera. Nina was squealing behind the phone because she just captured the cute and quiet interaction between them that made for a sweet candid.

Nina handed Luci’s phone back to her before she told her that she was going to talk to some other people. The two women hugged, and Nina said goodbye to Harry.

Harry leaned into Luci’s side, bending down slightly. “Send me those pictures, yeah?”

A chill ran through her body at the sound of his voice so close to her ear. “Sure,” she croaked out, sending the pictures to him.

After a few moments of light conversation and humming the beat of the music, Harry asked, “So, which one is Daisy?”

Luci looked at him, quite shocked as to what sparked his interest in her, but she didn’t say anything. She looked around until she spotted her in a leather catwoman suit, hugging her body tightly that Luci thought it was cutting off her circulation. But she had to admit that it looked amazing on her.

“That one.” She slyly pointed at Daisy who was talking to some of her friends. Luci was surprised to see that Samuel wasn’t here, considering that he was part of the cast. Daisy and Samuel seemed to be in their ‘off again’ stage of their relationship; and no one who was part of the cast or who was close to them could keep up with how many times they’d been through that stage, but they seemed to like each other too much to call it quits for good.

“Hmm. She seems nice.”

“Yeah, she does—to everyone except me.” They were both looking at Daisy, and it was like Daisy could sense a few eyes on her, so she looked around and made direct eye contact with Luci. She excused herself to her group of friends before making her way towards her and Harry. “Speak of the devil.” Luci sighed, making Harry chuckle.

“Luci! I’m so glad you made it.” Daisy faked a smile as she greeted Luci with a hug, which surprised both Luci and Harry. Daisy pulled away, immediately locking eyes on this. “Oh, who’s your friend?” Instantly, Luci knew why Daisy was so nice to her; it was because she spotted Harry and didn’t want him to think she was such a bitch.

With her brows furrowed, Luci shifted a little closer to Harry who was standing there and not saying anything. “This is Harry.”

Daisy flashed him her stunning smile that wooed almost everyone. “Hi, I’m Daisy.” He shook her hand, introducing himself. “Your outfit looks really good.” She complimented him.

“Thanks, Luci helped me pick it out.” He smiled at Luci, who was smirking. For a second, Daisy rolled her eyes before she returned to her big smile.

“Would you like to get a drink with me? I see you’re almost empty.” Daisy’s eyes pointed at his cup, which only had a small sip lingering at the bottom of his clear plastic cup.

“Uh-”

“C’mon, just one drink?” Her voice was innocent and sweet, nothing like the cruel and rude Daisy that Luci knew all too well.

What Luci expected Harry to say was that he was okay and that he didn’t want a drink with her, but he responded quite the opposite.

“Okay, sure.” Luci’s head averted towards Harry as she looked at him with shock and a face asking what the fuck he was doing. But he shrugged as Daisy clapped, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the bar. Luci huffed, watching the two walk away and she was left by herself with a watered down drink and the cold air.

She figured she’d wait for him to come back to where she was sitting, hoping he wouldn’t take too long.

But twenty minutes had gone by, and Luci started getting annoyed.

Thirty minutes, and Luci tells herself that she doesn’t care and mindlessly goes on her phone.

An hour had gone by when Luci huffed, mentally saying that she does give a shit and goes to find Harry.

How long could one drink take anyways? Definitely not an hour, Luci thought. She searched the rooftop for the two, only to hope that Harry was looking for her too. After ten minutes of looking around the rooftop, passing her cast mates who were asking her to take a shot with them—she took another one, adding more alcohol into her body—she couldn’t find Harry. She started to think the worst; he could’ve possibly taken Daisy home, or Daisy could have taken him up to her room—either way, she didn’t like any of those options.

For a minute, she mentally debated if she should check Daisy’s apartment, which would be better since it was warmer indoors than it was out—she was convinced it got colder once Harry left her side—but the negative side of her mind, who was taunting her like the devil on her left shoulder, told her to check if Harry was inside because she wasn’t going to like what she was going to see.

Either way, she needed to find Harry and she didn’t want to go home without him, so she went inside the building and took the elevator down to Daisy’s floor. There were people walking in and out of her place, so it wasn’t that difficult to find which one was hers. With the same amount of people inside her apartment as there was on the rooftop, Luci made her way through the nice and luxurious apartment. She was just on the edge of tipsy; the drinks with her coworkers had gotten her there. Heading up the stairs, she passed by people who were making out, cuddling on the steps, and talking.

Once she got to the end of the hallway, she had almost given up on her search for Harry until the door at the end of the hall opened, revealing Harry who was leaving and quietly closing the door.

Luci stood in the middle with an expressionless face. He hadn’t seen her yet, but the way she wasn’t giving any emotion didn’t mean that she didn’t care; the thoughts in her mind were invading every inch that there was just too much to focus on.

Harry turned around, stopping in his tracks once he faced her.

“Hey,” he greeted softly.

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry for leaving-”

“Were you…” Luci referred to what was happening inside the room as she couldn’t finish her sentence because the thought and the words simply disgusted her.

“N-No.”

“Why do you seem unsure?” She was testing him; she heard the hesitancy in his voice, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell the truth.

A new attitude rose him. “Why do you care?” His voice was a tad bit harsher, but he was a little confused on why she was questioning his actions.

She inhaled and exhaled deeply, crossing her arms, avoiding his question. “I’m going home. Are you coming with or…?” Harry bit the inside of his cheek, remembering that she hadn’t answered his question, so he’ll ask again later. He nodded, and Luci turned around; he followed.

The entire ride on the subway and walking towards their apartment building was quiet. They didn’t even sit next to each other like they always did; just across one another, avoiding eye contact.

It was when they were both in front and unlocking their doors was when Harry spoke up.

“Luci.” She stopped her movements, turning around slowly as did he. This time, she looked at him so deeply in the eyes that it was physically difficult for her to take her eyes off him. “Why were you mad at me before we left?”

On the ride back home, Harry thought about the events at the party. He’d never seen Luci so annoyed at him before, so it got him thinking a lot about what she felt for him. She was jealous, anyone could see that, and he wanted her to say it out loud why she was jealous because he could name a few reasons.

“Did you have a good time with Daisy?”

Harry breathed out a chuckle. “You’re jealous,” he stated immediately.

“Answer my question-”

“Then answer mine.”

The tension was so thick that with just one small poke of a needle, it would collapse and break. They’d never had this type of conversation before, where the tension was rising and the room felt warm; they were always playful and laughing with each other that neither of them thought they were capable of having this certain type of energy with one another.

“I was mad because you left me alone at the party…with Daisy of all people,” she said honestly, leaving a few things out.

“Is that all?” He raised his brows, crossing his arms.

Luci shook her head. “That’s not how it works, Styles. I answer yours, you answer mine.”

A smug grin landed on Harry’s face. “Did I have a good time with Daisy?” He repeated her question. “To be honest with you, no. She was pretty drunk, so I took her to her bedroom—that’s why I was in there, She was…nice.” Luci sensed a ‘but’ trailing. “She even asked me if I’d wanna go out some time.”

“What’d you say?”

He tsked. “Not how it works, Suki.” Luci rolled her eyes, letting out a soft huff. “Hey, they’re your rules.” He chuckled. “Now, answer this: why were you jealous?”

There was a surge of confidence that Harry’s never felt before; maybe it was because he knew things Luci didn’t know herself, but watching her unfold those realizations was definitely feeding his ego.

Luci sighed deeply before she started. “Knowing that Daisy could possibly get anyone she wanted was a bit of an insecurity of mine when we were on our way to the party. That was because I knew she’d want you. I mean…look at you, you’re literally so gorgeous.” Harry blushed. “And I knew that it was inevitable that she would ask you to hang out; I was just surprised when you said yes.”

He nodded. “I rejected her when she asked if I wanted to go out.” A bit of weight lifted from Luci’s shoulders, but not completely as there was still something heavy she’s been wanting to say. “Why’d you hope I’d say no? Besides the obvious that she’s mean and rude to you.”

Alright, time to fess up, Luci.

Luci inhaled deeply, hoping her confession wouldn’t have him running for the hills. “Because why would you go out with her when you could go out with me? Like, on a date…” Her anxiety was up to her chin as she locked her hands behind her back, preventing them from shaking any more than they already were.

That one simple question had answered all of the other questions swirling in his mind; not the ones that were asked in the rapid fire round of questioning and answering under the thick cloud of tension over them, but the ones he asked himself a few months ago when he was doubting that she’d ever felt something for him because all this time, she had felt something, and she just asked him out.

His heart flipped. “You wanna go on a date with me?”

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to ask, but I didn’t know if you were interested in me or not,” she said shyly. Luci hadn’t asked someone out before—someone she was really interested in. She’d either wait until they asked her and if they didn’t, she’d move on and pretend that her feelings for them never existed. But Harry was different; seeing him with Daisy tonight had made her realize just how much she felt for him. He made her laugh, smile, and he was such a kind person.

“I’d love to.” He suddenly answered, taking her back a little.

She looked at him with wide eyes. “R-Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask you too, because I’m very much interested in you, but I didn’t know you were interested, well, until tonight.” Luci giggled.

“I made it pretty obvious that I was jealous, huh?”

“A tad bit, but it’s sweet; and I wasn’t gonna go on a date with Daisy. She’s no Luciana Ivy Suki.” He teased, making her face heat up at the sound of her full name coming from his lips. She wanted to kiss him right then and then, wanted to taste the sweet taste that he was storing in his mouth; but she refrained from doing so, figuring that they’d wait until after their date—whenever that was—to wait to kiss him because it would very much be worth the wait.

“Okay, I’ll, uh, plan the date then.” Her lips turned up, feeling a certain ache on her cheeks already from smiling too much.

“Can I plan it too?” He genuinely asked.

“I did ask you, Harry.” She raised her brows teasingly.

“Alright, alright. I’ll plan the next date then.” He blushed.

Luci tilted her head, smiling sweetly at his words. “The next date, huh? We haven’t even been on the first date; what makes you think there’ll be a second one.”

“Oh, love, I think there will be.” Harry stepped closer to her, heart pounding in his chest; Luci gulped at the closeness. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her by the way he was looking at her intently. And for a moment, she was gonna give in and say ‘fuck waiting,’ and kiss his pink lips until he leaned forward and kissed her soft cheek for a brief moment. “Can’t wait for our date. Let me know what the plans are.”

“O-Okay.” The touch of his lips on her skin had stunned her, and she wanted them back on her instantly.

Harry opened his door, giving Luci a small smile before walking in. She started to slowly back into her open apartment, holding onto the door handle tightly. Before they closed their doors, they stared at one another, admiring each other before they said:

“Sweet dreams, Luciana.”

“Sweet dreams, Harry.”

November 8, 2017

Harry strongly knocked three times on the door right across from his own door with a bag full of takeout, another bag full of snacks, and a small brown bag that had a white box inside.

The door swung open; Luci smiled at the person behind it.

“Happy Birthday, love!” Harry greeted.

“Aww, Harry, thank you so much.” She was surprised that he remembered, let alone bring a celebration to her as she eyed the bags in his hands. Luci turned twenty-six today; her day was full of greetings from her cast mates, her family, and FaceTime calls from her brother and parents. She was going to make a trip back home for a day or two since she had to perform on Friday, but she was going to see her parents during Thanksgiving, so FaceTime calls had to suffice till then.

Stepping to the side, she invited him in. He hugged her tightly, kissing the side of her head as her face heated up. They walked to the kitchen, and Harry set the bags on the countertop, unraveling the tie of the takeout.

“First, I’m sorry for just showing up unannounced and invading your place.” He added a breathy laugh.

“No, it’s okay! You’re welcomed any time,” she genuinely said; Harry made a mental note of that.

“Second, this is not a date. I know you didn’t want today to be our first date, but I couldn’t just sit in my apartment and not do anything on your special day! So, here I am.”

“Here you are.” Luci couldn’t help the warmth that rushed to her face and neck.

“Third, I brought Chinese since it’s your favorite food. And I just so happen to know a lovely place that has the best Chinese in Brooklyn, which is my favorite place that I’ll take you to soon, but know that you’re so incredibly special because I never take anyone there.” He took the takeaway boxes out of the bag, opening them up as steam released from the boxes.

Luci leaned against the countertop. “And what makes me so special?” Teasingly fluttering her eyes.

Harry stopped what he was doing, looking at her intently. “You’re so sweet, funny, and incredibly kind. But most importantly, you’re grounded and humble; and you’re special to me.” His dimpled poked through his skin as he smiled, meaning every word.

Heart flipping, stomach in knots, and tears washing over her eyes, Luci walked around the counter to hug him, head resting against his chest as she whispered a ‘thank you’ in his ear.

For the rest of their night, they ate the authentic Chinese food while Harry told her about the restaurant he got it from, including the workers who owned the place. They also talked about work, teased, flirted, and bantered about whether fruit belonged in salads—they do not.

Harry gave her the brown paper bag that held her gift, and she opened it with shock. He gifted her a gold circle pin that was customized with her initials engraved in the middle, and the saying ‘Shine bright, Dream even bigger,’ separated at the top and bottom. He’d noticed that she had pins on her travel backpack, and would occasionally wear one on the side of her baseball cap. It was the most thoughtful and attentive gift she’d ever received, and that earned Harry a tight hug and many thank you’s.

After the night was coming close to eleven-thirty, Harry called it a night as he still had to wake up early tomorrow for work. Their goodbye at her door was a long one that was filled with tight and long hugs as they swayed for a moment, enjoying the warmth of each other. They promised each other that they would find a day that was open in their schedule so they could finally have their date; they even pinky swore on it—Harry kissed her pinky, vowing.

Luci watched Harry open his door before walking inside his apartment; she blew him a kiss as he caught it, placing his palm on his cheek, making her smile.

As they closed their doors, Luci couldn’t help but think that she just had the best birthday ever.

November 17, 2017

Luci’s leg nervously shook as she waited for her digital clock to hit 2:30 p.m.

Today was Luci and Harry’s first date, and will hopefully be written down in history. She’d been anticipating this day for a while now, and she couldn’t believe the day was finally here. The few days after she asked him out, they tried settling on a date, but the two weeks after Halloween were booked for them.

Luci was performing most days out of the week and Harry needed to figure out his teaching plans since it was close to Thanksgiving break and winter break. But when Harry found out that he had a random Friday off, he immediately told her, and to their luck, Luci wasn’t performing that day. So, they were settled on a day, and Luci couldn’t wait to take him out.

She told him that he was going to need to dress warm since they were going to be outside for most of the day, so he opted for light blue jeans that were a bit baggy, a white t-shirt, a black coat that had faux fur on the thick collar and cuffs; since he, assumingly, was going to be walking around a lot, he wore black old school vans. Harry looked in the mirror, ruffling his hair in his hands to get it to stick the way he wanted it to. His hands slightly shook as he was fixing his hair, and he realized he hadn’t felt this nervous in a while; it had been a while since he’d gone on a date with someone he truly liked.

When it hit two-thirty, Harry opened his door and locked it before taking a step forward. He took a breath, shaking his nerves off; as he was just about to knock, he heard Luci shuffling around inside her apartment as her keys jingled in her hands and her boots thudded against the wood. He put his hand down, thinking it would be nice for her to just see him right when she opened the door. After a few moments, Luci felt like she had everything she needed, so she swung her door open to only find Harry standing right in front of it, hiding behind a familiar bouquet of flowers—her favorite ones from him.

“Hello.” He smiled, dimples clearly present. Luci felt like she could cry on the spot from just being so overwhelmed with her nerves and the anticipation leading up to this day, this moment. “These are for you. Hope you never get tired of them.” Harry handed her the bouquet, and she hugged them to her chest.

“Harry, thank you. Believe me, I would never.” The start of her cheek aches had begun, and it had been about thirty seconds into their date. But cheek aches with Harry were her favorite type of aches, so she didn’t really mind it.

She went back inside her apartment as Harry followed her in; she put the flowers in a vase before fixing them a little, making sure none of them were drooping down on the edge of the glass vase. Placing them on her windowsill, where she usually puts the flowers Harry gifted her, she smiled gratefully at them before turning her head and smiling at Harry, extra grateful.

“Shall we go?” He asked, and she nodded.

Harry followed Luci down to the subway station as she got on the M train. In eleven minutes, there were four stops; the subway was quite packed with no available seats, so the two stood, holding onto the silver bar in between them with their bodies close in proximity as they stood. Harry took the chance to look down at her, simply admiring her beauty as she mindlessly looked around, not noticing his eyes lingering on her.

When their stop was on Essex Street, they got off, transferring onto the F train towards Coney Island; and Harry suddenly knew exactly where they were going. He didn’t say anything but smile. The entirety of the ride took forty-two minutes with twenty-two stops; they were able to sit down next to each other after the first stop.

Their bodies were close—thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. Luci took out her wired earphones—figuring they were going to be there for a while, why not listen to some music—handing Harry the left one as she put the right one in. She played Fleetwood Mac, Tame Impala, ABBA, Lorde, and Hozier—a few artists they’d bonded over—as they both swayed in their seats, making up some dance routine with their arms and shoulders. They laughed and ignored the weird looks of bystanders, who were trying to have a peaceful train ride to their destination, but Luci and Harry were too focused on each other to care.

Once it was their stop, Luci put her headphones and phone in her purse before they got off and walked side by side one another. Harry had the urge to pull her close to his side, to hold her soft hand, but he was too shy to make a move. When they walked up the stairs to exit the station, their fingers brushed together—practically bumping into one another. Luci confidently made the move and linked their fingers together; Harry looked down and back up at her as he blushed, squeezing her hand lightly.

“Is this okay?” She asked, looking up at him.

“It’s perfect.” He meant it; the way her small hands fit so perfectly into his, as if he was protecting them. Holding her hand was comforting, and it surprised him at how comfortable he was to be making physical contact with her; but ever since he met Luci, he’s surprised himself quite a few times already.

They finally reached their first date hotspot, and Harry assumed right as to where she was taking him.

Three wide entryways painted in navy blue and orange had ‘Luna Park’ painted in orange at the top. Above the entryways were large flower-like and crescent moons that lit up during the nighttime, giving the boardwalk the most illuminating glow. The large Ferris wheel could not be missed as the carts swung and rattled back and forth. On top of the excitement of the amusement park, there were screams from people who were on the roller coasters, and the smell of fair food that they couldn’t wait to devour.

Luci paid for their entrance admission, and Harry frowned, wanting to pay, but they both agreed that they could go half on the food, and games and rides.

They felt like little kids who were at Disneyland, minus the famous castle and Main Street music, as they walked around the park to check it out as the wood beneath them creaked with every step while they hadn’t let go of each other’s hands.

“Everything looks really fun,” Harry exclaimed.

“Right! Do you wanna play some games first or ride on some rides?”

“How about we get the rides out of the way? You look very excited to go on them, and I have a feeling there’s no way you’re not going on them without me.” Harry assumed, quite accurately.

Luci put her hand on her heart teasingly. “You know me too well.” Harry chuckled. “Okay, let’s go on some rides!” She dragged him to the admissions booth, and Harry paid for both of their passes for rides.

They waited in line for the ‘Cyclone,’ which was the biggest rollercoaster besides the Wonder Wheel. Luci sensed Harry’s nerves as he kept looking up at the ride, and he couldn’t keep still.

She squeezed his hand tightly. “Harry, you don’t have to go on the ride with me.” She was starting to feel concerned for him because his hands were becoming damp, which she didn’t care for, and he kept bouncing his leg everytime the line stopped moving.

He raised his brows, and brushed away his nerves to the side but not very far. “No, no. It’s okay—I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, he nodded. “I’m sure. We’re here to have some fun, not be nervous, right?”

“Yeah. But I’ll admit, I was nervous before we left,” she said, hoping to change the subject to distract him from the fast ride above them.

“Why’s that?” He curled his lips into his mouth.

“This is our first date, I want it to go well,” she said honestly. It had been a while since she’d been on a real date—the last one being in college—but to be nervous for a date was a feeling she wasn’t familiar with.

“Think it’s going quite well, don’t you think?” He gave her a toothless grin, brows raised. Luci nodded, happy that he was always reassuring her and making her feel comfortable. “Plus, I was nervous too—still am, if I’m being honest.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded his head as if his nerves were the most obvious thing. “Oh, yeah. I want this to go well too. But by the way we’ve been friends for months before this happened, I think we’ll be okay, Ci.” Her eyes slightly widened at the new nickname that she’d never heard; Harry instantly noticed her shock. “I-Is it okay if I call you that?” To be honest, he’s always wanted to call her some unique nickname that would only be for him. ‘Luci’ seemed to be the name everyone called her, ‘Ana’ was her brother’s name for her, so the last syllable in her name seemed to be free.

“No one’s ever called me that.” And she thinks that’s extra special. “But yes, please call me that.” She approved, and he smiled.

It was their turn to get onto the Cyclone, and Harry suddenly didn’t feel so nervous anymore as they were being safely strapped into their rollercoaster cart. The ride was quite high, looking over the blue water and Coney Island Beach; the view was quite gorgeous, even in the middle of a cold November day in New York.

They screamed as the ride dropped; Luci held up one of her arms as the other held tightly on Harry’s hand as he grasped the metal bar, afraid to bravely put his arm up like his beautiful date.

When the ride was finished, they had a rush of exhilaration, wanting to go on the other rides. So, they did; they laughed, screamed, and were the most carefree people they’d ever been in their entire lives because they brought it out of each other.

After they filled their rollercoaster crave, they ate and talked. Individually, they were both worried about this part of the date where they had to talk because they’d been hanging out for so many months and getting to know each other that they thought coming up with conversation topics were going to be difficult. But it was natural for them; they didn’t put any pressure on themselves to speak every single minute of the date. Instead, they relished in the comfortable silence they seemed to form, not minding it one bit.

The sky had turned into a cotton candy pink from a bright blue quite quickly. Luci wanted to watch the sunset, but was a bit sad that they hadn’t played the majority of the games; but Harry told her it was okay, and they would come back another time when the park reopened again during the Spring.

Hand in hand, they walked to the beach that was just across the street from Luna Park. The bright lights from the park were becoming distant as they continued to walk further away from it. Since it was mid November, there weren’t that many people out because of the cold temperature—just the few people who were passing by along with others who decided to watch the sunset as well.

“Tell me about your last relationship?” Luci suddenly asked; Harry looked at her amusingly.

“Like now? In the middle of our date?” He teased, making her laugh.

“I mean, if you want to. I was just curious.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Hmm. My last serious relationship was over a year ago. We broke up right before I started teaching at the middle school.”

“What happened?” She asked softly, not wanting to pry, but she was also curious.

“We weren’t good for each other anymore. I guess life happened, and we turned into people we weren’t proud of. We grew apart; she was more in love with her career than she was in love with me. Couldn’t say I was the best boyfriend either,” he explained, not getting into too much detail. But he’d neglected her without even realizing it, causing his ex to occupy herself with work. “So, we broke up. And it felt like it was a sign from the universe that was holding me back from venturing out because I immediately got a job at the school when I had been putting off finding a proper teaching job.” He breathed out a chuckle, remembering the memory.

He’ll admit, his last relationship had hurt him quite a lot. He’d never felt such pain before, and it had made him quiet and reserved. But how it ended made him not seek out to find a relationship. For a while, he didn’t like the idea of love because it had only hurt you. But then he met Luci, and at first, he was hesitant to even be her friend because just at first glance, he was ruined, and he didn’t want to go through that process again; but here they are now. And maybe, he’ll tell her this, but for now, he doesn’t want to scare her off.

“Do you still talk to her?”

“Nope. Last I heard of her, she was engaged to this woman she met a few weeks after our breakup, but I have no clue if they’re still together.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What about you?”

“My last relationship?” Harry nodded. “To be honest, I’ve never been in a serious one…like ever.”

He raised his brows in shock. “Really?”

“Yeah. The furthest I’ve gone that was close to a relationship was a friends-with-benefits towards the end of college, which didn’t end well.” Harry sensed her mood change a bit, so he didn’t pry on asking what happened in the past. The bad memories had filled her mind, making her frown, but she pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to think about them at the moment because the timing is unbelievable. “That’s that; I don't have any exciting or tea-spilling relationship stories.”

For a moment, she didn’t want to jinx her luck, but she imagined what it would be like to be in a relationship with Harry—despite it only being their first date. Her mind took her to a fantasy that was so special and sweet because that was how she pictured what it would be like to be with him.

They sat in silence as the sound of the waves crashing and the seagulls above them took over their hearing. It was nice and refreshing to sit side by side, taking in the beautiful scenery that the world provided. Sunsets had always made Luci feel a vast amount of gratitude towards the world and the people around her; the opportunities, the things that she got to see—they all wouldn’t have happened if the sun didn't go down, promising a new tomorrow.

Suddenly, Harry stood up, brushing the sand that had gotten on his jeans. He reached out to Luci, who was still sitting down and looking up at him.

“C’mon. Let’s walk,” he suggested. She grabbed his hand as he helped her up, and she patted away the soft sand that had stuck to her black jeans.

They held hands as they walked the shore of Coney Island Beach, walking towards where the sun was departing from the world. Once the sky had turned into a purple and orange blended masterpiece, Harry stopped walking, facing Luci as he took a deep breath.

“I’m trying…really hard to hold back.” He held her cold hands in his, lightly pushing and pulling her towards him. He’d been thinking about it for the entirety of their date, and he just wanted to pull her in and kiss her whenever.

Luci shook her head softly as she stopped swaying; her eyes flickered towards his mouth, glad she wasn’t the only one thinking the same thing. She dreamed of this—had been wanting to press her lips against his for quite some time

“Don’t hold back. Please, don’t hold back.” Her tone and eyes were pleading for him to not refrain himself from the most magical feeling. Luci let go of his hands, wrapping them around his waist as if she was giving him permission to kiss her.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing down to her elbows before he trailed them back up and to the sides of her neck and jaw. Placing a soft kiss to her forehead before placing his on Luci’s, he inhaled deeply, taking in the saltiness of the ocean next to them and the sweetness of her skin.

Luci fluttered her eyes closed, and Harry took that opportunity to connect his lips with hers. They molded their lips together as if it were one, tasting one another for the first time. The feeling of their passionate kiss felt like the ocean had synchronized together, forming the most beautiful and largest wave for the most dedicated surfer; and when it crashed, it was powerful, breathtaking, and strong—like no other wave could top this one, no one could top this one of a kind kiss.

Harry smiled into the kiss, making Luci smile and giggle as well. Her stomach fluttered, hugging him tighter to her as his thumbs gently caressed her soft skin. Nothing could top this feeling.

Pulling back, Harry breathed out a giddy chuckle before placing a few more pecks on her lips as if he was dreaming the first time. Luci opened her eyes as did he; she looked into his and found an immense amount of adoration within him.

“I like you…a lot.”

She leaned her forehead against his chest, cheekily smiling and restricting herself from squealing before she looked back up at him. “I like you too, Harry.”

Harry flashed her his smile, something that he couldn’t wipe off his face, not like he tried. Nowadays, he was smiling a lot more, and he was one hundred percent sure Luci was the cause of it.

Kissing her forehead, Harry hugged her to his chest as they watched the sun go down. With her face pressed against his chest, she heard the erratic heartbeat that was pounded heavily; and in that moment, she knew exactly how that felt—to feel so much for one person that your heart could fall out—and she only hoped he could feel hers because it was pounding just the same.

As they held each other tightly, they both knew that this was going to be something special.

And they were all in for the ride.

an exciting chapter! come talk to me about your thoughts, feelings, favorite moments and scenes! thank you for reading <3 next chapter will be up next saturday!

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles smut #harry styles series #harry styles writing #harry styles ff #harry styles fanfic #boyfriend!harry #actress!oc #harry styles #hs au

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md-admissions · 3 years

Text

2020 (The dumpster fire) in review

I’m BACK after a long, long year. I’m working on figuring out the evolution of this page/blog. It’s brought me a lot of joy over the years and I want it grow as I grow. What that means, I’m trying to sort out.

But for now...let’s talk about THE year.

1 - What did you do in 2020 that you’d never done before?

Survive a pandemic, publish in JAMA, start teletherapy, enjoy dating, kiss someone while sober, I ALSO KINDA DATED SOMEONE, GUYS! Got broken up with, healing from the break up, started a twitter, took on leadership roles I’ve never taken on, took my ID Boards exam, gave job talks, interviewed for jobs remotely, bought a recording microphone, lost 50 pounds (intentionally!!). Started a master’s degree, QUIT the degree program. 2 - Did you keep your new years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I kept 5 out of 7 of my New Years resolutions!! So I’m absolutely making more.

3 - Did anyone close to you give birth?

Guys...nine people. Count ‘em. Nine people. All my close friends. Gave birth. Like...end me.

4 - Did anyone close to you die?

No but I knew many who died. Or bore witness.

5 - What countries did you visit?

I narrowly avoided country-passed quarantines in January as I flew back from Asia. Won’t say what countries for now.

6 - What would you like to have in 2021 that you lacked in 2020?

More progress in radical honesty, vulnerability, healing traumas that have held me back from creating healthy boundaries. More time with friends, more art, more music. More time unafraid to love and be loved. 7 - What date from 2020 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

11/4/2020. Took my ID boards that day.

8 - What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Publishing in JAMA with a colleague I have the privilege to call a phenomenal friend and the best collaborator I’ve ever had.

9 - What was your biggest failure?

Waiting so long to finally hear my inner voice tell me that master’s degree wasn’t where or who I was anymore 10 - Did you suffer illness or injury?

Minor things. 11 - What was the best thing you bought?

The lap desk I’m currently using. Or my noise cancelling headphones. 12 - Whose behavior merited celebration?

My ID division. We fucking came together during this horrible shit. I’ve never been prouder or felt closer to a group of colleagues. 13 - Whose behavior made you appalled or depressed?

Anti-maskers, most of the US government, the list is so long.

14 - Where did most of your money go?

Food and clothes. Clothes because I lost so much weight I needed new clothing

15 - What did you get really, really, really excited passionate about?

Excited feels like a strong word. I was passionate about many things. Passionate about BLM, PPE shortages, writing out my advanced directives. Mentoring during a pandemic, being a mentee during a pandemic. 16 - What song(s) will always remind you of 2020?

Betty Who: You’re In Love 17 - Compared to this time last year, are you: I. Happier or sadder?

Sadder, but I know it’s the only way to feel after such an awful year. And that it will take me to a happier me as I continue to work through it. II. Thinner or fatter?

Thinner

III. Richer or poorer?

Richer.

18 - What do you wish you’d done more of?

Therapy 19 - What do you wish you’d done less of?

Think that I was alone and only I could solve my problems 20 - How will you be spending/spent christmas?

Christmas at home with some Chinese take-out and watching It’s a Wonderful Life

21 - Did you fall in love in 2020?

No but I learned to really like someone without becoming infatuated 22 - How many one-night stands?

Zero. 23 - What was your favorite tv program?

Next in Fashion, Legendary, Bridgerton, Giri/Haji, Castlevania

24 - Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

Uh hell yeah 25 - What was the best book you read?

This is How you Lose the Time War 26 - What was your greatest musical discovery?

This will sound odd but...re-discovering my own love for singing and music 27 - What did you want and get?

To publish meaningful research, to break internal emotional barriers, to stop using food to address feelings and actually ADDRESS them, to make true friends 28 - What was your favorite film of this year?

Gosh...I don’t remember any this year. Was kinda...drowning in work

29 - What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 32 and I got donuts for the infection control and stewardship departments that I work in! I ordered fancy Thai take out. I slept in. 30 - What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

No pandemic. A girl can dream.

31 - How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2020?

LA pop/punk, but make it office 32 - What kept you sane?

The Ologies podcast. Intense talks with friends. 33 - Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

KEANU REEVES. ALWAYS. Especially this year.

34 - What political/social issue stirred you the most?

Black Lives Matter. 35 - Who did you miss?

My best friend. 36 - Who was the best new person you met?

For all the pain I’m currently going through, a guy I met at work who I maybe-kinda-sorta-dated for 2 months. I made some wild breakthroughs and grew a lot from it, even though it didn’t end the way I wanted. I’m grateful for the me that’s growing and becoming through that experience.

37 - Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2020:

The best, most authentic people are vulnerable because it’s scary as fuck and necessary

#year in review #2020 in review #a dumpster fire year

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hoplessdreamer9796 · 4 years

Text

BTS 8th Member - Profile

Name: Kim Y/N Date of Birth: 16/09/1996 Ethnicity: Half Arabic and half Korean Nationality: Is British but after moving to Korea obtained dual citizenship (I don’t know if this is a thing but if it’s not let’s just pretend)

Appearance: > Navy Blue eyes > Dimples > 5″8 > Light golden tan skin > Curves and athletic > Looks Korean due to eye shape and Arabic due to eye colour. Mainly looks Korean but it is obvious she is half. > Tattoos: 1) “Familia Super Omnia” (”Family Above All” written in Latin on left shoulder blade). 2) Initial and birthdays of her younger brothers on left wrist and older brothers on right wrist (Just her brothers... For now...). “No oppa I don’t love you that much I just often forget your existence.” 3) Matching tattoo with Hanbin of the Neverland stars on right shoulder blade. 4) Matching tattoo with Shinhye of a forget me not flower on their upper thighs. 5) ARMY written on both sides of her index finger because, “Now they can see my love from both angles,” cue Jin face palming.

Basic Information: > Born in England moved to Korea when 11 years old. > IQ of 162 and has an eidetic memory but terrible at remembering birthdays. > Can memorise choreography after seeing it once. > Is a main singer of BTS, like Jungkook, and is Hoseok’s second dancer in command. > Graduated high school after the first grade at age 16 (international age). > Was on the track and swimming team during high school and middle school. Could not attend practices as she had to work so much but the coaches still allowed her to be on the team as she was advantageous in competitions. She has always been first in every swim and track meet she competed in. > Was not able to go to university at first as her family couldn’t afford it. But when BTS and her company was stable and doing well she was able to get a physics degree from Seoul National University (mainly online classes due to schedule, they normally don’t allow this but they decided they wanted her to attend the school due to her IQ and status. She attended classes when she could and did exams at the school) Got her degree in one year. > Speaks 7 languages: English, Korean, Arabic, Chinese (both Mandarin and Cantonese) Thai, Japanese. (Learnt Chinese, Thai and Japanese in order to connect with fans better.) > Can play the piano, guitar, can beatbox, can play drums and also the violin but doesn’t like playing the violin (will be explained later). > CEO of Jeonsa Corporation which is comprised of Almira’s (a restaurant franchise where her mother created all the recipes) and Jeonsa cosmetics. > Became world’s youngest self-made billionaire at the age of 21 in 2017 (In this AU Kylie Jenner became billionaire at 22 and was the world’s fastest self-made billionaire). > Terrible with feelings in general. > Is okay at showing affection with people but as soon as the conversation starts to get deep and emotional, she spazzes out. > Drinks way too much alcohol and loves clubbing. > Only likes casual flings as she’s too busy and doesn’t want to commit. (For now...) > Even though she has more than enough money she won’t leave BTS as she loves what she does. > At first didn’t want to join BTS (will be explained later). > Very charming and charismatic, flirts with anything that breathes. > Hates her birthday. > Buys way too many cars and drives too fast. > Owns a lot of real estate. > Terrified of bugs mainly spiders (will be explained later). > Swears way too much and it triggers Jin. Family: Grandmother (biological fathers side) - Kim Soojin (17/07/1953) - Unemployed Grandfather (biological fathers side) - Kim Woosuk (23/08/1952) - Unemployed They both allowed Y/N, Adriel and Adonis to live with them on days when their mother would work nights. Y/N mainly looker after them as they weren’t able to find much work in their old age. Some of the most precious people in Y/N’s life. Grandfather (Stepfathers side) - Kim Wonshik (30/06/1955) - CEO of Hanam Hospital (I made it up) He thinks of his son’s stepchildren as his own grandchildren. He loves them very much. Whenever his grandchildren are free, he likes playing golf with them. Y/N at first was nervous that he wouldn’t accept her and her siblings as they were not fully Korean and poor. But she was surprised how much he loved and accepted them so easily. Mother - Kim Almira (21/03/1974) - Head chef at one of the branches of Almira’s in Seoul. She has not been able to be a part of her Children’s lives as she would have liked because when she was not working at the restaurant she was working somewhere else or sleeping. She often feels guilty at how much of her childhood Y/N has missed out. It also makes her feel grateful for having such amazing children. She often blames herself for Y/n being so emotionally closed off but it’s as if her daughter knows when she’s feeling like this and will take her mother shopping in Milan and Paris. A life that she didn’t even think was possible. Or even just spend the day helping her cook. And she thanks the stars for giving her 7 amazing children. Stepfather - Kim Haeil (24/07/1973) - Cardiothoracic Surgeon who met Almira at the restaurant. He quickly became mesmerised with the foreign beauty with the light hazel eyes. He often found himself stopping by Almira’s more and more often. Having little dates in the gardens halfway between the hospital and the restaurant. They fell in love quickly; He grew to love her kids that he saw when he went to the restaurant to visit Almira. He became protective over them especially Y/N who’s eyes looked far too old to belong to a teenager, seeing how much their family struggled he wanted to marry Almira a few months after they started dating and help them, he cared for them greatly. Y/N told her Mother that she didn’t want him to pay off their debt out of pity. They were working so hard what was the point if someone did it for them. She didn’t need someone to take care of them. In reality she was worried he would be like Insu. Y/N had no problem with Haeil, you hadn’t seen your mother so happy for years and you didn’t object to their relationship, however you didn’t need someone’s charity, which back then due to your pride was what you thought of it as. You also reminded your Mother that she had only known this man for a few months and asked her to get to know him better before considering marriage. Your mother although saddened by your inability to take the easy way accepted your decision. They waited until you had paid off all of your family’s debt before he had taken her back to their special garden and proposed to her there. It’s easier to call Haeil Dad than Insu. You love him very much at first it was weird having a father figure that actually cared and you never really got used to having a protective father who loved you so much. Biological Father - Kim Insu (13/03/1971) - Unemployed. Abusive to Y/N and Almira. When he would try to hurt her little brother’s Y/N would never let him. He never hurt her older brother as he claimed that his son never did anything wrong. Elijah probably hated him the most because of this, if he tried to protect his sister his father would just hurt her more. He felt powerless as he was not able to protect his younger siblings. As Almira was at work most of the time Y/N got the worst of his treatment. The only thing he cares about is money, women, alcohol and gambling. In England around Y/N had just turned 11 he got a divorce and left them, much to everyone’s relief. However, after you had started making a lot of money after debut and when the restaurant started doing well, he showed up in your life again. Your grandmother was so happy. He threatened to tell his parents the truth about what he did unless you paid him. The thought of your grandparents knowing what kind of a monster their son was sickened you so you struck a deal, he stays away from the rest of you family and spends two hours a week with your grandparents in order to get paid ₩250,000,000 every week. He accepted and now your grandparents are happy to be in their son’s life with you protecting them from the real him the best you can. Stepbrother - Kim Jaejoon (23/07/1991) - General Surgeon. He met Y/N at the hospital when he went to visit his father and Y/N was dropping off food for her future stepfather that her mother had sent. He had recognised her from how his father’s at the time girlfriend had described her. Her blue eyes standing out in the sea of ordinary brown. He introduced himself to her and told her he was her mother’s boyfriend’s son (cringing inwardly at how awkwardly he said that). Y/N had just smirked in amusement at his awkward state trying to hold back her laugh and introduced herself. The more he talked to you the more he realised how smart you were. You could easily keep up with him when he talked about his job. He also met his future brothers that day when the two family’s got dinner together. It was surprisingly easy for the two families to integrate. He quickly grew protective of his future younger siblings. He wished that Y/N hadn’t been so stubborn and had let their parents gotten married in order to make things easier but understood that it was something she had to do and his sister is the most stubborn person he knows. He is very protective over his sister and often lectures her on her drinking and clubbing antics. He nags at her so much it’s ridiculous, fuck when he saw her first tattoo, he threw a fit it was hilarious. He can’t see her as anything other than that wide eyed teenager with sad blue eyes, she’s gotten to good at hiding that look. >Sister in Law - Jeon Haeun (12/08/1992) - Vascular Surgeon >Niece - Kim Seoyeon (29/01/2018) - N/A >Nephew - Kim Youngsoo (31/05/2019) - N/A Full blooded Brother - Kim Elijah (17/03/1993) - Cardiothoracic Surgeon. He is very grateful to Y/N as she is the one that practically had to force him to go to university for medicine. He didn’t want to leave his family and he also knew that their family wasn’t financially able to send him there. Y/N told him that they’ll manage but he still refused. But when you told him that when he becomes a doctor and starts earning money he can provide for their family; he was determined to do this. He said that he would get part time jobs and send money, but you told your mother and him that you’d take care of everything and for him to focus on school. You had to cut back on a lot of thing but were able to get him into a student dormitory, a small and cheap one but that's all you could do, a food budget and a bus pass. He was very grateful and guilty. He was determined to succeed and help their family. But it turns out that you managed to do that before him. Years later he found out that after you graduated high school at 15 you had been offered a full scholarship to Seoul National University for medicine but you had declined as you had to help your mother provide for your family and pay off your debts. He was especially angry since he also went to Seoul National University (like all of your brothers who went to university) and felt like he robbed you of the opportunity. He got into a huge argument with you when he found out. After the fight you two drank and reminisced about the few good childhood memories you had. He babies you a lot and is very overprotective of you. Stepbrother - Kim Taejoon (27/04/1993) - Trauma and Orthopaedic Surgeon. He’s the kind of brother to randomly stop by your office and force you to lunch with him. He’s the cliché overprotective brother, glares at any boy that looks in her direction and hates basically everything she wear unless they’re baggy. A part of him hates Y/N’s noncommittal attitude to relationships because well that’s his sister and well eww but the other part of him is glad. Glad that his sister will never allow herself to get emotionally hurt but it also saddens him that she won’t ever open herself up to love. He coddles her a lot always texting if she’s had dinner and checking on her when on tour. As much as you complain when he coddles you love it. Full blooded Brother - Kim Adriel (18/02/1997) - Footballer plays for Liverpool, (I have no clue I legit searched premier league football clubs and picked the first one) is the youngest Korean ever football player to make it into the premier league (Don’t know). Lives in England most of the time. You are the most precious person in the world to him. He is a lot more intuitive that his twin brother and was able to find out sooner than Adonis about their financial situation. After finding out he started waking up earlier to make his grandparent’s breakfast to let you sleep a bit more. At first you protested but the thought of even an extra hour of sleep sounded heavenly. He felt so guilty about how he acted before he knew and so when he found out he sobbed in your arms apologising. And your heart broke you always wanted to shield him from that. When he moved back to England, he was very anxious at the thought of living far from you. He texts you every single day, needing at least some form of communication to stop him from worrying about you. Full blooded Brother - Kim Adonis (18/02/1997) - Youtuber and is living in England. He moved back there when he was 16 in 2013. His channel had 500,000 subscribers but was not making any money. He played games online with different youtubers and became close with them. They explained how they make a living off of YouTube and he became excited at the thought of pursuing this career. While it was a risk especially with his family’s financial situation at the time, he knew he had to do it. While his entire family was against it, especially Adriel, you convinced your mother to let him go and used all the money you saved for a rainy day to buy him a phone and a plane ticket on the condition that he attends online high school. He lived with a family friend until he could start supporting himself. As of now has amassed seventeen million subscribers. He visits Korea whenever he can, if you’re there, to see you. He’s regretful about how much pressure he put on you in order to achieve his dreams but whenever you tell him how proud you are with that glint in your blue eyes he knows that you mean it. Adrien and Adonis are fraternal twins. When they were young, they were very close. However, when Adonis wanted to move to England to further his YouTube career, Adriel was vehemently against it. Not because he didn’t love his brother and of course he’d miss him but because of the fact that Adonis wanted to make their situation even harder than it already was. That he wanted to make his sister work harder than she already did on something he wasn’t even sure would work. Due to this difference of opinions Adrien and Adonis grew apart and when Adonis went to England, they didn’t contact each other unless you made them. However, after Adrien moved to England they began to reconnect and slowly but surely their relationship began to heal. Much to your relief. The twins are the most attached to you as you are both a mother figure and sister to them. There is an unspoken rivalry and tension between them and Jungkook as they all get jealous and territorial over you. Stepbrother - Kim Hanuel (25/06/1997) - Studying Law at Seoul National University. He graduated high school a year early, then attended university for a year before enlisting in the military as soon as he could. He wanted to get it over with so he could focus on his future without it looming over his head. He finished his university degree in two years with a bachelor’s in law. He graduated at age 22 (International age) which was the same age as most people who were graduating however he had the advantage of having completed his military service. He is the younger brother Y/N sees the most as he lives in Seoul. You have sacrificed a lot for your family and would do anything for them.

#bts #bts 8th member #bts 8th member profile #bts x reader #reader #bts x reader family #imagines #bts 8th member imagine #imagine #bts imagine #bts 8th member imagines #x reader #your family #family information #fluff #angst

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rigelmejo · 3 years

Text

Observations when I study multiple languages at the same time:

Hello so good morning all. 早上好大家，我就着急啊哈哈....

I awoke today and my brain SPUN because I can read some Chinese, but I forgot how to say I woke up and got out of bed in chinese. I also just?? I suppose my brain worried and was like? “Do you even remember how to read french? do you even know any Chinese? Or is the new Japanese just overwriting old stuff?!”

I rationally know japanese probably won’t overwrite the rest because like - the first 5 months I studied chinese it just blocked out my French active recall unless I purposely used French a bit. But I didn’t lose any French as far as reading ability, and I got my French active recall back once I used French for a few hours/days. So it would be quite normal if my Japanese is recalled easier than my chinese for a few months. But my brain is like “we worked So hard to get to read what we Can read and say what we Can say we will be SAD if we lose it!!”

反正早上好我床上来了。我已经醒了。我不忘记很多的词。我着急为了没有的意思。我就找到一个翻译词典为了检查对的词。我猜不错。幸好！还我就可以阅读在法语，很好啊。今天我早阅读法语书一下，很容易。我没事。

My chinese may be a mess grammatically I know.

Anyway. I am. Thrilled I didn’t forget that many actual words. Universe help me if Japanese grammar starts fucking up my Chinese grammar tho. I mean I hope not because French never got fucked up; but to be fair to French I DID forget a ton of the conjugations when actually speaking/listening ToT I can barely recall French conjugations anymore unless I actively look at some textbooks or Le Français Par Le Method Nature to refresh myself. Likewise, I studied Japanese probably over 1.5 years ago now and since then, I’ve forgotten nearly all the verb conjugation endings I used to know with the exception of: ます、ません、じゃない、です／だ、じゃありません、ありまう、います、i know te form exists still though I completely forget what it’s for? Giving orders/suggestions? I forgot how adjectives conjugate but I remember they do? And I certainly forgot how words change when connected to their verb endings - I think there’s i and ru verbs? And they conjugate slightly different? And maybe nakatta is past tense negative, and katta is past tense positive (though I can’t remember if it’s katta or something else tta)?

Basically I forgot a HUGE portion of Japanese grammar. I also forgot Word order, I nearly forgot particles (I still have vague recognition of は、が、を、に、の、か). And I remember でも means but because it’s one of the few words I hear constantly and still catch. Also daijoubu (I may be spelling it wrong) for ok (I remember hearing it in YouTube and shows way more than any learning material I had, and I remember I’ve heard a similar word in thai dramas). 大丈夫／だいじょうぶ - using imiwa dictionary app I’m fairly sure that’s the word I’m remembering. Anyway I forgot... so much of my Japanese it’s like I just am relearning from almost scratch but with a vague impression it’s all familiar. I relearned these words/phrases lately which all sound extremely familiar now that I’ve heard them again: そうです、ここ、そこ、あそこ、駅／えき、子園／こえん, お電気／おでんき、今／いま、今日/きょう、あおい／青い、人/じん、話します／はなします、分かります/わかります、どこ、じゃまた.

Among the good things, I do remember most kana upon seeing them again, I think it’s just a few katakana i don’t remember unless I’m reading katakana then I recognize the word and remember the sound - like my name ミジョ/みじょ MeJo “mi-jo.” I always forget specifically ミ、シ、lol. I also forgot the way to extend vowels in katakana versus hiragana until I saw it again. And I still don’t quite remember why cake isカアク, but something else might be ice cream with a - like アーカイブ?

Anyway. Like I mentioned, this morning I read some French to assuage my fear and remind myself i can Actually still read French. I have not actually forgotten, even though my active recall is shot to hell unless I practice. And I did read, and aside from a few words I distinctly remember always confusing me and never looking up, I read fine. I’m fairly sure I read that novel easier than I’d ever read it before, even, catching more details this time than any time previously. So clearly my French reading skills are still fine, have been maintained, and if anything then over the years they’ve still marginally improved a bit.

I suppose my biggest concern with chinese is just... that I want to absolutely ensure my reading skill hits that vague “specific tipping point” that my French reading skill did. The point at which, once reached, your reading skill does not slip below “capable of grasping the overall gist of main ideas” and if you read every few days or weeks then also may continue improve over time. I remember in French, BEFORE I hit that “specific tipping point,” if I stopped reading for a while, then when I came back to reading things were harder to comprehend again and it took a bit of extra work to re-establish the foundations. But after a certain tipping point was reached, even if I didn’t read French for a few weeks or months, when I came back I had a basis of understanding that never fell below “at least able to follow gist of main idea” and often picked up any forgotten words within a few hours, then picked up new words to learn. And so I could continue “picking up where I left off” with learning instead of fighting with my reading skills sliding backwards. They no longer slid backwards, they only got “rusty” and then once polished up in a few hours, would resume improving. It’s the stage I want my chinese reading to reach, because once it reaches that point I will no longer worry I’ll forget the foundational skills - it’s decently doable to re-familiarize yourself with specialized words as needed (we even do it in English if say we read a psychology book for a class 4 years ago then pickup a new psychology class, etc). But it’s difficult to build the original foundation skills everything leans on. In Japanese, I never finished building it - I think I was finally starting to at 2.5 years in, then I gave up. As a result, I lost a significant portion of that foundation I had not finished building. At first I retained some of it, but from years of no review AND no continuing to finish building it, that foundation crumbled. So now I remember pieces of Japanese, but not enough to rely on. Whereas my French had enough time devoted to finishing the foundation, that now even if I take a few months or a year away from it, if I go back to speaking/reading/listening to French then the foundation is remembered quickly and I can start learning mostly where I left off and just jump to improving again (instead of needing months to relearn). While I can relearn/strengthen the basic things in French, I can also jump into books or listening or convos and know enough to just learn from doing, and still remember enough that I’m Capable of interacting with those things and comprehending enough To do them.

I think of it like drawing - idk when it happens with a skill like drawing, I drew since I was able to hold things so I don’t know. But basically whether you draw everyday, or stop for a few months or a year then return to drawing, within a few hours of drawing again all your previous skill comes back to you. If you forgot something you’d learned, usually a few minutes or hours re-learning is enough to drag your skills up to where they were before. So you can quickly return to your former skill level last time you drew, and quickly start improving further. So each time you draw, you’ve retained your skill from before (mostly) and improve your skill, then that skill improvement carries over to the next time you draw. It’s great. In some ways, my French skill is like that - I quickly can get to the comprehension level I was at last time I engaged with French, can improve from there, and then the next time I engage with French I can pick up from the level to which I’d improved to. I may forget some specifics I didn’t use much or learn as well - specialized words, or ways to express myself I rarely use (so rarely reinforce), but if I re-study them it takes a few hours to get those back (instead of the months it took to learn the first time). I am so grateful my French is past that “specific tipping point” because it makes French way easier to retain a useful level in, and easier to pick it back up when i have time and improve it as needed in the areas needed and retain the improvements I make for the most part. In Japanese, I never reached that “specific tipping point” of having established enough of a foundation. So I lost a lot of what I knew.

With Chinese, I really want to ensure I’ve reached past that “specific tipping point” of enough of a foundation, before I give it less dedicated time. I don’t want to lose the chinese I’ve learned, since it’s a significant amount. And... even more than that, my chinese speaking and listening ability is in many ways BETTER than my French, because I worked on it, and I don’t want to lose those abilities either to the degree I’ve developed them. In French, i know I have very low levels of speaking/listening in comparison to my reading and they lag behind as a result - even once they reached the “specific tipping point” a year later than reading in French, they still lag a ton behind my reading (think A1-2 French speaking/listening skills, versus French B1-B2 reading skills). Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to make it so my listening/speaking skills only lag behind my chinese reading skills a little bit. And I’d like all of those skills to reach the “specific tipping point” where I am able to retain the majority of those skill levels, before I work on chinese less frequently.

I know myself. With Japanese, at 2.5 years in I was Just starting to hit the beginning of making that foundation I could retain later - I was just starting to read and comprehend the gist of the main plots in manga, to watch YouTube or play games and grasp the bare gist of what the main ideas was. In French, those skills started at about 5 months in, and I don’t think they hit “specific tipping point” of me being able to rely on keeping those skills perpetually, until 1.5 years in. With Japanese, as I said, i hit the beginning of building them around 2.5 years in, and just never solidified them enough to hit the “specific tipping point” unfortunately. With Chinese, at least in reading (since I’m only discussing reading skill in all 3 languages), I probably hit the beginning of building these skills at month 10-11. That was when I could start reading manhua without a dictionary, novels without a dictionary (and grasp the main ideas gist at minimum), and watch shows and do the same. Which again, is higher than Japanese even was at its beginning-foundation, as I couldn’t even Read novels or listen to Japanese audio on its own and follow the main idea. So I suppose, to compare the absolute beginnings of each foundation being built: in French it was month 3 (when I could start brute forcing through news/Wikipedia and comprehend some gist of main ideas), Japanese year 2.3ish (when I started brute forcing through manga and comprehending very roughly some main ideas), month 6-8 in chinese (when I started brute forcing shows and novels and comprehended honestly more than I can believe I managed to in retrospect, considering how much easier those still-challenging tasks feel now). Anyway... Chinese has seemed to take 2x as much time to improve compared to my French. I do suspect chinese normally takes native English speakers roughly the FSI recommended 4x as much time. I suspect my French learning plan was just not very optimal for my learning style, so it wasn’t as efficient. Likewise... I suspect Japanese should normally take roughly 4x to 5x longer to improve then French. I suspect mine took SO long last time particularly, because I did not even have a good study plan for myself until year 2 of Japanese study.

So... based on all that. I imagine my chinese will be very firmly where i want it’s minimum skill to reliably maintain the foundation of what I know, to be at.. year 2-3. Year 2, if I keep improving as well as I’ve been doing (and assuming if my French had been more consistent it would’ve been at the “specific tipping point” by year 1). And year 3 if I don’t always study as much, or it simply takes longer (so twice the 1.5 years French took). Which honestly... 3 years is still intensely fast as I see it. And, if I’m improving the way I think I have been, I can’t even imagine how ill be in year 3. Anyway... based on all of that... I think it would be a bad idea to pick up Japanese heavily until my chinese is past at least year 2. With my 1 year+ of French, at that point I was also studying Japanese, and they seemed to work fine as I studied both - the only thing was it slowed down my French progress. So I do think waiting to do anything heavy with japanese, until my chinese is a good play I’m ok to let it simply maintain for the most part, is probably a safer plan.

—-

Realistically... no reason I can’t lightly re-study Japanese though and Just like rebuild the beginnings of the foundation I had though, it was probably N4 starting into N3 when I gave up. So I could probably re-learn some old stuff without taking too much time from chinese. And then if my chinese is year 2 by then, that sure would be convenient. Lol this is all... me contemplating. When we all know the truth is, I’m going to do whatever I want to do in the moment, and see what happens o3o

I am gonna tentatively say though, I think as long as I don’t abandon Chinese for any length of time until at least 2-3 years in, it should probably be maintained at least though at where it’s at/gradually improve. I didn’t lose any French during the times I kept using it, even when studying Japanese and russian, the “specific tipping point” didn’t really matter until I stopped using French for months at a time. I am sure I will notice if another language study is slowing down my chinese study though, in which case I’ll pause the other language if I have a Chinese goal that needs more time for attention.

At the moment, my Chinese goals are going about as expected. I wish I could carve some more time for them, but I’m giving them as much time as they were getting throughout the fall - so it’s not like they’re getting any less time than usual. (I am just inpatient, and wish I was the kind of person with the time and focus to give them 4-6 hours a day lol).

#January progress #progress #Japanese #Chinese #French #rant

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pigeontheoneandonly · 4 years

Text

Lemongrass

So this was nominally supposed to be about a cooking lesson (loosely prompted by a post from @dr-ladybird), but it came out much more bittersweet and melancholy.

Thanks to @pushingsian for the beta!

NB: In my version of Mass Effect, Nathaly Shepard is vegetarian, and Kaidan Alenko's mother is Thai.

Lemongrass

The haunting quiet of a Canadian night along the Sunshine Coast still kept Shepard awake, even after two months. She missed the endless creaking of the ship, the muffled voices coming through the hatches and decks, the hum of the drive core lulling her to sleep. Everyone thought space was silent. She snorted and wrapped her arms around herself as she shivered on the porch, drawing a blanket close like a shawl. This was silence, this… lonely wilderness.

Footsteps fell soft on the cabin’s wooden floor. She glanced over her shoulder, and saw Kaidan padding barefoot to the door, still rubbing his eyes. Her face broke into a smile despite herself, quiet, tired. “Hey.”

“It’s cold out here tonight.” He rubbed his arms. “Can’t sleep again?”

“You don’t need to get up,” she replied, sidestepping the question.

He glanced out over the property, towards the coastline a half-acre away. “It wasn’t this quiet when I bought it.”

This was where he’d sunk his L2 reparations, into this piece of earth, though the house came after the war. His neighbors weren’t ever sitting in his lap, exactly, but a fair number either hadn’t survived or hadn’t returned. But the lack of people wasn’t the problem. “It’s a planet. It’s never going to be—”

Shepard stopped herself just in time. But her startled guilty glance, at the near slip, said it all anyway. His shoulders sank. “Come inside.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

He put his arm around her and gave her a tug. “Come inside.”

The door swung shut. The main room was cozy in a hand-made sort of way. Kaidan’s mother had sent a seemingly endless stream of crocheted blankets, which now hung off every chair back and piled across the couch. Shepard made the metal-framed furniture herself in their own backyard. Kaidan spent his free hours scouring local extranet ads for books, and a coffee maker, lamps, cushions, anything anyone was selling or trading in the mostly cashless post-war economy. Earth could barely manufacture essentials, much less everyday comforts.

Now he walked over to the small corner defining their kitchen and lit the stove. She hiked one of those blankets higher on her shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll sleep better with something warm in you.”

She joined him, putting her hand on his hip, leaning towards his ear. “I can think of something warm you could put in me.”

That got her a quick snort of a laugh, as she hoped. “That just wakes you up more.”

But his brown eyes sparkled in the dim light of the slumbering house.

She heaved a sigh, but pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear, and switched gears. “Need a hand?”

Flirtatious interest turned to surprise. “You want to help me cook.”

“Come on. I haven’t boiled a pot dry in weeks.” A touch defensive, but hell, she had been trying. It wasn’t her fault she never had reason or opportunity to learn to cook. At this point, her molecular composition verged on 100% military-issue freeze pack meals and MREs.

“That’s true.” He jerked his head at the cabinet. “Find me the coconut milk, and the stock.”

Kaidan’s kitchen staples came as something of a surprise. Beer and bacon she expected. His mother’s influence, not so much. Not that she knew a whole lot about Thai food to start with. “Where do you get this stuff?”

“My mom is friendly with every southeast Asian family in Vancouver.”

“Sure. But… citrus?”

“You’d be surprised how many people keep a tree in their condo. I’m negotiating for one, but nobody wants to give it up.”

“It’s just as well.” She pulled out a box. “I’ve killed every houseplant I’ve ever had.”

“You’re doing all right with the herb garden.” Kaidan said it with a straight face, despite them both knowing he did most of the work, especially after he caught her burying leftovers in the dirt to fertilize it. Gently, he explained about compost, but it still seemed like a load of middle-man work to her. He also explained about raccoons, which she had to admit had the weight of evidence behind it, in the holes and broken plants they left behind. But Shepard had learned to water and prune, even fuss over the plants, here and there. They seemed to enjoy the attention.

What was the other thing? Stock. Right. She opened the fridge and pulled out a plastic jug, the remains of a giant batch Kaidan made last week from all their vegetable scraps. It had been an experiment, but somehow, all of Kaidan’s kitchen experiments seemed to work out.

“Put that in the pot,” he said, pointing.

She complied, with one raised eyebrow. “Don’t you think this burner is up a little high?”

“It needs to reduce.” He gave the pot an expert swirl and set it back down. “We still have mushrooms?”

“I think so.” They’d stored up too much in the lower drawer. She sorted through the items. “What’re we making?”

“Soup.” He declined to elaborate, and began to slice the mushrooms. “We’ll also need lemongrass, cilantro, and some of those tiny peppers from outside.”

“You’ll send me out in this cold?” she griped, but she was already reaching for the scissors.

He put down the knife. “It’s summer, Nathaly. It’s almost ten degrees outside. And the garden’s right beside the back door.”

“Anything south of twenty is fucking frigid.” Pulling the blanket tighter, she headed out.

The moonlight gilded the leaves in silver as Shepard sorted through the huddled plants, trying not to drop the blanket. Cilantro reminded her of home, the first home she ever had. Her grandmother grew bales of it in window boxes. Bending to cut some, she might have been six again, and smiled to herself in spite of the cold. Or maybe because of it— the Arizona desert took on its own chill at night.

Lemongrass was more foreign. Its pungency stabbed through the air as she cut it near the dirt, gathering several stalks. A side of Kaidan she hadn’t known, like the cooking, until recently. Sure he fixed a few meals in the apartment, back when the apartment was habitable. Seeing him now, it was clear he’d grown up watching his mother, and absorbed everything she had to teach. That added new depth to her understanding of the damage BAaT did to his family. It was easy to sense, lurking there even today, in every interaction between mother and son, but harder to interpret.

When she was done, she returned to the kitchen, and found he’d added tofu, galangal (not ginger, she reminded herself, firmly), the aforementioned limes plus some kaffir lime leaves he’d obtained god-knew-how, and fish sauce to the waiting ingredients. He smiled as he heard the door shut.

“Here you are.” She dumped her handful of fresh produce beside his pile.

“These look great. Take this.” He handed her the spoon.

Shepard held it like a dead mouse. “Wait a minute—”

He took the lemongrass to the sink. “Nope. This time, you cook, and I help. Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”

Everything about this read imminent disaster. Kaidan noticed her frown, and pushed her arm towards the pot. “Add the coconut milk.”

It trickled in, aided by her tentative stirring. She put the spoon down. “Kaidan, look, cooking… My biggest accomplishment is getting a microwave burrito thawed the whole way through without drying it out. I know you want to do this whole domestic thing—”

He picked it up and put it back in her hand. “I have never known you to admit defeat on anything. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

She stared into the pot, expressionless face flickering in the burner’s flame.

Kaidan tried another tact. “You’re not sleeping. You barely eat.”

“I…” She let the spoon go, and slumped over the stove, tiredly. “I didn’t expect winning to feel like this.”

His face softened. “That’s because we didn’t win. We just beat the reapers.”

She brushed some of the hair out of her eyes. He rubbed her shoulders, left a kiss on her neck. “Let’s just make soup, ok? Lemongrass is next. Smash it first.”

The damp stalks left small puddles on the board as she ran the knife through them, and then upended it and brought the butt of the handle down on each piece, thump thump. Then the same to the peppers. The motion was almost comforting; Kaidan made this soup a lot.

Kaidan slid sliced galangal into the pot. “Your turn.”

Picking up the lemongrass with the blade, Shepard watched it disappear into the white broth, only to bob back up again, filmed with coconut milk. Already leeching all its intensity and leaving the herb softer, milder, spent; having sprouted and fought through the dirt to the sun, grown tall and proud, only to give up all it made to this. Because she declared that this was its purpose and its end.

A fistful of bright leaves fluttered down over the lemongrass pieces. Shepard started. Kaidan’s brow furrowed, and he touched her arm. “You sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah,” she said, distantly. “I’m just tired.”

He watched her a few moments too long for comfort. “Even the squirrels know that.”

It caught her off guard and she laughed, as he clearly hoped she would. Just one chuckle. But it helped.

“Tofu and mushrooms next,” he prompted. Shepard gathered them up and dumped them in.

She just about remembered to stir it every so often as they juiced limes and chopped cilantro. To her endless gratitude, Kaidan took it back to finish it when it came off the burner; she never could get the amount of fish sauce just right. Somehow, he’d gotten the rice cooker going while she messed with the soup, too. She liked dumping it all into her bowl with the soup, a practice that never failed to earn her a look of mock-disappointment that was half the reason she kept doing it.

They settled on the couch. For a few minutes, they ate in the quiet dark of the cabin, lined in moonlight, wrapped in blankets. Shepard had spent all her life in motion. Now she was trying to learn how to live with stillness.

The soup-soaked rice felt good in her mouth, something she could bite down on. Something solid and warm in her stomach. She hadn’t realized exactly how cold she’d gotten, or how hungry; each spoonful brought a little more color into the room.

Kaidan sipped at his own bowl, smaller than hers, with a slight smile. “Feel better?”

She looked down into her nearly-empty bowl, and back up at him. “How did you know?”

“You skipped dinner. And lunch.” His tone just a little too light. “This isn’t easy for me either, but regularly crashing your blood sugar isn’t helping.”

There was nothing to say to that. “I don’t know what to do with myself up here.”

“Yeah.” He set his food aside and inched closer to her, settling his arm around her waist. “You’ve got a stack of requests piling up.”

“Busy work,” she scoffed.

“There’s never going to be another reaper war, and that’s a good thing.” He gave her a squeeze. “You’ll just have to subsist without the adrenaline and cortisol, high blood pressure, constant small injuries, and all those other things.”

“Tomorrow.” It was too complicated to unpack right now. She set the empty bowl aside.

“Tomorrow,” Kaidan agreed, and pulled her to her feet. “Now, let’s sleep.”

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #nathaly shepard #shenko #fshenko #post-war #fanfiction #pigeon writes

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tiliamericana · 3 years

Text

Muay Thai: 1.17

Lind A: bring me lunch!

It was after eleven. She should be getting up and opening the dojo. This argument wasn’t quite enough to compel her legs to move from the bed, however, so Nairi lifted her phone and answered the text instead.

What do you want?

Lind A: idk get something you like and we can share Lind A: im at my studio!!

The ‘a’ button on her keyboard was sticking something fierce, and the black coating was worn away on the space bar and surrounding keys. Maybe she should get a new phone. She let the blackberry slip back down to rest on her chest as she went back to staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. The blanket was too hot where it was wrapped around her legs, and her shoulder was starting to ache where it had been pressed into her pillow and mattress for too long.

What did she like to eat? What did she like to eat that Linden also liked? Or, well, what was between here and Linden’s studio that had vegetarian options and food Linden liked, was probably the better question.

It was another ten minutes before she could make herself stand up and find a pair of jeans.

Almost an hour after that she’d made it to Linden’s studio, coffee and pastries in hand. Loud music was pumping out the propped-open door, grungier rock floating past the concrete paint can in sharp opposition to the cheerful pop from the last time she’d been here. Nairi stepped inside with her offerings, looking around for Linden.

“Oh hey, I thought you’d abandoned me,” said Linden cheerfully, and Nairi tracked her gaze down to see her sprawled on the floor. She was grinning up at her, hips twisted with one knee folded over her thigh, back pressed to the ground.

Nairi held up the paper bag by way of explanation. “Never. There was just a queue. Are you okay?”

Linden nodded sagely and shut her eyes, rolling her hips back down and shaking out her leg. “I had to pick up a box of glue off the craft shop floor this morning and I foolishly bent with my back instead of my knees, so now I must pay for my hubris.” She groaned as she sat up, taking a coffee from the proffered tray and grinning at Nairi. “Twenty-seven is way too young to even be having these issues, I swear to god.”

“Maybe your back’s just advanced for its age,” said Nairi, setting her tea and the pastries down on an unoccupied stretch of counter space.

Linden got to her feet and laughed brightly as she leaned over to her beat up ipod where it was sitting in a dock on the sill, spinning the volume almost all the way down. She straightened to grin at her head on as she reached out for Nairi’s hand. “Dad always said I was precocious. Come on, I made something for you!”

“Oh, what?” said Nairi, feeling the corner of her mouth twitch up as she let Linden tug her across the studio. “I only just figured out how to hang the last thing you painted me.”

Linden laughed again, letting go of her hand to reach up and pull down one of the two jackets from a hook on the back of the far door. “Well, this one hangs in a wardrobe, so I’m sure you’ll figure that out on your own.”

Nairi looked at the leather being offered to her, then back up at Linden, who jiggled the coat hanger at her.

She took it. It was a heavy, white motorcycle jacket, with two crisp stripes running the full length of the sleeves in red and green. The cuffs were zipped with sturdy silver tabs, and the pockets looked to fall just under the ribs with the same zips as closures. It was high-necked and padded in a way she instinctively approved of, with extra buckles at the neck and waist over the front zip. On the back Linden had painted an ourobouros of a dragon in green and black, its eye the same bright red as the stripe on the sleeves.

“Try it on,” said Linden eagerly, nodding at her. “I snooped in your drawers before I bought the jacket, so it should be the right size.”

Nairi felt her mouth twitch again, and she slipped the jacket on over her shoulders. It was comfortably snug around her arms, and heavy in a way that made it feel like it belonged there. The leather was a little stiff, not yet worn in, and the zip sufficiently toothy so that it took a second try to tug it down again. “It’s great,” she said, looking up and smiling back at Linden. “Thank you, you didn’t have to get me this.”

Linden was reaching up bring down its twin, and she glanced back over her shoulder at Nairi as she pulled it on. “Look, I saw them as I was walking past and I wanted one for me, and then I saw the white and I just hadto.” Hers was dark, crimson like her favourite wine-red lipstick, with thick, soft, elasticated fabric around the cuffs and waist hem. The painted embellishments were little lines of matchstick fires around the wide pockets, and a cherry tree in full blossom on the back, with a vintage style painting of a pair of cherries over one shoulder like a fake patch. “It gave me an excuse to break out the good paints too, the ones I haven’t used since I was a student. I had a lot of friends who did costume shit for theatre, the hardcore kind, it was nice to use them again! And like, I know it’s totally the wrong time of year for warm jackets and I should’ve held out for your birthday ‘cause it would’ve been perfect, but I got excited when I finished them and it’s been hard enough keeping my trap shut while I waited for them to dry.”

“It’s totally fine,” said Nairi, watching Linden give a little spin to show off her jacket before she shrugged it off again. “It’s just an early birthday present. Very early—preparatory, so I don’t have to wait for my birthday once it starts getting cold, and now you don’t have to worry about getting something for the day as well.”

Linden laughed again, ushering her back across the studio towards the pastries. “Oh, nice try, but you’re not escaping the birthday fun that easy,” she teased, picking up her coffee and nudging her broken chair towards Nairi with one foot. “Come on, sit, eat, give me the good goss, tell me how you and Aggy are going.”

“There’s not a lot happening, really,” said Nairi blandly, taking her tea back from Linden and sitting gingerly. The chair held, thankfully, if with a little more bounce than she’d been expecting. “You know, everything’s just kind of… fine.”

Linden pouted over her coffee before proceeding to loot the pastry bag. “Oh, that’s boring though! You two never do anything exciting, and you’ve been dating for like, months now. Seriously, nothing new?”

The impulse to laugh bubbled high in Nairi’s throat, and she swallowed it, wondering briefly where it had come from. “I think I’m okay with boring, honestly. Is your dating life not exciting enough?”

That got a snort as Linden resettled herself to lean back against the counter, raspberry crown in hand. “It’s a little cooled down at the moment, I won’t lie. Like, Simon and I are technically still ‘on’,you know, we’re just not, doing as much.”

“Tapering off, or just laying low from Nicholas?” asked Nairi with a small grin, catching the pastry bag as Linden tossed it to her.

Linden rolled her eyes, taking a drink from her coffee. “Si’s a big boy, he doesn’t need Nick barging in to tell him how to live his life. He’s still fun, it’s just, you know, reaching the point where people start making comments about taking him home to meet Dad and it’s definitelynot that kind of relationship.”

“Because you’re not expecting a ring or because he’s not up to scratch?” asked Nairi, tearing at a croissant.

“Yes,” said Linden, laughing. “Fuck, jesus, I’m nowhere near thinking about that, much less with Si’! That and Dad would eat him alive, he’s got an English degree—the only thing worse would be fine art.”

She hadn’t said it with any malice, so it was probably a normal sort of joke to make? “High expectations to meet?”

Linden grinned wolfishly. “Any partner I nail down better be ready to jump,” she joked with a darkly amused tone to it. “Dad’s good at what he does so he has high standards—typical lawyer shit, you know?”

Nairi shrugged. “Most of the lawyers I’ve met have just been dicks, but I think it’s different when you’re working with them as opposed to like, being raised by one. Is he defence or attack?”

Linden laughed loudly at that, hiding her grin behind her coffee cup again before answering. “Prosecutor, he’s a DA,” she said, sounding a little lighter. “Highest conviction rate in the state, only the best efforts for his job.”

“Damn, alright,” said Nairi, raising an eyebrow. “Kind of a bigshot?”

Linden nodded, setting her cup down. “Yeah, he gets kinda high profile sometimes—I don’t know if you remember a couple of years back, uh, Maxim Bailey? That guy?”

Oh yeah, she’d heard he’d been arrested. Nairi nodded, making a general noise of affirmation, and Linden nodded along with her.

“Yeah, he’s still salty he didn’t manage to get him on the murder charge, despite getting the other convictions,” said Linden, still nodding like a bobble-head. “Caught a little bit of media at the time, too.”

“Hell of a job,” said Nairi. Her thigh vibrated and she set her tea down to tug her phone out of her pocket.

“Stressful, he’s been talking about changing up careers for a couple months now,” said Linden, finally stopping the motion of her head.

Aga D: How’s your day? Any students for the first couple of classes?

She hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek as her thumbs hovered over the buttons.

“Is that your giiirl-friend?” asked Linden, her drawl long and amused, and she lifted a leg to prod Nairi’s knee with her toe, making the chair spin a little.

Nairi glanced back at her phone, tapping out a response quickly. “Yeah, she’s just checking in.”

A couple yeah. Just having a quiet day.

Aga D: I’m glad! I’ll let you get back to teaching and stop distracting you :)

She tucked her phone away and picked up her tea again, suddenly not feeling much like eating anything.

Linden’s eyes were unreadable over her coffee, but she was smiling when Nairi looked at her. “That’s nice of her,” she said with a funny note in her voice. “I’m really happy for you two, you know that right?”

“Thanks,” said Nairi, shuffling her unappetising croissant back into its bag to avoid Linden’s piercing eyes. “I’m, um. I’m glad you both, sort of, uh, adopted me? Even if it’s in different ways. It’s been good. Really good.”

She covered her expression with her tea, not really tasting it as she drank. Why had that been hard to say?

Linden’s mouth twitched at the corner, just a hint of her normal dimples. “I’m glad you let us,” she said warmly, and suddenly her eyes were back to normal. “You looked like you could use a couple of friends when we met, and god only knows Agatha needed a relationship that actually worked out after her streak.”

“Yeah?” said Nairi, leaning to set the pastry bag back on the counter.

Linden nodded, giving her a rueful look. “Yeah, I mean, she told you how we met, right? Her boyfriend of like, ten years or some shit was one of my regulars, and when she found that out she showed up on my doorstep in tears, it was kind of fucking rough.”

“Oh, damn,” said Nairi, for lack of anything better. Ten years?Agatha had left that out.

“Yeah,” said Linden with an exaggerated grimace. “I mean, fuck, I’m pretty mercenary when it comes to cheating and the job, but even I felt bad. I helped her do some vandalism on him, and then I introduced her to Flo and some nice single people who helped her figure out she was into women, so like, it all worked out eventually, but it was kind of a rough time for her, you know?”

“Yeah,” echoed Nairi, feeling the pastry sink to the bottom of her stomach. “I’m glad it worked out, in the end.”

“Like I said,” said Linden, nudging her again with a wink and a smile, “she just needed someone like you to swoop in and be the good, stable girlfriend for her.”

Her tone was light and teasing, and Nairi made herself swallow more tea before she answered. “Right, yeah. I don’t know how ‘good’ I am at the whole, Prince Charming thing.”

She’d been trying for a joke, but it fell flat between them.

“You’re doing fine,” said Linden, her tone softening a little, and she looked at Nairi with earnestness in her eyes. “Seriously, Princess. You’re doing fine.”

End of book 1.

#book muay thai #series honey tree #serial fiction #lgbt fiction #117 #book 1

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rediscoveringmichelle · 3 years

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An Apple a day keeps the cravings away

January 2021, back in London after spending Christmas at home in Ireland with my family. This time had been a very different experience to the last. Freer, both mentally and physically. The last time I had been home was at the beginning of the global pandemic, restricted to the 2km radius of my home in Clontarf, North Dublin. However, on this occasion not only had restrictions been lifted by the Taoiseach for the Christmas period, I had lifted my own restrictions too. The beginning of the pandemic was the turning point of my recovery and now, 9 months later, I was no longer limiting myself to 3 healthy meals per day, with no snacks and a strict schedule of two 10km runs per week and a minimum 2 and half hours of walking per day. I felt happier and healthier than I had been in years, able to relax and enjoy late night glasses of wine and mince pies with my parents, meals out with friends and the odd day of rest and relaxation with nothing but a few hours of TV to pass the day. It didn’t matter how much weight I had put on; I had gained my life and laugh back, and I would be forever grateful for the lesson I had learnt thanks to this awful pandemic. That making myself thinner and fitter, didn’t make me any happier. And that being physically healthy is nothing if you destroy your mental and social health too.

January 2018 was really where it all began. Recently single and having spent a lot of my newfound freedom on nights out, eating takeaways and drinking large volumes of alcohol, I had understandably put on a bit of weight. The guy I had been seeing, suddenly stopped texting me and I felt rejected. My parents were back to living their lives after their run-ins with poor health. Dad back to smothering his toast in thick layers of butter and Mum loving her newfound ‘real-Mum’ life of Pilates and coffee catch ups since selling her practice for good. I was no longer needed. Mum didn’t need me to drive her to chemo or cook my Dad his no red meat, no oil, no salt dinners. I felt anxious as they went back to living their lives. No longer able to control them, especially my dad. I couldn’t force him into living a by-the-book healthy lifestyle. But I figured what I could control was myself. I could be the healthiest person I could possibly be. And with the added benefit of making that guy wish he’d never let me go. My perfectionist self would ensure that I would be the perfect picture of health. No cheating, no dieting, just a new lifestyle. A new me. One I could love.

I scoured the internet for all the advice on changing your lifestyle, getting fit and losing weight. Running apparently boosted your metabolism and was an efficient way to burn calories and fat. So, I started by running 5km, three times a week. Weights would help then to reduce my body fat and tone up so I coupled the running with strength training in the gym, also three times a week. I pounded out Kelsey Wells workout routines, while listening to ‘This is me’ from The Greatest Showman, a song about not being afraid to show the world exactly who you are, as I was ironically punishing my body into a shape that was not naturally me. I strictly followed Dad’s cardiologist’s advice and cooked everything from scratch, substituting beef mince for turkey mince and not using oil, butter or salt in my cooking. I cut out all snacks and limited myself to three meals per day. Social Media became my home ground for weight loss advice. ‘You’re not hungry, you’re thirsty. Drink some water.’ ‘No pain, no gain.’ ‘Ignore your cravings and they will eventually go away.’ ‘Craving sugar? Have an apple instead’. Each day would end with eating an apple to stave off the cravings and to quieten the rumbles in my stomach.

I started weighing my food, tracking everything from litres of water drunk and then steps walked and active minutes of exercise. I upped my runs gradually to 10km, twice a week because social media told me that after running for 35 minutes, you no longer just burn calories, but also fat. And yes, I do realise that anyone who has a degree in anything science related would quickly realise these were all completely made up and not based on fact, but I guess I wanted to believe them. I would believe anything that forced me to push (or punish) myself more. I stopped going out for drinks or dinner with friends. Too many calories and too worried that I wouldn’t be able to get up and run in the morning, unable to flex from the specific days I went running, for fear I would never run again. When I moved to London, I spent my weekends walking 40 thousand steps so that I could then earn a slice of banana bread from Deliciously Ella’s Vegan & Gluten Free Deli. I felt a rush of joy wash over me each time I saw the number on the scales or the minutes of my 10km runs decline, but like a drug, the high didn’t last long. I was addicted. I had no trust in myself. ‘You’re so controlled’, they complimented me. But deep down, I felt like there was a lazy, sugar and fat loving girl inside me. An imposter in a gradually reducing body. Fearing that just one biscuit and I would be back as that unhappy and overweight rejected girl.

I really believed that being thinner and looking like those girls I idolised on Instagram would make me happier. They were all smiling, surely that meant they were happy? As the compliments turned to concern, I felt that surely people were just jealous of how much weight I had managed to lose. Weight loss was something to be proud of, wasn’t it? The truth of it all didn’t hit me until the pandemic. As I sat up in my bed struggling to breathe on the night of the Taoiseach’s first lockdown announcement, I started to wonder what I was really fearing. During a time when people were dying, all I could fear was not being able to exercise enough and being locked up in a house full of food. I feared putting on weight and relinquishing control. I felt trapped with nothing to look forward to. Holidays cancelled and my boyfriend of two months at home with his family 167km away in Belfast. That was my rock bottom.

In an effort to cheer myself up I started to make a list of all the things I wanted to do post lockdown. Have date nights in with my boyfriend, making pizzas, ordering takeaways and eating breakfast in bed. Then the excitement of getting to do these things started to dwindle as the anxiety crept in, as I tried to count up how much exercise I would need to do in order to earn those nights. A day in bed with no exercise? Nope, that’s a no go. And that’s when it hit me. I had made myself thin, with the thought that then I would be lovable and that then I could enjoy my life. But I was thinner, thinner than I’d been since I was a preteen and I still wouldn’t let myself go enough to do the things I deeply wanted to do. To let myself enjoy life. How freeing it would be to just, let go!

My love for learning kicked in and I made the decision to start reading up and educating myself. I came across a book my mum had not so subtly left lying around the house. ‘Just Eat it – How Intuitive eating can help you get your shit together around food’ by Laura Thomas. I didn’t believe I had an eating disorder until I started reading her book. As she listed off the disorders, she then came to Orthorexia – defined as an unhealthy obsession with healthy eating or over exercising. ‘When was the last time you even asked yourself what you’d like instead of what you ‘can’ or ‘should’ eat?’ she queried. The sad reality was that I couldn’t remember. ‘We trust our phones more than we trust our bodies’. Well that was certainly true for me. She used science, showing that weight was in fact not a determinant of health but that by exercising, eating healthy and not smoking we could be healthy, regardless of our size. That eating a donut didn’t in fact negate the nutrients of the carrot we ate earlier. And that white flour was actually infused with calcium and that those carbs are what give us energy to move and enjoy life. My eyes gradually opened to all the lies diet culture had taught me and I felt empowered.

I moved on to more books and podcasts and started culling my social media feed of anyone that didn’t make me feel good. I started following intuitive eating dietitians and anti-diet advocates. Following people of all shapes and sizes and realising how biased our society is towards people in smaller bodies. Not just the size of airplane seats but assuming that all health issues experienced by fat people can be solved by weight loss. I learnt that the night sweats I had been experiencing, the pretty much non-existent sex drive and the inability to maintain body heat for any length of time were in fact all side effects of the restricted eating and over-exercising. Half the time I didn’t even look as thin as I had become because I was wearing so many layers of clothes in order to keep warm. Walking around the house with a hot water bottle strapped to my waist and wearing a fur coat indoors while out for dinner with friends. Only now can I laugh at the image of it. I started to make a list of all the things I would gain through gaining weight and glancing back over it now, I have gained all of these and more. My headspace, my laughter, my body heat and a fantastic relationship that I thankfully didn’t destroy because of my restrictive, anxious mind-set.

My recovery hasn’t been easy. The steps toward eating intuitively start with banishing your food rules and allowing yourself to eat what you want. A process that takes time before you can start tuning into your hunger and fullness cues again and introducing gentle nutrition. It involved allowing myself to devour entire tubs of Oatly chocolate fudge ice-cream, multiple evenings per week. Making my way through all the delicious Deliveroo takeaway options London had to offer – Honest Burgers red meat beef burgers with rosemary salted fries, Franco Manca pizzas, with all the toppings, and Kin & Deum Thai curries, with full fat coconut milk. Gradually I started being able to listen to my body and trust it. Whether it hungered for a salmon stir-fry or was seeking out a slice of chocolate cake. The interesting thing being, that months later it now craves nutritious food the majority of the time. And that by allowing it to have higher sugar or fat containing foods whenever it wants, I no longer feel out of control around them. I no longer find myself devouring three large sized bags of crisps in one sitting, overtaken by the fear that I will never let myself eat them again.

I have days where I find myself critiquing my larger thighs in the mirror but instead of allowing the thoughts consume me, I allow them float by with curiosity and continue about my day knowing that the way I look doesn’t define me and that the greatest things about me have nothing to do with my body shape or size. I am a thoughtful friend, who prides herself at remembering important moments in friends’ lives. A courageous girl who isn’t afraid to try new things, whether that be travelling solo across Vietnam or signing up to a surf and yoga retreat in Cornwall. A creative person who loves to draw and a lifelong learner that is open to new ideas and wants to challenge her way of thinking. My body will change a lot over the next 50 plus years of my life, but the great thing is that thanks to freeing myself from the disease, I get to look forward to the possibility of being alive for that long and to enjoying every waking moment, no longer postponing life for when I look or am a certain way.

#recovery #healing #dietculture #orthorexia #bodyimage #eatingdisorder #rediscoveringlife

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wordsfromthesol · 5 years

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Meet Cute

Author: @wordsfromthesol Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Summary: Your late night thesis work leads you to meet the ever-charming Dick Grayson. Warnings: Language, implied smut Word Count: 1.6k A/N: I was just remembering my long nights at Starbucks while writing my thesis…and thought of this. A thesis is basically a super long and excruciating research paper you have to write to get a post-graduate degree, for any of those unaware of the term!

All you had wanted was a peaceful night. You knew you could make your next thesis deadline without any all-nighters, as long as you didn’t run into any major problems. Though it seemed the universe just wanted to challenge you. It was pushing midnight, and though Starbucks closed almost an hour prior, your frequent long nights at the coffeehouse allowed for friendships to form. You often stayed while the workers did there closing duties, and tonight was no different. All the baristas had stumbled into the back to finish working when a man clad in a black and blue suit crashed through the storefront window. You watched in awe as he slid back into the counter, trying to cover his head. Another much bigger man staggered in through the new opening.

Both men seemed completely unaware of your presence, as the larger man drew nearer to his foe…still incapacitated on the floor. Without thinking, you picked up your laptop and slammed it into the back of his head. You watched as he slowly began turning towards you, that is, until you once again cracked the computer against his face. He collapsed backwards just as the man clad in spandex regained his composure and jumped to his feet.

You just stood there in shock. I can’t believe I did that. All my work, all my programs, how am I going to finish now? You glanced down at your hands, still clutching the remnants of your laptop, and then up again at the stranger.

He looked back at you noting the panic spread across your face, “Hey hey hey, it’s alright. It’s over.”

You realized he was trying to calm you down for all the wrong reasons. The emotion written on your face was not caused by the man laying unconscious before you, but the realization that anything you had not saved prior to your thoughtlessness was gone. The realization that all the programs you had bought to conduct your analyses were gone. This was a problem that would take weeks of sleepless nights, as well as an ample amount of funds – which you did not have to spare – to fix. You looked down again at your computer, still unable to speak, and gathered your things. Leaving what was left of your computer behind, you got in your car and immediately drove home.

“Did she just…leave?” Dick asked himself in disbelief. He walked over to pick up the broken pieces of your computer, “maybe Timmy can fix this for her.” Quickly, he scooped it up and headed to the manor.

You got back to your apartment and couldn’t even make it to your bedroom. You immediately collapsed on your couch and stared into the darkness. Everything you had been working so hard for had come crashing down on you. Eventually you began running scenarios in your head, because what else could you do? Your presentation was in a week, and your thesis had to be approved by the committee even before that. You had planned to make the final touches today and tomorrow.

“Okay…think Y/N. You can open programs on the school computers, but they would be read-only since the school only has the student license. Then if I printed them, they would have that stupid ‘student version’ watermark.” You stood up and began to pace in your living room. “Okay, well maybe I won’t need to make changes to my analyses…that will just depend on the committee review. So, how do I get into the program I was using to actually format my thesis?” You sat back down, trying to think of someone who could help. Eventually, you must have fallen asleep because the next thing you know you an unfamiliar sound jogged you awake. Quietly you reached over to the end table and picked up an empty glass, hurling it towards the figure. You ran to turn on the light and noticed it was the same stranger, clad in that spandex suit.

He sat up on the floor and grabbed the back of his head, “I guess I kinda deserved that…though I have to say I’m surprised. Not many people can hear me coming, and even less have that kind of aim.”

“Sorry…I just…well…I live alone…and not in a great area.” You stuttered through your words, still unsure why this masked man was sitting in your living room. “Why, exactly, are you here?”

“Oh right! Well, you seemed kind of out of it earlier…and at first I thought, well duh, crazy people just crashed through the window. Then I realized you may have some important stuff you just lost on that computer, when you, ya’know smashed it into the other guy’s head.”

At the mention of your computer, you instantly froze up. Reading the signs strewn across your face, he continued, “Anyways, my brother is pretty good with the technology thing. He said he was able to recover everything.” Standing up, he picked up the brand-new computer which had landed next to him. “I hope I didn’t break it in the fall,” he chuckled as he handed you the new computer.

Normally, you would never be inclined to take such a gift. But, in this case you couldn’t see any other way around it. “I…I can’t tell you how much this means to me.” You moved to sit on the couch, “My thesis presentation is next week. I thought I was going to miss my deadline. You just saved my life…or at least my graduation date.” You smiled up at him.

The next week went by way too quickly, and you were at the school setting up your presentation. One by one your committee members filed in, but just as you were about to begin a stream of students came through the door. Great, more people to watch me stumble through this presentation.

Panic set into your mind as the teachers asked everyone, yourself included, to step out of the room so they could deliberate. This is normal, you knew this would happen. You started pacing in front of the door, when a man approached you. His brilliant blue eyes stared at you just a bit too long, before he spoke.

“Well I thought you did great.”

“Oh, you saw that? How, uhm, or why did you come?”

“It sounded interesting, so I thought I’d check it out! Clearly, a bunch of people thought so.” Mentioning the crowd of students that attended but leaving out the fact that he gave them each fifty bucks to attend. He couldn’t be the only non-committee member there, that would be a little suspicious.

“So do you…” you’re next sentence was cut off by the sound of the door opening. You smiled and nodded his way before heading back into the room. Well that was shitty timing.

“Congratulations! We are passing your presentation, but there are some changes and we would like to make to the analysis to help with comprehensibility.”

Dutifully you took notes, though this milestone was over, you still had work to do before you passed. Almost an hour had passed when you exited the room again, only to find the mysterious attendee sitting back on the bench. Excitedly, for more than one reason, you walked over.

“I did it! I passed! I never have to give that presentation again!” Why you were exclaiming such news to a stranger was beyond you, but it felt right.

“That’s fantastic! I had no doubts, Y/N. Celebratory drinks?”

“It’s ten in the morning…”

“Celebratory brunch?”

“Honestly, coffee sounds amazing.”

Dick was pleasantly surprised by your answer and motion for you to follow. “There’s this great place just up the street.”

Soon the dates grew more frequent and before you know it, over a year had passed. You came home late from work one night to find Dick sitting on your couch, enveloped in the tv.

“Using me for my cable again, Dick?”

“Whaa…” he put his hand to his chest, “Y/N, I would never.”

“Sure…oh I picked up Thai food, I got enough for you too.”

“You know me so well”

“It doesn’t hurt that your here nearly every night.”

“Yeah, about that…don’t you think it would be easier if I just, well, lived here?”

Slightly stunned, you stared at him, not realizing you had yet to answer.

“I mean, I don’t have…” You cut him off once your daze subsided.

“No, that would be great! I’m just surprised you brought it up.” I mean how is he going to hid the vigilante thing now?

Almost as if he read your mind, Dick continued, “There is one more thing you should probably know before you say yes.”

“Okay…what’s up?” You questioned, sitting on the couch next to him.

“I’m Nightwing.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Confusion spread across his face, so he decided that maybe you didn’t understand. “Like, the vigilante, the one from Starbucks, just before we met.”

“Yeah, Dick, I know.”

“But…but how?!”

“Dickie, come on. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. Your ‘sickness’ comes whenever Nightwing appears on the news getting beat to shit. All the cuts and bruises.”

“When did you figure it out?”

“Like a month after we started dating,” the look on his face was priceless. You just shrugged and continued, “I asked around after my thesis. Students told me YOU paid them to watch it.”

A deep crimson spread across his face, and all you wanted to do was worsen it. “That, plus…who couldn’t recognize an ass like that.”

You let out a laugh as he pulled you on top of him. “I’m going to get you back for that Y/L/N.”

“Do your worst, Grayson.” You chuckled as he lifted the both of you up and carried you into the bedroom.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #dc imagine #batboys #batboys x reader #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you #batboys x you #fanfic

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crushzone · 4 years

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🎬 About Me

Original art of me and my fictional hubby, Ukai Keishin, by @achieve-the-sun, posted with permission. 💕

Hi there!

My name is Nin and I am the founder of Crushzone Cinema Theater. 📽 🍿

🎬 THE BASICS

Age: 23

Birthday: December 24th

Pronoun: She/her

Education: Graduated with a dual degree in Film and Global History

Occupation: Is currently a film freelancer in the camera department, who desperately needs money to pay rent every month lol.

Likes:

- The sound of rain tapping on my window

- Watching my plants rise and droop to the moving sun

- Cooking and experimenting with different cuisines; Japanese, Thai and Chinese are some of my favorites.

- Giving my husband and my cat their head rubs every night.

- Drawing, painting, and photography. (Here’s some of my works!)

- The feeling of accomplishment after you’ve gone through SO much for a project with your peers. To work on your own movie or short film, and finally seeing it done, is such a rewarding experience.

- To eat my Mac and Cheese with ketchup, nutritional yeast, and steamed broccoli. (Fight me lol. 🦖 )

- Eating chips with chopsticks.

- Medjool dates with a spoonful of crunchy peanut butter 😋

-Wearing oversized clothes, especially hoodies.

- Sitting at my reading nook, with my cat next to me on the chair.

Dislikes:

- The buzzing sound bees make when they fly.

- Slipping on my own chunk of hair on the ground; I have a lot of hair and I shed a lot.

- The heat, I may be from Thailand, but I am very much done with the blaring heat. One second I’ll look real cute with my face all done up, but the moment I step out, it’s already melting from my face.

- Going to sleep; there’s SO much more I could be doing right now!

- When my bangs desperately need a trim and is poking my eyes.

- Poor lighting, doesn’t matter if it is real life, just light it like you’re IN a film!! It’s so much more dramatic that way! (For real, come to my house, every corner is lit with some sort of a look/mood 😏)

- Loud noises; when people are yelling all the time, or something is loud, I get nervous when I can’t hear my own thoughts.

- People with bad attitude, a temper, or is just kind of mean in general. There is absolutely no excuse for you to be that way, and nothing productive comes out of it. Nuh-uh.

🎬 FUN FACTS

My parents hired a piano teacher when I was in elementary school, but because I didn’t enjoy her company (for some reason), I refused to absorb information. Little did I know, it would backfire me and would have absolutely no effect to her pay.

I’m that kid who always has 4 spare pencils and 5 erasers to lend out to my peers.

Will serenade to my cat every morning and night, so if you are ever my roommate, I apologize for my horrible singings.

Performed as a cave and pot in my high school production, and lemme tell ya, it is more difficult than it sounds.

Has no problem doing laundry in the morning, but the moment the sun falls, I will be too afraid to go down into my basement to do it. Some may say that it is an excuse for me to put laundry off for the next day, but I always tell my husband that there’s a “Babadook” in there. 👀

One time I stepped on a millipede, and I cried for 2 days because I felt really bad for it.

I’m actually VERY shy most of the times, so if you see me laughing a lot like a hyena, then it’s likely that it’s just me being awkward. OR I may just be having a good time, who knows.

I’m awful around kids, I am SO awkward and will stiff up like a rock (if you see me doing that, pls come safe me). One time this kid asked me why I laugh so much, so I simply just laughed some more while backing out of the room slowly. 🤦‍♀️

🎬 SOME FUN QUESTIONS!

What is something you wish you were gifted at doing?

I wish I could sing. My husband is a musician, and it looks like he’s having so much fun. There’s just something so freeing about it, as if it’s another language that takes time to become fluent in, but when you are, it’s so captivating and expressive. I don’t think I’m an awful singer, but is just too incredibly shy to sing in front of others.

What is the first movie you remember seeing in theater?

It may had been Disney’s Dinosaur (2000), not sure. All I remember was that there were a bunch of dinosaurs on screen, may had even been 3D with those glasses.

At one point, a tiger jumped at the screen, and I started crying. My mom and brother wanted to finish the movie, so my dad had to sit outside with me, until it was over. It was chill tho, my dad was teaching me different dinosaur names. 👶 🦖 🦕

What is the first thing you do when you get home?

Pants off, baby!! I don’t usually wear a bra, but if do, then I guess it’s bra’s off first. Then I instantly hop into my plaid boxer shorts hehee. 🤭

What has been the hardest thing for you to face or learn?

That people go through different stages of their life at different paces, and that is totally okay. When I was younger, I would always overwork, and as a result, I don’t really have a lot of time for myself. I did that, mostly, because I wanted to get a head start at everything, especially at my career. Now that I am 23-24, and had just graduated from Class of 2019, I’ve been getting film gigs since I was a sophomore, and is now a full time freelancer.

Yet, I was not satisfied, because I got to work with a 21 y/o in a position that was under her, and it made me feel momentarily incompetent; like I wasn’t doing well enough. But it will never be enough if that’s the mindset; I never considered that she skipped university and went straight into film, so circumstances were entirely different.

Meanwhile, there’s someone 10+ years older than me who is struggling to get the work I’d get, and that is okay too. What I should’ve done is feel happy for her, and use that to motivate myself to improve. As long as I never give up, and continue to do my best with a good attitude, everything will be just fine.

If you could give your younger self any advice what would it be?

That it’s okay to take a break sometimes, live life a little, and cherish all the happiness, sadness, heartbreak, and struggles that you are going through right now. Every tear will make you stronger, and genuine every smile will eventually pull you through.

Time goes by very quickly, and every stage in your life is a part of you, so make sure you remember how you get to where you are well.

Do you see the glass as half empty or half full?

Half full, just grateful that there’s any liquid in the glass at all, and is excited to acquire more with all the space I’ve got on top, ya know? 🤷‍♀️

What is the strangest thing you believed as a child?

That if you whistle at night, the ghosts will come find you. Or if you play hide and seek at night, then you’ve opened up some kind of portal that the ghosts will kidnap you away from this dimension forever.

Tbh, I think my grandma was just sick of me trying to learn how to whistle when I was in elementary school and of me running around the house at night, so she made these omen up lol.

What time do you usually get up in the morning?

Used to wake up at 13:00-14:00 all the time, but since I married an early bird, I’ve been up at 6:30-7:00 lately.

What time is your usual bed time?

Heeheee 1:00-2:00 in the morning, oops.

How has your birth order/characteristics of siblings affected you?

I have the loveliest older brother in the world, he’s 4 years older, and is very smart, diligent, athletic, and funny. Me being the only daughter, my parents are incredibly protective, so they’d always have my brother do everything for me.

It was a relief when I was younger, but as I enter high school, it became a little frustrating; I felt like I was living under his shadows and can never be considered independent. They’d also spend a lot more time training with him cuz he’s a national competitive swimmer.

Because of that, I had a lot of time to myself, so I experimented with my own interests and grew in my own way. As I’ve grown, I can definitely say that it’s made me a lot more independent and introverted haha. I absolutely dislike depending on anyone (Will be my last resort), but it’s also nice to know that whenever either of us fall, we’ll always have each other’s back.

#tag games with Nin 🎮

Learn even more about me through various tag games I participated!✌️

#chats with Nin

My previous responses, rambles, vibe checks, and many more!

And please drop by my ask box and chit chat, I love interacting with you all! 👋

>>> Back to Ticket Booth Navigation 🎟

#about me #navigation #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! writer #writer #get to know the author #get to know the writer #get to know me #fun facts #questions #introduction

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allegra-writes · 5 years

Text

Living Proof

Irondad & Stark daughter!reader

General audiences

Warnings: Starks like to swear

The request:

Hi!.. Can you make a fanfiction reader who's from our world and gets transported into Avengers Endgame or another one about injured daughter Stark and father Tony because she accidentally spilled boiled hot water onto her hand?.. Thank you!

"Miss Stark, your father and the rest have arrived" Friday's disembodied voice finally put you out of your misery, halting your pacing in front of the massive windows of your bedroom.

" Oh, thank the gods!"

You made your way to the elevators in ten seconds flat, which was quite a record considering how huge your penthouse at the new Avengers Tower was. But you just couldn't help it: It was only a few weeks after The Endgame Incident, as you and Peter had come to call it; only a few weeks after you had gotten your whole universe back just to almost loose the most important thing in there, your father, that very same day.

You ran through the platform ignoring Friday's warnings about your untied laces until you crashed a little too hard with the still armored chest of your dad, but his strong arms (one of them even stronger now) stopped you from falling.

"Hey, kiddo" He said holding you tight and burying his nose on top of your head, breathing you in.

" How did everything go? Is everyone alright? Are you hurt?"

"Woah, slow down kid" He broke the hug but still hold your shoulders at arm's length, "everything's fine! I'm fine! Just a little bit tired, that's all..."

"Ok" The breathe you didn't know you were holding finally came out. Still you couldn't let go of him completely, so you both made the walk back inside arm in arm.

"Pepper called, said she and Morgan were running late so they'll spend the night at the lake house. I made you dinner, it's in the oven"

He smiled down at you,

"You spoil me too much, heartie"

Once inside he let go of you but not before kissing your temple.

"I'm going to shower and then we can eat all together. You should take one too, you look stressed, it'll help calm you down just like when you were little, remember?" He gave your hand one last squeeze and disappeared down the hallway. You frowned. Last mission you had been on together you had literally watched him die, could he really blame you for having anxiety now every time he wore his Ironman suit?

"You truly do look awful, y/n" Peter’s voice said right beside you, making you jump. You knew it was true, two weeks of restless, sleepless nights were bound to catch up with you eventually. He didn't look all that better than you but that actually didn't surprise you: You could remember more than him, that much was true, still he was awoken at night by the same nightmares that plagued you. You knew, you could hear his muffled screaming late in the night from your bedroom.

"Parker, jeez! I didn't see you there! And thanks, you do know how to make a girl feel special..."

"Pfft, like you're one to talk, Stark! You didn't even noticed me until two seconds ago" he took a hand to his chest in mock hurt.

"Now you guys know how we feel all the time" Sam quipped coming to a stand in front of the elevators with an exhausted looking Bucky by his side.

"What are you even talking about?"

"Oh, I don't know" Sam pretended to wonder, "Barnes, we did come through that door too, didn't we?"

"You know what, Wilson, I think we did..." To your surprise, Bucky played right along.

"Funny how none of them seemed to notice... I mean I wasn't expecting a hug but maybe a 'Hello Mr. Falcon, are you ok too?'"

"Maybe Stark upgraded these suits, made us invisible" Shrugged Bucky. "And speak for yourself, I was absolutely expecting a hug"

"We don't ignore you! Come have dinner with us!"

"We already ordered Thai, sorry kids"

"Yeah, we don't need your pitty food!" Wilson called out, without stopping his way.

"Aw, c'mon guys, don't be like that!" But this time you were the ignored one, as the elevator arrived and they stepped inside, still complaining about gen-Z kids not paying enough respect to elder war veterans.

Peter and you exchanged a look.

"Well, at least they're talking to each other..."

...

"Heartbeats, would you pass me the juice?"

You furrowed your brows a little, the juice jar was actually closer to your father than it was to you. Maybe he was afraid to break it with his new arm, or was still a little self conscious about it. You hated to think he might be feeling such a thing, to you that metal arm was a testament of his bravery, of the sacrifices done in order to defeat Thanos, of how much more he had been willing to sacrifice. But you knew your dad was a vain man...

In any case, it wasn't that much of a bother so you reached for the juice. But as soon as you did, Tony snatched your hand and pulled back your sweater sleeve, revealing the bandage that covered your whole forearm.

"That's exactly what I thought I had seen", his voice was hard, "Care to tell me how did you get hurt and why were you hiding it from me?"

"I wasn't hiding it, dad, it's just a little burn, it's no big deal"

He was having none of that.

"Just a little burn? I don't think so, this thing covers half your arm. Who patched you up anyway? This gauze things are prehistoric!"

"I did it myself, I know how to treat a burn you know?" You were trying not to get offended, you wanted to become a doctor and had plenty of practice in first aids, thanks to your housemates's line of work.

"You didn't even had it looked? Peter, call Strange"

"Already texting him"

You didn't even have time to send him a betrayed look before a portal opened up right beside him in the kitchen and Doctor Strange stepped out of it in all his wizardry paraphernalia.

"Stark! What happened, who's hurt?"

You could feel your cheeks burning, mortified.

"No one's hurt, I just spilled some boiled water on my arm while I was cooking, it's not important!"

Stephen exchanged a look with your father, and next thing you knew, the three of you were standing in the med bay.

"Dude, you left Pete on the kitchen? Rude much?"

"Shut up, kid" Strange snapped his fingers and suddenly no sound was able to leave your lips. Indignated, you turned to your dad, only to find him trying to conceal a smile. And poorly, you might add.

"Neat trick, useful. You have to teach me how to do that..."

"Yes, I imagine it might come in handy while dealing with teenagers" Stephen's tone was as crisp and laconic as always, but his eyes betrayed his worry as his hands tenderly unwrapped your arm. "Now if you could make yourself useful and tell me what exactly happened..."

"Sorry, Dumbledore, I was on a mission, you gonna have to ask Cher Horowitz here."

With an eye roll and another snap, your voice was back.

"Thanks!" You imbued the word with as much sarcasm as you could muster. Stephen was unperturbed.

"Anytime. What happened to your arm?"

"I was in the kitchen, boiling some potatoes, everything normal. And then, when I went to strain them- I just..." You stuttered, "When I went to strain them my hand just slipped"

"So the water was at boiling point, not just hot. That's not good. What did you do next?"

"I opened the faucet and put my wrist under cold water"

Strange continued his examinations,

"That was a good call," He approved, "How did your hand slipped exactly? This looks like a splatter...?"

You knew you were turning redder and redder,

"I heard a loud noise," you mumbled barely audible, "and I kinda jumped a little bit"

It must have been loud enough, because you saw your dad flinch at your words. You tried to diffuse the tension. "So what's the verdict, doc?"

"These looks second degree. You did a good job but I do believe your father has something a little higher tech to patch you up. Tony, I think you can take it from here."

Doctor Strange stood to leave and you hurried to apologise,

"Sorry to bother you, doc. I told my dad it was nothing but he wouldn't listen" you side eyed your afored mentioned offending parent but strange interrupted you.

"Nonsense, Tony you did the right thing, from now on I want you to call me for the most minimal scratch your daughter might get."

Your dad smirked,

"I wasn't planning on anything different."

"What? Why?" You said confused. Strange gave you a look that let you know exactly what he thought of your intelligence,

"Why? Because we worry about you, you dim witted child"

"'Dim witted'?" You quipped, "Careful there, Strange. Your Benedict is showing"

He threw you a wink over his shoulder before stepping into another portal, leaving alone with your father.

Tony pretended to busy himself with rummaging through a draw to get whatever the "higher tech" for treating your wound was but you could see the little frown of concentration that betrayed there was something more important on his mind.

"Look, sweetheart" He finally started "I'm not going to ask you why my daredevil of a daughter suddenly is so jumpy that she actually gets scared by loud noises, or why she traded her high hills and designer clothes for jeans and sneakers" He sat down on the stretcher next to you and lift your chin with a finger, to make sure you were looking at him in the eyes when he talked. "And, the most important one, I won't ask you why you traded your Stark melodramatic flare, for hiding your injuries. Don't give me that look, ever since you were a little Morgan sized squirt you came running to me with any boo-boos for me to kiss them better, you always loved attention. I won't ask any of that, you'll come to me when you are ready.

... What I am going to tell you, however, is that if you think even for one second that anything that happens to you is unimportant, or somehow less significant or worrying to me compared to my own wounds or whatever is going on inside that head of yours, you are sorely mistaken.

Baby girl, I just spend five years of my life.." his voice broke a little but he braved on "I just had to spend five years if my life without you. And it was four years, eleven months, twenty-nine days, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes too many. And Strange told me that time passes differently inside the... Soul realm or universe or whatever that place you were trapped was, so how much was it for you?"

You lowered your gaze and tried to collect yourself a little before answering.

"It was... Longer." You admitted.

You could see he was taken aback.

"Longer... It was longer for you, that's-" he had to clear his throat and swallow a couple of times before he finally was able to put his ideas in order. You hated to cause him more pain but you couldn't get yourself to lie about it. Not to him.

"Right, it was longer than five years to you. Don't you think we have enough things to make up for already then? Too much time taken from us, too many hugs, too many family dinners, too many boo-boos to kiss?" He added with a small, sad smile, "isn't that why you are cooking for me? Why you are taking care of me, of all of us?"

You gave him a small nod, since the knot in your throat wouldn't let you speak your affirmation loud out.

"Then, my iron heart, no more secrets, ok? No more... Hiding things, no matter how small they seem. Because five years without hearing the little things and happenings from my daughter's life was more than enough for me. Ok?"

Once again you nodded, trying to find the words to say. Finding none, you use the Stark's favorite diversion tactic: Sarcasm.

"Really dad? Tegaderm? That's the high tech Dr. Strange was talking about?" You said once your father had wrapped your wound in a transparent film.

"You of little faith" He scoffed, "wait and see, you sceptic little brat."

It took only a handful of seconds for the film to light up in some kind of luminous grid that a second later took the exact color of your skin and disguised the burn completely. Even the edges of the film were indistinguishable from your own skin.

"Cool, huh?" Your dad proclaimed proudly, "Banner and I designed them, in just seconds they analyze your skin tipe and kind of injury and release antibiotics and painkillers accordingly. They shorten in half the healing time too."

"I stand correct, dad, these are... Pretty awesome" you admitted, still admiring your arm.

"That's all I wanted to hear" He stood up to leave. You chew your lip.

"Dad, wait." You stopped him. He turned around.

You weren't completely ready to talk, not about everything. But it was time you started to lean on each other a little again. Time to start being the thight knit unity you guys once were. You both wanted that back. You deserved to have it back.

"Dad, it's different for me. Different not only from Peter and the rest but different from how it is for Strange..." You tried to explain. "Dad, I remember everything. Clear as day."

Tony sighed and went to sit down again next to you. He rubbed his face with his good hand to try and dry them without you noticing, but you saw the tears filling his eyes.

"Yeah... Strange mentioned something like that. Can I ask you about it? About the soul world"

"I'm not sure that's what it was. I think we were transported to a different universe. Or transferred. Like, our souls were send to our bodies there. We... Had whole lives there. Different lives. We were other people. And I remember everything, not only what it was to be there, but what happened before too... To this other y/n"

"So now you have..."

"Two sets of memories, yes" You confirmed.

Your dad took a deep breath, obviously trying to keep it together.

"Well... I always said that eidetic memory of yours was a superpower"

You let out a small bitter laugh.

"More like a curse, I would say."

"How was it? This other universe?"

You looked at the floor. You had to tell him, he deserved to know.

"... Mom was- Mom was still alive."

You heard his choked sob and wondered if maybe telling him was a mistake, but he was soon taking you in his arms, holding you tightly, and you knew it was as much for him as it was for you.

"I'm sorry, baby girl, I'm so so sorry"

"What? Why, dad?”

“For taking you away from that” He kissed your head and hold you even tighter if that was possible.

You shook your head.

“No, dad, you don’t understand” you tried to explain, “She was still alive, but you weren’t my dad. You weren’t even Tony Stark, and I missed you. I missed you so fucking much!” You didn’t realize you had started crying until your dad started to dry your tears with his hand.

“Oh my heart, I missed you so fucking much too!”

You sat like that, holding each other (and holding onto each other) until both your sobs subsided.

“What do you mean I wasn’t even Tony stark?” your father asked once you both were calmer, and his curiosity had had the best of him.

“You were just an actor in a movie.”

“Was I still cool tho?” he joked. It worked, because you couldn’t help but laugh as you thought of Robert Downey Jr.

“You are always the coolest guy in the world, dad. No matter what universe.”

“Oh yeah? Were you a fan?” He teased.

“Of course I was.” You replied honestly “Your last movie? I watched it at least three times.” That’s how I knew how to save you, you didn’t add.

“Anyway, if- If I seem different…” you tried to explain, “that’s why.”

“Its ok, sweetheart, I understand.” He kissed your head again, but still didn’t let his grip on you go. It finally gave you the courage to ask the question that had been on the back of your mind ever since you got back.

“Daddy?” You tried to control your voice but it still came out little. You hated how needy you sounded. “Do you still love me? Even though I am… changed?”

“Oh, y/n!” He pulled away only to look you in the eye. “Do you know why I am always calling you “my heart” and stuff like that?”

You shook your head no.

“Because that’s what you are. From the very first moment they put you in my arms, after you were born” He cupped your head, remembering how he used to be able to cup your whole tiny little body in his hands like that, “Long before the arch reactor, you were living proof that Tony Stark has a heart.”

You couldn’t help to start crying again, which caused him to start crying again. Still, he carried on, because he needed to say it, and you needed to hear it.

“And now, you have literally given me a new heart” He touched the new, star shaped device on his chest. “And after what now I know you went through, are still going through… God, you are so strong, you truly are my iron heart. And I couldn’t be prouder. I couldn’t ever stop loving you. Not even if you went vegan.”

Your laugh was a little wet, but it was real this time.

“Ironheart. I kinda like it, has a ring to it…”

Your father smiled, knowing exactly what you were thinking about.

“We’ll see.”

You finally stood up to leave, but on your way out of the medbay…

“Ouch!”

“What happened, what is it?” Your dad panicked.

“I just stubbed my toe on a table leg, dad. Don’t freak out!”

You heard his blaster charging.

“Which table??”

“Dad, no!!”

The End.

(For that table as well)

Wow! This turned out way more emotional than I was planning to, but I loved every single minute of writing this request, so thank you, @huggeygirl I hope you like it as much as I do. This one is for you.

#avengers #bucky barnes #peter parker #stark!reader #Irondad #stark! daughter #end game fix it #end game #irondad fluff #avengers fanfic #avengers end game #avengers endgame

492 notes · View notes

twohearts-hs · 5 years

Text

“Her Drug” - Open Marriage Imagine

Words: 5.5k

Pairing: Husband!Harry Styles x Reader x Lover!Shawn Mendes

Warnings: Swearing, Alcoholism and a Little Bit of Smut

|| Masterlist in bio ||

She wanted to hold onto every fibre being of this relationship; a signal of what kept her alive in this burdened world. He was the last thing that kept her sane, yet he was the one thing that killed her. They both knew their relationship was failing. The only option for them was at the moment is to end it.

God, did he love her, and likewise for her. They were both of their heroin; a constant little dosage leads to much more. They, since the beginning, were obsessed with each other, until a few years into their relationship when it all went to shit.

Y/N would do anything for Harry, she praised the floor he walked on, as did he for her. It was mutual between them, the love, the tension, the admiration and adoration. They were your stereotypical cliché couple, therefore it took nobody by surprise when Harry got down on one knee on their two-year anniversary and asked for her to be his wife.

It was all good until it wasn’t.

Y/N woke up from the sunlight hitting her eyes and the little birds outside her window chirping. Another day, another working life. She loved her job as a photographer. Once upon a time, she used to travel the world and update her blog, but that was in her free time. In all facts, she has an English degree and worked in journalism in order to get the money to do her passion for photos. In fact, that was how she and her husband met. Harry met her through another celebrity in desperate need of a photographer.

It was a nice wake-up, a cute one, but an energizing one, letting nature to do its work. Yet, the married woman patted the bed next to her and realised he never came home. Harry hasn’t come home to his wife.

All hard feelings aside, Y/N went downstairs, poured herself a coffee and sat facing her computer. Emails flooded in as she checked her messages. She was a housewife, did photography as a passion and got paid quite a little, but she loved what she does, and she thanks the heavens that she doesn’t need to do the desk job anymore.

Yet, the minute she sat a call came through the laptop. Her best friend Shawn was calling. A smile came upon her features as she answered, not wanting to mention her husband's lack of presence. He knew about their decision long ago, he wasn’t happy with it, but he can’t make Y/N do anything.

Ever since learning about Harry’s lack of fertility, the relationship went sideways. Harry woke up and decided he didn’t give a fuck anymore. He went out and drank and tried to fill his nights with alcohol and whatever there was too smoke; it wasn’t like he was damaging his fertility rates when he doesn’t have them.

Y/N being her humble self said to Harry that she didn’t care that they can’t have a baby and there were many other options for them, but Harry just wanted to forgive and forget. He just wanted to waste his life away.

“You’re home late,” she told him, sitting on the couch watching some sitcom while sipping a glass of wine.

“Why are you up?” he mumbled, stumbling down the hallway, placing his keys on the counter alongside his wallet as he looked at his wife, being more than just perfect.

“Because I care,” she told him, getting up and walking towards him. “You’re gonna vomit, aren’t you?” he nodded and instantly she was pulling him to the closest bathroom, holding his long locks back as he spilt his guts out. She rubbed his back, as Harry mumbled words she couldn’t understand.

“Say something,” he mumbled, taking her arm and placing it down as he sat against the wall. She stayed quiet, looking at the man she fell in love with, who isn’t himself.

“What do you want me to say?” he chuckled, a smirk on his lips.

“I wanted to kiss her,” he told her, looking off to the side; Y/N speechless, “well, she tried to kiss me and I wanted to kiss her, but I have you. You are the weight at the moment.”

“I’m the weight of holding you back from having ‘fun’?” she questioned, scoffing at Harry and letting him go and exiting the bathroom.

“Y/N…” he knew he fucked up and Y/N didn’t care.

“Go fucking back to her, don’t come crying to me when she doesn’t hold your hair back as you vomit and talk about other women.”

That morning she had no idea that she’d be awakened to the first step of their present-day life. Of course, she has gotten used to the empty bed and the lack of Harry’s presence, but she had no idea what would come.

She came downstairs seeing her husband nursing a cup of coffee and she just ignored him. Harry tried so hard in his head to form the words that needed to be said, but he loved her too much to cause a mess.

“I have always been loyal,” he told her, looking up from behind the counter, hands on the granite.

“Oh I bet you have,” she laughed walking past him and roughly grabbing a mug to pour the coffee in.

“I am serious, kitten,” he told her, using the pet name, turning to her, “but I think we are falling apart,”

Then she suggested something that she now regrets, but she’d do anything to still get her dose of the drug, “If you want to fuck her go right ahead. Open marriage?”

It was stupid and spontaneous, but she did it and heck does she regret it. Harry, being his narcissistic, greedy self, agreed right away. If it was her now suggesting that, she’d be laughing about Harry’s answer. He was stupid...young and way too stupid.

Y/N exited her car, letting the white Rover’s door slam. She shrugged her handbag over her shoulder as she hurried to the café where she was meeting her best friend.

“You’re late,” Shawn mumbled, as Y/N plumped down and straight away grabbed for his coffee, creating him to glare.

“Shut up, I need this,” she muttered, smiling at him as Shawn laughed.

Shawn was someone who made her known. He remembered her from high school, but he did some snooping and found her Instagram, never imagining that his high school crush was a photographer. In fact, he was so desperate to see her again that he messaged her and asked if she’d join him on tour. Through Shawn, she met Harry.

Of course, she told him ‘yes’ to the opportunity to travel the world and do something that she is passionate about, not knowing how amazing of a friendship that was about to be created from this. Shawn is her best friend, no doubt about it.

“Slept alone again?” he took a sip of his coffee and looked at her. She scoffed, thanking the waiter for bringing her a new cup.

“Don’t get me started,” she rolled her eyes. Shawn knew about the arrangement, of course not being pleased about it. This perfect woman was getting abused by his actions every day, yet she held onto him.

“Haven’t seen him since,” she looked over his head and groaned, “now.”

Shawn quickly turned his head back, noticing the tall head of curly locks. She caught eye of his tattooed arm wrapped around some blonde as they ordered coffee.

“Fucking hell, Shawn,” she shook her head, “he's supposed to be quiet with his little sluts.”

“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Shawn raised his eyebrow and she laughed nodding her head.

“Oh yeah,” it was a game between them. If they catch Harry with his chick of the night, they’d play around a bit. It was innocent, but she loved messing with him. Yet, she still loves him with all her heart.

Y/N got up heading to the condiment trolley to grab a few sugars for Shawn. Harry walked over with his girl just as Y/N got there.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled, reaching over to grab it.

Harry’s eyes opened, trying to figure the words to say to either of them, “Kitten!” he explained, she looked up and smiled.

“Hi!” Harry bit his lip as Y/N looked at the model.

“Kenna, this is my wife, Y/N, Y/N this is-”

“Honey,” she cut him off, ignoring the blonde and placed her hand on his hip, “Italian or Thai tonight?” Harry smiled at his wife, dropping the hold on the model and grabbed Y/N’s hand.

“Anything that makes you happy,” he muttered, pecking her lips.

“Ok, its Thursday, remember?” he nodded, muttering a ‘I remember’, as Y/N wished her goodbyes and headed back to Shawn.

“Kill me now,” Shawn laughed, applauding her.

“Well done, Mrs Styles, well done,” she laughed, throwing the sugar packets at him. “Show me the pictures of me at the beach.”

Even though it may seem like the two, Harry and his wife, have so much tension, they still love each other very much. The two still share their stolen kisses, movie nights and shameless sex. But, she loves him too much to let him go.

Harry doesn’t care anymore. The only thing he cares about is his wife, but he’s a boy, he doesn’t know what his actions are causing. Ever since getting that test back - negative to fertility - he lost all hope in his life. Y/N has never seen him like what he was, depressed. There were two stages to his depression, one was the first one, the not getting out of bed, barely eating, no motivation, etc. it was so hard to see for her; watching her husband fall apart. The second part of this depression was drinking and girls. He was loyal, she believed that. But, he’d go out and flirt and drink, but nothing physical. He was loyal, physically; verbally, mentally and emotionally he was not. This was when she slid in the potential idea of an open marriage and the next day, he stumbled home with hickeys and scratches on his back. Instantly that depression was gone.

How can she blame him? He just found out that he can’t do the one thing all males are supposed to do, reproduce. Therefore, she pretended it was ok when really it wasn’t. Every day, every week, every month there was someone different and all she can solve her inner feelings was to laugh. So, when she spots Harry with them, she makes it as awkward as she can. Because she will not have sex with anyone as long as she is called Mrs Styles. It was wrong.

Shawn and Y/N entered the townhouse, a laugher shared between them as he told her a joke previously. It was cute, between them. In fact, several people believed that they were a couple with the way they act to one another. It was so innocent, so loving and kind, it made everyone have a smile upon their faces.

Harry sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone as he heard his wife’s laughter. He wasn’t in a good mood, anger ruffled through him as his blood in his veins boiled. The girl refused to sign the disclosure agreement, therefore he has to get the lawyers involved.

“Coffee or tea?” Y/N asked Shawn walking to the kitchen and spotting the curly hair. “Hey, baby,” she heard a grunt and a continuation of footsteps to the kitchen.

Shawn sat, grabbing a banana from the basket and watched how Harry manoeuvred through the kitchen, taking the bottle of whiskey.

“Are you sure you need that?” Y/N muttered, passing the mug to Shawn. Harry turned on the balls of his feet and glared at his wife.

“What’d you say?” he raised his eyebrows and looked at his wife with such a deadly look.

“I said,” she began, looking at him with the same expression, “do you really need that? Its barely past noon,” he scoffed.

“You have no idea what I am going through, kitten,” he spat, going to the bedroom.

Y/N rolled her eyes, ignoring everything and sitting next to her dear friend, “Don’t say anything,” Shawn raised his hands up in a surrendered way.

Harry sat in his own pool of misery, taking a swing and downing the rest of the small bottle and walking down the stairs to see his wife getting cosy with this man he has disliked since the first day.

“Kitten?” he called, stumbling through the kitchen to his wife. Y/N looked up, getting up from Shawn’s cuddle and grabbing onto Harry. “It was supposed to be our night, kitten,” he muttered into her ear, grabbing her hips to help him from falling. “Its Thursday, kitten, it is supposed to be for us. We drink a bottle of wine, watch a movie, play a game, and-”

“Alright, mister, let’s get you to the bathroom,” she told him, grabbing him by his shoulders to the nearest bathroom, letting him vomit his guts out.

Y/N puffed, closing the door to the master bedroom. Her drunk, past out husband laid there, as she looked up to her best friend.

“I know what you’re thinking, Shawn,” she said, walking past him and going down the stairs to the kitchen and dumping the bottle from upstairs into the recycling.

“Y/N, please hear me out,” he tried, turning to her and she couldn’t look at him.

“I love him with every fibre of my being. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in love, but man, you’ll do anything for them. If they’re an alcoholic and cheat on you every day, you’ll still lay with them. They are your heroin and they keep you sane. I fucking love Harry with everything in my being and damn I’ll be a mess without him. So, no, I will not divorce him, because through thick and thin,” she told him, close to a scream because she was so frustrated.

“I know the feeling, honey. I know love,” he told her, grabbing her cheeks, wiping the tears off her eyes and brought her into a hug. “It’ll be ok,” he told her as she cried.

Two weeks later, he was back to himself. Fuck, he was back to himself a day later. Still alcohol in his system, but he wasn’t a drunk. They’ve moved on, the two of them. They have forgotten that night.

Y/N was in the shower. Hands in her hair as she pushed it away from her eyes. The mascara that covered her lashes began to smear down her face. It was a long night last night, she went out with a couple of friends and had fun. Well, they did. She just drank her misery.

The hand that covered her hair was now on her neck when she felt a subtle humming in her ear as a ringed hand ran across her torso. Tattooed arms came into her sight and she smiled, rolling her head back.

“Morning, kitten,” he was absent that morning, but now he is back. She smiled from the nickname. She hated cats and ever since he learnt that, he taunts her with the nickname. Eventually, she fell in love with it, because he calls no one else that. She was his kitten.

“Morning,” she grunted, feeling his hands dip into her clit. A breathy moan escaped her lips as he took her with his rings.

It was sweet, the fingering in the shower. It was normal between them, the small, sweet gesture. Her being into all the cute vanilla stuff. He wasn’t into just that though.

Harry turned her around, pressing his lips against her’s so softly, pecking it as his fingers did their work. In and out they went. Moans and groans escaped her lips as he took control over her. Harry smiled into the kiss, hearing how vulnerable she was under his touch. He made her quiver with just one look and she was all his...well he hopes. It was a mutual agreement.

She came not long later. He pampered her, rubbing her skin with soap as he cleaned her up, kissing her skin as he went. It was moments like this where she remembers why she stays with him. He can be such a prick, but at the same time, he can be such a sweetheart and a gentleman.

Y/N smiled, seeing Harry wiping her skin with the cloth. But, her smile faded quite soon.

“Who was she?” she asked, looking into those green eyes. Harry played stupid.

“Who?” she rolled her eyes and poked the skin on his body that the colour has changed to a red. “Just some girl, kitten, don’t worry,” he muttered, kissing her cheek and ignoring her worries.

“Whatever,” she pushed off, and pulling the shower curtain away and leaving him in his pity.

“Kitten!” she ignored him, grabbing a towel and heading to the closet, grabbing some gear to go for a run. “Don’t you dare give me that attitude. This was an agreement between us. I bet you’ve screwed Shawn...oh I bet you have,” she rolled her eyes. There comes the dick inside him, shining so bright.

“Oh yeah, we’ve screwed so much, Harry. In your car, in your kitchen,” she began, walking up, and smirking, “in that shower, oh and you know where else…” she leaned into his ear, “right here.”

Harry was so done with her attitude, grabbing her hips and pushing her against the wall, “You fucking slut.” She laughed so hard. He was so stupid and so naive and just… jealous.

“Says you...brags about all your girls that you’ve touched. I bet many of them are pregnant because of you, so clumsy...but oh wait, you can’t have kids,” she went there. Oh fuck, she went there and she instantly regretted it.

Harry pushed away from holding her against the wall, “You fucking had to go there. You’re fucking ridiculous, Y/N. You know how much I want a kid, to give you a baby, but I can’t because I smoked too much and drank too much in my youth. Have fun with Shawn, I’m done,” he walked out, grabbing a pair of joggers on the way and she looked at the ceiling and screamed.

“I haven’t had sex with anyone, Harry. Haven’t touched anyone in seven years, because I am loyal,” she screams, “physically and all that shit.”

He was emotionally exhausting, hearing him shut the front door as she collapsed to the floor. She was done, beyond done.

Y/N saw his phone on the bed, as it went off. A little piece of her said to her not to go snooping on it, but she had too. She needed to know who he was screwing and where he stands. His phone was easy to get into. It was their wedding date, but she regretted everything.

She regrets a lot with Harry...the open marriage idea, bringing up the topic of his infertility, going through his phone, letting him pick the house, merging the bank accounts...she was smart but as well as he, she was a little naive.

Y/n scrolled through his phone, tears beginning to consume her eyes. He talked about what he was going to do to these girls, the pictures sent between them, but what hurt her the most was the way he talked about her. Lies upon lies were told in the texts of these girls who all looked the same. It ranged about how she was clingy, how she was pleasing him so terribly, but it went as far as him not loving her and happy that he can’t give her kids to have more brats like her. That was just the nice stuff. She was done with him...all open marriages never lasted.

One thing she knew about Harry was, he will always come back. She wanted to hurt him like how he hurt her. A little evil side came out of her as she thought the thoughts she was thinking. The girls left marks on him, so someone had to make marks on her.

There were a few times where she had an opportunity to take advantage of the title above her head ‘open marriage’ in bright shiny letters, but she couldn’t bear the idea of letting another man touch her. First, it was her fitness trainer, then some that Dutch bartender and lastly Jamie. Jamie was a classmate of her’s, so kind, so sweet, but he was too nice to take advantage of a married woman. Therefore he was the one to back out.

Then there was Shawn...fucking hell she knew he was in love with her. He has said so himself, but she had to tell him that she actually just met someone and it turned out to be Harry. But, Shawn was the perfect lover. She knew that. It was such a shame that he hasn’t met someone, but she did know he was hanging onto her for far too long.

“I’m ready,” she texted and straight away he responded. It wasn’t him playing dumb, he knew exactly what she was talking about and he was over in a jiffy.

The minute she answered the door, she slammed her lips against his. It was the weirdest feeling, the kiss was perfect. Of course, it was rushed but it was as their lips were formed for another. Clothes were thrown everywhere, rushed as they removed each other's pieces as they moved to the bedroom. She looked at Shawn, sitting on the bed and watched him removed his underwear and she unclipped her bra.

He stared in awe, such a goddess like creature in front of him. Y/N smiled, locking lips and whispering a, “I’m ready.”

She stared at the ceiling. Shawn’s hands were wrapped around her as she drew shapes on his chest with her finger. He looked at her as she looked elsewhere. She officially did it. She was a slut. No, that is too harsh, but she felt like that. The ring on her finger was gone, she hid it when she made love, more as fucked, Shawn. But, in a sort of sense, she felt relieved with it all. Y/N felt trapped with Harry and Shawn was her little normal. Twenty-seven and she felt like her age.

The fights went on between the two. Harry truly believed that she was loyal, but internally she was laughing, so thankful for the fact that she was back on tour with Shawn. Harry continued to be marked as she continued to see Shawn behind his back.

Y/N felt normal...is that wrong to say that? She married at twenty-two, Harry twenty-six, and now she was twenty-seven and felt like that age. Harry was acting like a dick and she was living life.

She was out drinking, she was taking pictures, she was travelling and all of this with Shawn. He was the muse she needed. Her ring was left back in London, praying that Harry doesn’t find it. But, when he found out that his wife was going back on tour, he wasn’t happy. Being himself, he believed Y/N’s loyalty but still didn’t like the way that Shawn looked at her. Y/N was his and only his. But, she had to work and she loved what she did so he couldn’t fight it. In fact, he solved his problems with more girls and more drinks.

While the beauty herself, she was taking pictures of Shawn everywhere, the sea, the park, the bar. He was the perfect model and muse to her problems. Every time they looked at one another they smiled or laughed, but overall filled with joy. She was so goddamn perfect. Y/N held him every moment, yet everyone believed they were friends. They acted like a couple, but no one believed as Y/N was “taken”. So, they danced in meadows, sang by the sea and made love under the stars. It was perfect until it wasn’t.

The tour ended after six months. Six months of barely talking to Harry and nights spent under the covers of her lover. It was a good six months, getting away from London and all that toxic stuff that comes along with it. If she was being honest, she wasn’t looking forward to going back home to him.

Harry greeted her with a smile on his face and open arms. He leaned against the pole and just stared at her. Y/N hasn’t seen him yet, cuddling into Shawn as she walked towards the exit. Her laughter echoed the room as his arms wrapped around her. Harry started seeing how happy she was, the bags under her eyes long gone and a smile that he hasn’t seen in months.

“Kitten,” he called, she turned to him and he recognised it instantly...the fake smile she pulled for him.

Y/N let go of Shawn to walk towards her husband, greeting him with a hug and kiss. Shawn watched, she wasn’t herself around him. He needed to get rid of Harry, he was an energy vampire sucking all the living out of her.

“Hey,” she mumbled, pulling away from the kiss. He grabbed her bags and grabbed her hand, which she pulled away.

He looked at her funny and she frowned a little, grabbing her bags back. Harry looked at his wife with look.

“Next time when you pick me up or see me for that matter, remember to wipe off last night’s evidence,” she muttered and walked back to Shawn, continuing the conversation. Harry watched as his wife walked off, this is it, he’s done.

“Glad to have you home,” he muttered, hearing the door open and the sound of wheels from a suitcase coming in. Y/N ignored him, gently placing her backpack on the barstool and making her way to the fridge.

“No whiskey nor vodka. You must be antsy, Harry,” she said from the kitchen, mocking him. Harry got up and walked to his wife, grabbing her hips and feelings the bare skin.

He placed a humble kiss against the back of her ear and whispered, “I’m a changed man.” Y/N scoffed, turning around and looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m serious, kitten,” he began, rubbing the skin on her hips, “I have been ninety days sober.”

Y/N looked at him, watching as he pulled the chip out of his pocket. “Oh, sure you are, Harry. Last night—” she began.

“Burned myself,” the lie rolled off his lips, she scoffed, “she made a move on me, kitten, not the other way around.”

“And you said you’re a changed man,” she mumbled, grabbing her bag and heading upstairs.

He believed he was a changed man but all he needed was to convince her. Harry wants to end the open relationship. He wants her and only her.

He welcomed himself upstairs, seeing his wife in bed already, reading a book. She looked so peaceful, it almost made Harry cry from the fact that she was too perfect for him. But, there was a burning question in his mind and he needed to get it out.

“Kitten?” he asked, her head looked up catching her husband’s eyes. She hummed, smiling gently. “Are you and Shawn in a relationship?” he asked, looking down and praying that they are not. He was supposed to be the one who could touch her only. She married him, she was his forever. But, the little bit of him was telling how ironic that is as he is was doing the same thing to her with other women,

“Why does it matter?” she mumbled. Harry sat down on the bed, grabbing her hand gently, as Y/N placed her book down.

“Because I don’t want to have an open relationship anymore,” he mumbled, looking at her eyes. Y/N stayed quiet looking at her husband and shaking her head.

“You can’t say that,” she mumbled, tears clouding her vision.

“Kitten…”

“So you’re bored with fucking other women so you come back to me?” she asked, pulling her hand away. Harry shook his head rapidly, trying to form words. “Can’t you see that I am happy with him. He treats me the way I deserve to be treated. Not ignored or yelled at or treated like nothing. I am your wife, Harry, I deserve a hella amount of respect,” Harry looked at her.

“I want to be with you again...just us. We took a vow, remember?” she scoffed.

“We can’t.”

“Why?” he pressured.

“Because I am pregnant and it is not yours.”

Y/N looked at the mirror of the ensuite in Norway. She looked at her reflection as she counts the seconds and minutes till she can look down at the test in front of her. Her palms were against the sink as she took deep breaths. The vomiting, the cravings, all of that would be explained, but she doesn’t know how she feels about it. It is Shawn’s, no doubt about it, but with him hitting the peak of his career while she is just a housewife could affect their relationship.

A breath left her lips as she heard the timer. The foggy mirror showed a little bit of her reflection from the condensation, but it was now or never.

“Pregnant,” she mumbled as shock filled her system. She turned around and looked at all four tests in front of her. “I’m pregnant,” she said again, a smile flooding her features. She placed the test down and opened the door getting an eyeful of Shawn’s back and a little bit of his bare bum.

Y/N walked to him, sitting on the bed and placing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Morning,” he grumbled, rolling over and staring at her. She looked at him with the biggest smile. “You’re happy, honey, what happened?” he asked, sitting up and cupping her cheeks.

“I know you’re young and I am too. Well, I am older than you, not by much, but,” he raised his eyebrows, “what are your thoughts on kids?”

“Love them,” he knew where this was going, connecting the dots, he leaned back a little, a blank expression was written across his face. “You’re pregnant?” she nodded and he automatically eloped her in the biggest hug and kiss.

“With Shawn’s?” Harry didn’t know how to process this. They tried so hard to have a baby to learn that he was not fertile.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, looking at her husband. “I want to be with Shawn,” she mumbled. Harry shook his head.

“No, kitten. You’re my kitten,” he began panicking, hands going through his hair, “we made a vow. We are forever, kitten. I can raise this baby like it is mine,” she shook her head.

“No, Harry. He or she is Shawn’s. Shawn wants them and I am going to raise it with him,” Harry began having tears flood his face. “Breathe, Harry, we don’t want to have another panic attack,” he took a few breaths grabbing her shoulders into a hug.

Y/N rubbed his back as he cried, “Shhh, it’ll be ok, it always will,” he pulled away, holding her hand, “You treated me like shit. I am happy you’re going sober, but it is my time to create a new chapter with someone I love. I will always love you, Harry, as you are my first love, but you’re broken. It is time for you to mend yourself and I helped enough.”

She got up from the bed and bent down to him, kissing him, “I pick Shawn,” she told him, walking out. She decided to try a different drug than heroin and now she is never going back.

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@alinashawn @mendesnecessary @i-am-bisexual-and-a-girl @notunlimited @purple-cream-cheese @iimagineloves @ashwarren32 @claredolphinbear24 @shawns-mendess @lilya-petrichor @laggyphone @surfpitaya

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