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yuechihua · 3 months ago

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remember me as i am.

summary: When Harumasa asks for an unexpected favor, you accept, against your better judgement. The last thing you expected was to have to pretend to be his spouse at a doctor’s appointment.

notes: 4.5k words, author's notes, fake marriage, fake dating, ambiguous relationship/feelings, fluff with some light introspective sadness

“I need you to do me a favor.”

When Asaba Harumasa whispers those words to you across your shared desks at the Section Six office, hand cupped around his mouth for emphasis, eyes glittering with mischief, you can’t help but brace yourself for whatever ensuing trouble he’s going to drag you into.

“What’s the favor?” you respond evenly. “If it’s to convince Yanagi to accept your request for time off, I’m not going to do that.”

“It’s not that!” Harumasa insists. “But it’s about something that’s important for the well-being of Section Six.”

You glance around the room; Soukaku is doodling with crayons on some confidential reports, Miyabi has left for a meeting with the rest of the section chiefs (and you can guarantee that she isn’t paying any attention), and Yanagi is steadfastly working through a towering stack of papers on her desk, so high that you can barely make out the top of her head. No one is paying attention to the two of you.

“Well, what is it then?” you say, and Harumasa casts a furtive glance at Yanagi before leaning closer to you, bracing his elbow on your desk. He’s enjoying himself a little too much, you can’t help but feel, what with how his smile curls like a satisfied cat.

“We need to meet up on our day off, preferably in the morning and somewhere near Lumina Square,” he says conspiratorially. “It’s too risky to pull off here. But it’s important, partner, so make sure you’re not late.”

“If it’s something that’s important for Section Six,” you whisper, tilting your own head closer to the shell of his ear, “Maybe it’s something that we should bring up to the others. What is it? Some illicit venture into a Hollow? Should I call Phaenton, too?”

“There’s no need for all of that,” Harumasa says hastily. “You only need to bring yourself. Maybe a disguise,” he adds, “to avoid public notice. This is a confidential mission. I’m relying on you.”

You let out a small sigh. Visions of curling up on your couch tomorrow, browsing through books with a mug of warm, sweet tea vanish in front of your eyes. “Fine. I’ll be there. But you owe me for dragging me out on our only day off.”

“I’ll make it worth your time, I promise.” Harumasa has the audacity to wink at you, like you’ve agreed to some ridiculous, under-the-table deal.

Maybe you have. It certainly feels like it when you drag yourself out of bed the next morning, donning sunglasses, a long, caramel-colored coat buttoned up to your neck, and pulling a hat low over your head to complete the look. You’re out the door and on the train to Lumina Square before ten minutes have passed.

You’re set to meet Harumasa at some nondescript corner of the square, an alley boxed in by towering buildings and mostly hidden from view. What does he have in store for you? Despite the playful attitude he had yesterday when asking you for help, there was also something serious underpinning his words, even as he tried to pass it off as a flight of fancy. Harumasa would never ask you for help unless it was something important.

You’re certain that you’ll have to wait for Harumasa to show up a few minutes late, making some slap-fash excuse. To your surprise, he’s already waiting for you. You almost can’t recognize him at first. He’s forgone his usual headband; instead, he’s wearing a hoodie, a cap, and a facemask, slouching against the wall, staring aimlessly at the sky.

“Harumasa?” you say.

At your voice, Harumasa immediately straightens, lifting himself off the wall. You can hear the smile in his voice, even if you can’t see it. “There you are!”

“You’re early,” you say. “I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

Harumasa slings a casual arm around your shoulder. “Well, I didn’t want to miss our date. But don’t let Yanagi know that I’m capable of showing up on time, okay?”

“It’s not a date,” you say, lowering your sunglasses to give him an unimpressed stare, “It’s a mission. Or so you claim.”

“It is,” he says. “Come with me. I’ll show you our place of operations.”

Harumasa still has his arm around your shoulders, but you don’t shake him off as he leads you confidently through alleys and down back roads, avoiding the bustle of crowds in the main section of the city. The breeze is cool, the sunlight warm on your face againsr the winter’s chill.

Eventually, the two of you stop in front of a hospital, a towering construction of shining metal and glass reflecting squares of blue sky. People bustle in and out of the sliding front doors, letting out gusts of sharp, chemically scented air.

Harumasa is silent as he stares up at the building, his hat shading his eyes. You can’t make out his expression, but you lean your head on his shoulder, a brief, reassuring touch.

He seems to come back to himself, then, and Harumasa’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he resumes talking in a clear, casual voice, “So, this is where our mission is taking place. Here’s the gist of it: I need you to pretend to be my spouse.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he wheedles. “I’ve been avoiding coming here for a while, but they’re not taking my excuses anymore. And they wanted me to bring a family member over to verify some things.”

“You could have just said so from the beginning,” you say. “I was beginning to think you wanted us to infiltrate somewhere.”

“If you think about it, we technically are,” Harumasa muses. “Besides, isn’t it more fun if I tell you we’re on a mission, instead of just giving everything away? Also, this is necessary to Section Six; what are they going to do without their star Executive Officer?”

The arm around your shoulder is shaking imperceptibly; sometime during his words, his grip has tightened, just slightly, as if he’s clinging to you to keep from sliding down a cliff. The unspoken truths hover in the air: that you’re the only one in Section Six who knows about his Ether Regression Aptitude Syndrome, and that he can’t ask anyone else to help him for this.

“Why your spouse, though?” you say instead. “Why not just say I’m a distant relation? You could also just not specify what our relationship is.”

“Because it’s more fun for me,” Harumasa replies. Typical.

Within the next few minutes, the two are checking in at the front desk after a brief wait, Harumasa wading through tedious paperwork and bureaucracy and health insurance forms with clipboards and pens that click more than necessary.

“Make sure to tell the doctor I’m here with my spouse,” Harumasa emphasizes, tapping the clipboard with his pen. He slides his arm around you, drawing you closer to him, and you try to resist the urge to pull away and keep your face schooled in a neutral, pleasant expression.

“All right, Mr. Asaba,” the receptionist chirps. “He’ll be out to see you in a bit!”

The waiting room is filled with rows of yellow and white plastic chairs, carpeting worn by the tread of countless anxious patients, and stacks of old magazines on tables and televisions mounted on the walls playing a cheesy blockbuster with the voices muted. A bored child plays with the hospital’s block toys on the floor, his mother talks quietly into her phone in front of him, and an elderly man flips through a magazine, his cane resting on his lap.

You and Harumasa settle into your seats, side by side. In the space between, where your hands dangle, his knuckles brush against the back of your hand before he draws your hand into his. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve somehow become his stress ball, something he needs to touch to ground himself.

“Still holding up alright?” Harumasa whispers. “You cleared the first hurdle.”

“Maybe I should be asking you that,” you whisper back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m used to it.” At times like this, you wish you could see Harumasa’s mouth, because his eyes betray nothing.

Still, when the receptionist finally calls out, “Asaba Harumasa, the doctor’s here to see you,” you don’t let go of Harumasa’s hand. The doctor is stocky and short, with tired, drooping eyes, and he frowns when he sees Harumasa.

The three of you start walking down the hall, the doctor setting a rapid pace as he lectures Harumasa. “You’ve been avoiding my calls for the past week. Do you know how hard it is to get in contact with you? Proper medical care requires consistency!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harumasa says without sounding sorry at all, but he seems more focused on swinging your joined hands together like a child on a swing set.

In the doctor’s office, the two of you are finally separated as Harumasa perches on the examination table. You’re sitting in a guest chair lined up against the wall across from him. The doctor moves through standard physical procedures with a deft, practiced hand. Harumasa follows along easily, thoughtlessly, as if these processes are second nature: the lights shining in his eyes, the blood pressure cuff around his arm, the routine questions.

However, whenever the doctor is distracted recording results or marking down Harumasa’s answers, Harumasa will pull down his mask and make faces at you, to which you’ll respond with a roll of your eyes or your own exaggerated expressions of annoyance.

“Have you been resting well?” the doctor asks sternly, turning back around just as the two of you quickly settle into more typical expressions. “You’re not pushing yourself at work, I hope?”

“I haven’t,” Harumasa says, with wide eyes.

“Hmpth.” The doctor turns to you. “Well? Is he being truthful? As his spouse, I trust you’ll be honest for the sake of his health.” Behind the doctor’s back, Harumasa strikes you with an expression of mock disbelief, raising his eyebrows dramatically. It’s almost enough to make you laugh, but you control the tremor of your lips.

“He hasn’t been pushing himself hard at all,” you say smoothly. “If anything, I think my husband has been resting a little too well.”

“All right. And your medications, Mr. Asaba? Have you been taking them properly?”

“Right as instructed, every morning and night,” Harumasa says. “My lovely spouse would know. They’ve seen me dutifully take all of them.”

“He has,” you verify. From what you know, anyways, Harumasa never misses a dosage.

The doctor peppers Harumasa with more health-related questions and logs down all his answers. It’s over before you know it, and Harumasa leaps off the table as soon as the doctor puts away his clipboard.

“I’ve missed you, cutie,” he says, throwing his arms around you like you haven’t seen him in months, snuggling up to you as the doctor watches with a weary expression.

“The two of you get along well,” he says stoically.

“Oh, we do,” Harumasa chirps.

“Make sure to make a follow-up appointment, Mr. Asaba. Your health appears stable, and your symptoms haven’t worsened.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” you supply, shooting a quick, withering glance at Harumasa, who only gives you a pleading expression in return. “He won’t be late to the next appointment.”

“I appreciate that, Mx…?” the doctor trails off questioningly.

“Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa interjects. “That’s their name.”

“That’s right,” you say. “Thank you for your time today.”

Harumasa wraps his arm around your waist, giving the doctor a lazy wave, and then the two of you are through the door, down the hall, and out of the hospital. Once you’re a street away, Harumasa finally speaks.

“You were excellent there, Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa says.

“Of course I was. Though you don’t need to call me that.”

“Why? I think it has a nice ring to it,” he muses. “Mx. Asaba and Mr. Asaba.”

“I was serious about what I said back there, you know,” you say. “You need to make your follow-up appointment soon. And you should try to show up to it on time.”

“You’re so strict. What if I need you to come with me again to feel better?”

“Then just tell me when, and where,” you say. “If you need me there, then I’ll be there, no matter what.”

A brief flicker of surprise lights across his face, before it smooths out into his usual relaxed smile. “You’re soooo good to me, Mx. Asaba. Since you went out of your way today to help me with such a confidential mission, let me treat you to some food!”

“I suppose that’s what a good spouse should do,” you say.

Harumasa’s arm is still around your waist, but you can’t bring yourself to shake it off as he enthusiastically guides you to whatever restaurant he has in mind. His grip is casual, loose enough that you could shrug it off if you really want to. But if you do, then he’d never pull close to you like again.

Harumasa is attentive in that way. If you set a line, then he would never cross it. All his jokes feel like a casual calculation of the distance between the two of you. How far is he allowed to go? How much are you willing to put up with? What’s the boundary of your relationship?

It’s like he’s waiting for rejection, offering you the chance to push away from him in a way that would make it easier for both of you. The way he touches you is akin to possession, but from a man who’s afraid to say he deserves to call you his.

Yet, if you push a little too close, more than he’s comfortable with, then he’ll run away like a skittish cat, afraid your affection will turn to boredom or cruelty. You’ve been with him long enough to understand this. So you’ll play along with his jokes, his little white little lies and deceptions, if it’s the only way he’ll let you stay close to him.

It’s a date, or a confidential mission, or whatever excuse Harumasa wants to use. What a complicated, beloved partner you have.

“We’re here,” Harumasa says. You’re at a ramen shop, with low stalls pulled up the counter, the simmering heat and steam from the kitchen feeling like a miniature summer. Thankfully, it’s empty, but your disguises ensure that neither your nor Harumasa’s fans will bother you for pictures and autographs in either case.

“Order whatever you want,” he says, and you pick up the laminated menu, browsing through the various options. “Oh, wait. Pose for a second.”

Harumasa pulls out his phone, opening the camera, and aims it in your direction. You make a quick peace sign, menu held aloft in your other hand, and the shutter snaps. “What’s that for?”

“You looked nice,” he says. “I’ll send it to you later.”

“I didn’t realize you liked photography.”

“It’s a good way to preserve things that are fleeting, but important to you,” he says. “Moments that won’t last, people that might leave. Things like that.”

“Are you planning on divorcing me already?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand, peering at him over the top of your sunglasses.

Harumasa places a hand over his heart. “Me? Never.”

The two of you place an order for ramen, and it doesn’t take long for the noodles to arrive. It’s simple, but delicious: hearty, flavorful broth, bamboo shoots, seaweed, fish cakes, slices of charred, fatty pork, and an egg with a jammy yolk.

Neither of you talk as you sit in silence, slurping noodles and drinking spoonfuls of broth. It’s been a while since you’ve gone out for a meal like this, and even longer since you did so with someone that wasn’t some sort of business partner or official whose good graces you need to stay in.

You glance up with a mouthful of noodles to find Harumasa watching you, chopsticks in hand, a small smile on his face, as if he’s never seen anything so charming, his own ramen forgotten. Your face burns for reasons you don’t want to identify; you’re only thankful he doesn’t ask for another picture.

Harumasa lets out a sigh of appreciation when he’s done, placing his chopsticks neatly over his finished bowl. “Soukaku once cleared out almost all the noodles in this place, did you know that? I’ve been meaning to go ever since she told me.”

“Did it match your expectations?”

“I don’t normally like heavy food, but this time, I didn’t mind it,” he says. “Or maybe it’s because you looked like you enjoyed it a lot. It made me appreciate this bowl more.”

“Smooth-talker,” you say. “If you’re done, should we head back–”

“Wait, there’s somewhere else we should go,” Harumasa interrupts, holding up a hand. “We need dessert after a meal, don’t you think?”

“Really? A dessert? What are you thinking of getting?” you ask.

“There’s a popular drink shop around here. They serve milk tea in these cute little Bangboo shaped cups,” Harumasa begins. “I thought it might be fun to check it out.”

“I thought you hated sweet things,” you supply. The two of you stand, and you smooth down your coat as Harumasa adjusts his facemask. You’re ambling down the street again, but this time, you loop your arm through his, pulling him close. It’s an effortless gesture, and it’s startling how easy it is to press so close to him.

“Well, you don’t,” he returns. “And it’s a popular date spot too. Can’t I take my lovely spouse out some more?”

You bump him with your hip. There’s no need to keep up your pretense anymore. There’s no one else here to listen to your lies. Both of you know this, but you can’t bring yourself to state the obvious. If you point out the script, then the curtain will fall and the play will end, your fragile happiness disappearing as the actors take a final bow. “Sure, if you keep paying.”

The two of you end up in front of an inconspicuous milk tea shop. There’s no outdoor or indoor seating, but there is a counter and a blackboard with the menu chalked in, alongside doodles of smiling Bangboo holding milk tea on the side. A tired salesgirl stands in front, her expression at odds with her bubblegum pink uniform. There’s a few teenagers milling nearby, hands cupped around their milk tea and conversing in giggles.

Harumasa tilts his head as he looks at the menu, hanging above the two of you. “They sell iced coffee here,” he muses. “I thought this was a milk tea place.”

“They probably want to offer a variety of drinks for people who might not like milk tea,” you supply.

“What are you getting?”

“The Bangboo special milk tea,” you say immediately. “It’s their speciality, and it comes with a Bangboo shaped cup. If it’s cute, I might take it home and wash it so I can reuse it”

He eyes you with amusement as the two of you approach the counter, where Harumasa slides his card across the counter. You make a note to treat him out to dinner at some point; as much as you tease, it wouldn’t sit right with you if you didn’t return the favor. “One iced espresso and a Bangboo special milk tea for me and my spouse, please.”

“Got it.” The salesgirl doesn’t bat an eye as Harumasa leans against you, his eyes crinkling at the corners like a pleased cat.

It doesn’t take long for your drinks to arrive. Your milk tea is in the shape of a Bangboo’s head, and topped with a pile of jellies over delicately set tiers of differing flavors. You take a sip, and you’re flooded with a creamy, milky sweetness.

Harumasa, who hasn’t even taken a sip of his espresso yet, looks amused as he watches you. “Let me try some of yours.”

“You won’t like it,” you protest, but Harumasa is already pulling down his face mask and leaning towards you. You raise your drink to let him take a quick sip.

He licks his top lip in thoughtful contemplation. “Way too sweet.”

“I told you. Now give me some of yours,” you say. “It’s only fair.”

He obliges without protest, tilting his straw towards you. You take a quick sip, but it’s cold and bitter. You wrinkle your nose; you’re no stranger to coffee, especially when shifts run late into the night, but you still like to add creamer and sugar to take the edge off.

“Coffee is an acquired taste for true adults,” Harumasa says when he sees your expression. “Maybe I’m just a bit more mature than you.”

“Sweetness is also an acquired taste,” you quip. “It’s good to learn to enjoy the sweet things in life.”

“Maybe it is. Oh, wait. Before you finish your drink. Let’s take another picture.” Harumasa pulls out his phone again, and you don’t protest as he raises it and angles it down towards the two of you. You raise your cup, and Harumasa lopes his arm around yours, locking the two of you together.

With a few press of his thumb, he’s done, and lowers the phone for your inspection. You examine yourself the same way a stranger might; the two of you huddled up together, Harumasa’s cheeks red from the cold, your lips drawn into a smile, looking almost like the married couple you’re pretending to be.

“You look cute as usual,” Harumasa comments. “But it makes me look bad. I’ve got to stop taking pictures with you.”

“That’s not my fault,” you protest.

“Of course it isn’t. You can’t help being the cutest person in the world.”

You’re saved from thinking up a response that won’t betray your own embarrassment by the curious giggles of the teenagers across from you. They keep glancing furtively from you to Harumasa, hands cupped over their mouths. You can hear whispers of “Section Six” and “celebrities” which doesn’t bode well for your current anonymity.

Swiftly, you grab Harumasa’s hand and start pulling him away from the cafe, down the streets of Lumina Square. The winter sun has started to droop in the sky, painting the world in a vivid, melting, yolky light. Laughter drifts around you from people lost in their own worlds.

You’re not sure where you’re going, only certain on heading away from anyone who can recognize you. Harumasa follows along gamely, your willing accomplice.

You fly up a flight of stairs and you’re suddenly on the walkway above the streets, the city stretching out below you, buildings stacked like decadent cakes, people little figurines trotting carelessly by.

You’re far away from everyone else now, cocooned in your own world. Harumasa’s fingers squeezes yours playfully, and suddenly you’re aware of how his hand feels in yours, warm skin and calluses from his bow and reassuringly slender fingers wrapped around your own.

You drop his hand, finally, and take a sip of your own drink, which is sweet, so sweet, as Harumasa walks up to the railing and braces his elbow against the metal.

“You’ve been taking a lot of pictures of me today,” you say.

“I want to treasure every moment we have together,” Harumasa says, without turning. A cool breeze stirs, sending his hair fluttering, his clothes rippling.

He’s unfair when he talks like this, the tenderness in his voice making your heart ache over the inevitable future, a predetermined ending. Like he’ll slip through your fingers as easily as water at any moment.

You pull out your phone, swipe to your camera, and raise it to frame Harumasa in the center, backlit by the glow of the sun and the tart light from the windows of buildings around you.

“Look over here,” you call, and Harumasa turns. He’s beautiful, so beautiful it hurts. “Strike a pose.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one taking a picture?” he asks.

“I want to remember you,” you say. “Forever.”

Harumasa tilts his head back. “Me?”

“You’re not the only one who wants to cherish every moment we spend together.”

Harumasa slowly pulls down his face mask, and you can finally see his smile, more brilliant than the sun behind him, flooding through your nerves and filling every part of you with a warm light.

You press your phone’s camera shutter, once, twice, immortalizing Harumasa for as long as you can. You lower your phone, and join him at the railing, looking down below at the peace you’ve both fought so hard to protect.

The world is filled with such endless cruelty and stunning beauty in equal measure. And yet, it’s the only world you have. You tap your fingers against the railing, a nonsensical song.

“For your next appointment, maybe we should try a different restaurant when you’re done,” you say. “And we can walk around and take more pictures. There’s a few art installations around.”

“You sure you want to come back with me? You’ll have to pretend to be Mx. Asaba again, you know.”

“I don’t mind,” you murmur. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“If you talk like that, you’ll make me want to make it official…. Of course, I’m kidding,” he adds before the words can linger for too long.

“Have you thought about getting married?” you ask.

“I couldn’t do that to someone,” he responds lightly. “Besides, it’d be bad for PR. You know how intense our fan clubs can get.”

Of course, you understand. Marriage is an alien thought for a job where you risk your life everyday fighting against Ethereals and venturing into Hollows. You barely have enough time for yourself after long shifts and overtime and late nights, ready to be called into action at the slightest emergency. Could you bear to leave behind someone you love under the circumstances? Could they bear waiting and worrying for you? You would never be able to provide them any form of normalcy.

“Leaving someone behind like that… I don’t think I could do it. Or ask them to understand why I can’t give them an ordinary life,” you say.

“Right, right. I wouldn’t want to make my partner cry,” he says. “I knew you would get it.”

His eyes gleam, two precious pieces of gold. Of course. Neither of you are capable of an ordinary relationship. Whatever the two of you have right now, whatever form you let it take, can’t be named. Something will break if you try.

Carefully, delicately, you lean your head against his shoulder. He stiffens only momentarily before relaxing, a silent affirmation of your presence. Below, cars rush by, the misty glow of streetlights winking into life as the sky darkens.

“I’ll let you know when I have my next appointment,” he says, voice carrying like the wind.

“All right. I’ll be sure to make the time for you, Mr. Asaba.”

He laughs, a low, soft sound. “Thank you, Mx. Asaba. I knew I could rely on you.”

And it’s nice, like this. For just a while longer, you can forget anything that’s happened before, or anything that might happen in the future. Right now, it’s just you, and him, together.

#liya.writes #zenless zone zero #asaba harumasa #asaba harumasa x reader #harumasa x reader #harumasa #zenless zone zero x reader #x reader

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kamdhenulimited · 1 year ago

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Kamdhenu Hollow Sections - Circular, Square & Rectangular

Strength in every structure, safety in every Home. Structural sections for uniform strength and high resistance to torsion. Our hollow sections offer uniform strength characteristics, providing excellent resistance to torsion and improved fire rating, making them ideal for columns.

#circular hollow sections #square hollow sections #Rectangular Hollow Sections #Hollow Sections #Kamdhenu Steel

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ratnasteeltech · 1 year ago

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Square Hollow Section or Circle Hollow Section: Which one is Better for your Project?

#ratnasteeltech #Square Hollow Section #Square Hollow Section or Circle Hollow Section

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roseyodditea · 3 months ago

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You Are (Not) Under Arrests - Asaba Harumasa x gn!Reader

Summary -> ~800 words. Harumasa interrupts your commission.

Warnings -> None

A/N -> I wrote this little meet cute in 20 minutes laying in bed instead of getting up to pack to go home. It was originally just a little something to get me back into the swing of writing again. Enjoy :)

What’s the worst thing you can see as a hollow raider? An ethereal too big for you to take on? Dangerous, but you’re clever so they were never an issue. A PubSec officer? You didn’t dress like the criminal you were, so all you had to do was cry like you were lost and prayed they didn’t notice you had an awfully big hunting knife for a civilian. No, what you looked up to see was the worst possible thing you could see.

“Um,” your brain worked overtime, desperate for an excuse, a reason, something witty to say to the golden eyed man who was now watching you with an amused expression. You tried, but nothing rolled off your tongue, leaving you crouched over the safe you were in the process of breaking into.

“Need help finding an excuse?” Section Six’s Asaba Harumasa said, finding pleasure in the flustered hollow raider in front of him. They didn’t wear the typical gang gear, the goofy looking helmets that had annoyed him to no end. That most likely meant this hollow raider was independent, his absolute favorite type of people to mess with. “It’s actually your safe, you just lost the key when this hollow expanded? Or you’re just testing the lock for a client? Or you’ve been trapped in this hollow for weeks and this safe holds the key to your survival?”

“Something like that…” You sighed and stood up, looking at the man in front of you. You had seen him in the streets of Lumina Square once or twice, and you had learned a bit about him from the group of fangirls that clung to his shadow desperately. You knew Section Six was the best of the best, so for him to be standing in this honestly boring companion hollow outside of Port Elpis had thrown you completely off your game. “Isn’t this a bit below your pay grade?”

“Oh I’m here for personal reasons.” Asaba dismissed. “I’m actually for what’s here in that safe. Do you know what’s in there?”

“Not really. I don’t tend to ask my clients too many questions when I get commissioned.” You shrugged only to see Asaba look… pleased over your lack of knowledge. Bit rude, but you have bigger things to worry about.

“Whatever your client wants I’ll pay double if you let me have what’s in the safe.”

You stared at him blankly, at the H.A.N.D engraving on his metal chest piece adorning the uniform he was wearing. “Not to give you ideas, but why not just slap some cuffs on me and take it for yourself?”

It was his turn to shrug. “Whatever civilians do isn’t really my business.”

“Yeah, good enough for me.” You crouch back over the safe, scanning it for any alarm systems, hyper aware of your audience.

“What if instead of paying double, I pay the regular price and take you out to dinner?”

“Broke or flirting?”

Asaba dramatically gasps, placing a hand on his chest. “A scrappy hollow raider? Insulting me by calling me broke? How dare you!”

You can’t help but let out a laugh. “Oh okay so both.”

“Yeah, both.” Asaba laughs as well.

“And here I thought section six paid well.” You press your ear to the front of the safe, turning the dial until you hear the telltale click, moving to repeat the process five more times.

“They do.” He smirks, entertained by himself. “I just don’t want to spend that money on you.”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response, instead focusing on the safe in front of you, opening it shortly after to see… a stuffed animal and a stack of paperwork. “Well that’s the biggest disappointment of my career.” You step back to let Asaba see it.

“Oh you just don’t know the value of it.” He picked up the stuffed animal and gave it a look before he sighed and pocketed it. He grabbed the paperwork and flipped through a bit of it. “You got a lighter?”

Confused, you reach into your pocket to hand it over. “Smoking in a hollow only attracts ethereals, it’s not-“

Asaba lights the paperwork, dropping it to the ground and watching it burn away. You didn’t understand why there was an emotional weight here, but you let the silence linger, stepping close to him and placing a hand on his shoulder in an awkward comfort as his intense eyes willed the paperwork to burn. You both watched until the paper was nothing but a pile of ash, and Asaba watched for a few minutes longer before letting out a relieved breath.

“Right, now about that dinner date,” he slung an arm around your shoulder and guided you out of the building, leaving behind the negative emotions that clouded the room.

“Oh so it’s a date now?”

-------------------------------------------------

This is the first time I've written in five months please be nice <3

#oneshot #asaba harumasa #harumasa x reader #zzz harumasa

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lovelynim · 3 months ago

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Fanfiction

Zenless Zone Zero - Asaba Harumasa (feat. Reader x Harumasa)

A/N: I don't even know where I start to explain the idea behind this one. Well, fanfics are canon in ZZZ and Harumasa is aware his fans write fics for him so... yeah.

Summary: Harumasa is reading a fanfic at work.

Word count: 1844 words

Harumasa sighed, slouching in his chair while the report pages rested empty on top of his desk. There was still about two hours before he could finally clock out and his body simply refused to waste its energy on filling those insufferable documents.

He already had to risk his life fighting ethereals, exploring hollows and doing medical check-ups, why did he also have to worry about explaining how any of those went? Why did it even matter in the first place? They just happened, weren’t the higher ups glad enough that he saved the day?

“Asaba-kun,” a cold, firm female voice came from behind him, making Harumasa jump in his seat and sit back up straight, dragging him from his thoughts back to reality. “Are you making progress with your reports? It would be troublesome to request another deadline extension after a two month delay.”

“D-deputy chief, you scared me!” Harumasa whined softly, his hand pressing flat against his chest while he looked up to Yanagi with puppy-like eyes. “Of course I’m making progress, but it’s just so har-”

“Good,” Yanagi nodded with a smile, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder, “I’m sure you can make it up for all the reports behind the schedule, Asaba-kun,” she added before walking away to pay some mind to whatever matter was going on with Soukaku and Miyabi.

‘So mean!’, Harumasa thought, how could the deputy chief of all people not even bother to offer him some help with that endless pile of work? He frowned, resting an elbow on top of his desk and his head on top of his hand. Well, there were still two hours, right? He could kill off some time and do that report later…

He reached for his cellphone, which was just by the side of the pile of work he was trying so hard to ignore, and mindlessly moved his thumb around the screen, drawing an arrow and unlocking the device.

Browsing through the interknot shouldn’t be that much of a big deal to most people, but things may get a little interesting when you have an army of restless fans that are chronically online, to say the least. It was still a little hard for him to believe what kind of thing his admirers would do and create: drawings, banners, edits of his fights’ footage with upbeat songs, and even fictional stories… Now that he thought about it, Harumasa was probably the one inside the Section 6 that paid the most attention to these contents: Yanagi usually brushed them off with a polite smile, not even daring to give them a second look; Miyabi didn’t understand the concept behind people’s admiration towards her; and Soukaku only cared about the gifts she could eat.

Still, while being popular could be a little troublesome at times (like when he was trying to sneak out with a certain proxy), having a legion of followers would come handy at boring moments like this. After all, Harumasa knew there would always be something to entertain himself with.

“Masa-masa enthusiasts explain why he is so cute; Check it out!”, “Ten things you didn’t know about Asaba Harumasa!”, “Harumasa caught secret dating?!”, “Harumasa spotted at the Lumina Square! See more pictures here”...

Harumasa rolled his eyes, scrolling past all the posts he deemed dumb. Why was the tag with his name filled with so many weird articles anyway? Where was the good stuff at? He let out a quiet groan, continuing to search for something that actually deserved his attention.

He continued to search, post after post, article after article, photo after photo. After a couple moments digging throughout the interknot, a post from the “Archive of Our Eridu” caught his attention. Finally some good fan made content, Harumasa through, smirking slightly as he clicked the link and opened it.

“‘Harumasa/Reader’, huh..?” He mumbled, shifting in his chair as his eyes moved past the tags, skipping the summary and the author’s notes to finally get to the actual story.

‘You watch your captive slowly regain his consciousness, his muffled groans barely making past the improvised gag and his limbs’ moving restrained by the tightly tied ropes’- Harumasa arched one eyebrow at the content and its form, remembering one of the fanfic’s tags.

Right, this should be someone else’s point-of-view, which means… the said ‘captive’ was him? Wait, how was he supposed to read it if he was doing both roles?

Harumasa frowned, shaking his head. Probably the author never expected him, of all the users in the interknot, to stumble upon this. Still, he should probably just think of ‘reader’ as a different person while reading it, that should make things easier for him to understand and get through the text.

So, back to it…

It was a straight forward setting. The reader in question was playing the role of some sort of criminal organization’s leader while Harumasa played… well, his own role. For some reason, the author skipped the previous events that led to the current scene - Harumasa assumed that would be too much context - and the first paragraphs described some sort of… interrogation? At least, that’s what it sounded like.

“Heh, am I going to fall in love with the bad guys here..?” Harumasa giggled with the thought, surprisingly amused as the reader threatened and tried to intimidate him. “They are making me sound so stubborn here…”

Harumasa continued to read, flinching when the reader snatched the tape off his lips, imagining how much it would sting, and even unawarely mimicking his reactions described in the story: parted lips, half closed eyes, erratic breathing…

‘We already took care of your colleagues. No one is coming to save you, Asaba, you better speak’, he shifted in his seat at that line. ‘Hah, even better. Do your worst, you’ll get nothing from me’, was he actually this sassy? And what’s up with the attitude? Harumasa shook his head, rolling his eyes at the cliché threats from the reader. Maybe he did set the bar too high for some amateur stor-

‘Pain? Who said anything about hurting you, my dear Asaba? I have my own methods of making you talk’, oh? Was that the beginning of the steamy parts? Harumasa looked around the office, making sure Yanagi was still in her seat before continuing his reading.

Being caught reading this kind of stuff would be even worse than getting caught slacking off. Gladly, Soukaku seemed to be doing an amazing job at keeping the deputy chief busy.

Alright, time to resume it.

‘What?’. ‘Ah, Asaba… I’ve always been fond of you, I could never bring myself to hurt that pretty face of yours, but… I still need to make you talk, right?’ He could feel his cheeks warming up a little, imagining the scene a bit beyond what was written.

Ah, this better not be something weird awakening inside him, Harumasa thought.

There was still no action. The story only described how the reader walked around him, wandering in the room and circling the chair he was tied to while explaining to Harumasa the roots of their affection for him. Still, Harumasa couldn’t help but to feel his heart beating a little faster with anticipation - both as the audience and as a form of sympathy towards his character.

The next part had Harumasa leaning more and more on the edge of his seat, going an inch forward with each word read. The description mentioned something like the reader sitting at Harumasa’s lap, popping his shirt’s buttons open one after the other and pushing his shirt away, exposing his bare chest.

‘Get your hands… off me, you f-freak!’. “Why? Are you nervous? Feeling shy? Maybe there is something stuck at the back of your throat? Let me get it out for you’.

Harumasa felt a shiver run up his spine, regretting ever underestimating one of his fan’s work. The description had him wrapped around its finger and even he himself couldn’t figure out what was so good about it - neither what made it sound so awfully hot.

‘You began to drag your fingers around his toned midriff, circling his navel before teasing his sides. You watched Harumasa tense up, sucking in stomach, trying to avoid your touch. You chuckle, fondly, tickling the edge of his waist.’

So this was the torture they had in mind? Tickling? Harumasa looked up, lowering his phone for a moment and contemplating the idea. Unexpected, yes. Unwelcomed? Not sure. He couldn’t really tell if he was ticklish - was there ever a time for him to figure it out?

Of course, the lack of this confirmation didn’t stop this fan, it seemed. He should probably leave a like in their work for the effort - finding a piece of information that Harumasa himself wasn’t aware of. Heh.

But, back to the fanfiction… Why was it making his heart flutter? Or, even better, why was he struck by the imaginary feeling of it?

He could feel a ghost-like sensation roaming his body. Unconsciously hitching his breath, brushing a hand over whatever spot was mentioned to get rid of the phantom feeling and even catching himself smiling at nothing but his own thoughts.

‘Harumasa laugh helplessly under your hands. You dig your finds under his arms, squirming your way past his defenses despite his efforts into clasping his elbows to his torso. He throws his head back and you can’t help but to give his neck a little tease’.

“...w-what kind of freak would be into this stuff?” He groaned quietly, pouting while his cheeks felt warmer than before. Harumasa even lifted his hand - after hesitating a little, for some reason - to rub his neck, trying to shift his attention from the nonexistent sensation.

Stomach, side, neck, ears, thighs, knees, waist, feet, back… even his hands! How many words did that fanfic even have?!

Harumasa crossed his legs before leaning back into the chair, his breathing quickened for some reason. “A-ahm, does anyone mind if I turn on the AC?” Harumasa whined sheepishly, hooking a finger around his collar to loosen it.

“No, go ah- Asaba-kun, are you feeling alright?” Yanagi asked, furrowing her brows slightly with concern. “You actually look sick, do you need me to-”

“I-it’s fine, deputy chief,” Harumasa sighed, wiping a drop of sweat from the side of his face and fanning it with his hand. “Just a little… overwhelmed, I’ll be fine,” he pulled out a forced smile, making Yanagi nod despite the doubt.

He should stop reading these things at work…

Brr, brr.

Wise lifted his head from his pillow, turning around and giving his attention to his phone instead of trying to sleep. Reaching out to it, taking him less than a couple swipes to check the reason behind the noise.

[A guest left ludos on Harumasa’s Interrogation], read the e-mail. Wise shrugged, placing his phone back on the table. Well, at least something was doing numbers, unlike this commission he was stuck at… but he should be able to do it after a good nap!

#zenless zone zero #zzz #zenless zone zero tickling #zzz tickling #asaba harumasa #lee!harumasa #ticklish!harumasa #kinda #i mean #there is also a bit of #harumasa x reader #but oh well #whatever

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tritonalloysinc · 2 years ago

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takusan-no-ai · 1 month ago

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The Dueling Princess

PAIRING: Miyabi x Male Reader (Romantic) (Fluff)

SUMMARY: (Y/N) is a long time friend of Miyabi’s and has a crush on her; so when opportunity strikes will he finally confess to her?

Souichirou was always happy for his daughter to grow up with a friend. And that friend was (Y/N), someone who was there for Miyabi through all the hardships and fun. They guided each other through the ups and downs and never left each other behind.

They grew up together, graduated together, and even worked together at H.A.N.D., a place where only the most skilled could protect society from the danger that was the hollows.

However there came a time, likely somewhere in their childhood, where (Y/N) felt…differently about Miyabi; he still liked her, and he enjoyed his time with her. But it was different. Different from the friendship they always had.

She made him nervous. And he could feel his heart pound faster every time she was near. It got even worse whenever she’d challenged him to a duel. Or when their faces would be centimeters apart because she wanted to train in a staring contest. He could just feel his face burning.

It wasn’t until they graduated together that he finally realized what he felt for her. And it was at that moment he would dread not being able to see her as much. They were both grown now, with responsibilities, and anything could happen at any moment. So with some much needed encouragement from Zhu, he asked Miyabi to meet him on the school rooftop, their last day at the academy.

Sadly Miyabi was quite popular. And she obtained the admiration and interest of many potential suitors. That is to say, (Y/N) couldn’t have a single moment of peace to ask her out. Every time he wanted to confess, boom, another admirer asking for Miyabi to “Step on me” appeared.

And it wasn’t just frustrating for him. Miyabi couldn’t train in peace, work in peace, or even spend time with her childhood friend in peace. It made her so frustrated she would often get territorial over her free time with (Y/N); just wanting a moment to go back to the good old days with him.

But that attention wasn’t just one way.

As they grew up and eventually became coworkers, (Y/N) being in Section 5 and Miyabi being in Section 6. (Y/N) amassed a small fan base himself. Periodically getting love letters from admirers, thirst posts about him on Inter-Knot. It didn’t seem like a big deal to him, but to Miyabi it was upsetting. And she couldn’t pin point why for the life of her.

Seeing him interact with those fans. Smiling for them. She knew it was just to be courteous; she’d done it before herself. But it didn’t stop upsetting her.

…

“You’re possessive.” Yanagi said, readjusting her glasses. Miyabi looked at her in astonishment.

“Possessive? But why would I be possessive of him?” She asked herself. Yanagi sighed, looking at her chief pout, ears faltering. “Is it not normal to want to have personal alone time with your friend?”

“Yes, it is. But two things can be true at once, Chief.” Yanagi grabbed a stack of files. “More importantly, you still haven’t filled out your report on the western hollows. And for the ones you did, you instead played games of tic-tac-toe.” Her gaze managed to make everyone in the room shudder.

“It was for training purposes—”

“Overtime with no pay.”

…

But alas, so long as they both had such strong admirers with no restraint, they could never truly have as much time together as they wished. That’s when it clicked for her. The perfect solution to their problems.

“I’ll just get a boyfriend.” She thought aloud whilst viewing the moon with (Y/N). They were on a secluded rooftop of one of the many establishments within Lumina Square. He nearly choked on his own saliva.

“What?! Are you daydreaming again?” He asked her, genuinely hoping he just heard his long time crush wrong and needed to get his ears checked.

“If I challenge all my admirers to a duel, with the winner getting to date me, the others will naturally back away. Then we can spend more time together. After all, I won’t fail.” She said it like it was the most logical thing in the world. He looked at her with a bemused gaze. “My training will not fail me.” Miyabi reiterated.

“Yeah, I know you’re strong. That’s not the problem though. What if you did lose? You’d still have to spend time with him. Which would mean less with me. And…also…,”—he awkwardly scratched his nape—“If you want to spend time with me so much, I could just be your real—”

“Is that Miss Miyabi of Section 6 and Mr (Y/N) of Section 5?! Can we get your autographs?!” A crowd of fans cheered loudly from below the building, gazing up at the pair. In hindsight, they probably should have picked a higher roof.

“Ah, we’ve been spotted…,” Miyabi’s voice drifted off. This was clearly an unwanted conclusion. “We can see each other again tomorrow. For now, though, I would like to view the moon some more with you, somewhere else.” Miyabi gripped his sleeve and the pair darted past their adoring fans.

They found a more secluded spot on the lighthouse at Port Elpis. There they gazed at it once more.

“(Y/N), the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” Miyabi asked.

“Yeah. It is.” He answered. Looking at her.

And so, with bated breath, they separated for the night. It was that night they both made their decision; Miyabi would dissuade all her admirers. And (Y/N) would take this chance to finally confess to Miyabi.

…

The day came. Miyabi made the announcement public thanks to the resources provided by her father.

The line was impossibly long. Contenders battled with her one after another. But none of them could even reach a stalemate with the void hunter. And each participant that lost ran with tears in their eyes, all chances to romance Miyabi ceased.

She hadn’t broken even a single sweat. And her plan was quickly coming to fruition. Not only would she get the benefit of more quality time with (Y/N), but she’d also get an easy training session. “Eating two melon cakes with one mouth.” She muttered.

“Still making your own poetry as a part of training?” His voice echoed in her heart. For once in a long time, Miyabi could feel her pulse quicken. But it wasn’t like before, when…she died. It was softer. Warmer. Kinder. It was…

“I’m in love with you, Hoshimi Miyabi. And I am here to challenge you to a duel. And when I win, I ask that you accompany me on a date to the movie theater.” (Y/N) stated boldly. He was blushing but hid his nerves behind a cool demeanor.

Miyabi smiled.

“Thank you…and sorry.”

“For what?” He asked, already itching for battle.

“Thank you for confessing your love to me. And sorry because, even though I reciprocate…I still intend to win.” Her sword gleamed in the reflection of the sunshine.

(Y/N) smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

- Fin

#zenless zone zero x reader #male reader #miyabi hoshimi x reader #miyabi hoshimi #oneshot

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abswrites · 1 month ago

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sweat, chapter one - spencer reid

summary: (musician!spencer) spencer reid wants two things in this world. number one: to be a world-famous musician. number two: to kiss his childhood best friend. but the price of fame is higher than either of them expected.

✧˖° author's note: this is part one in what i imagine to be a loooooonggg fic, so buckle up. i write in vignettes, so the story (most likely) won't go chronologically. also, get ready for ANGSTTTT in the later parts.

✧˖° contents/tw: substance abuse, addiction (fame has not been kind to spencer), fem!reader, high school!spencer, high school! reader, lowkey a prologue but shhhhh, not proofread.

✧˖° words: 3.7k

October 12th, 2016 - New York, New York

Sweat.

Slick, salty, sticky sweat.

Spencer couldn’t get his mind off of it if he tried; how it clung to his aching, sluggish body as he moved. It was like he was drowning with every drop that dripped off hollowed cheeks.

He couldn’t focus on anything else.

Well, that, and scoring some more coke after the show.

Every step was built into his muscle memory at this point. Where he stood on stage, how high he’d raise his hands after the guitar solo, how loud the massive crowd would scream like banshees.

It was getting old. He was getting old.

Physically, he was in the best shape of his life, if you exclude the drinking, the smoking, the snorting, the unprotected fucking.

He didn’t even need an alarm clock anymore. The pounding in his head worked just fine. But with every puff or snort or swallow, that feeling of light and exuberance faded away that much more.

So he started drinking doubles.

And look where it got him: lip-syncing in front of 20,000 of his devoted fans.

This was never what he had in mind.

He figured he’d be in his last year of college, studying music with a small gaggle of nerds and a sweet, brown-eyed girl by his side. Mornings spent reading in bed, afternoons spent studying at a coffee shop, and nights filled with laughter and Dungeons and Dragons. Maybe a beer or two if he was feeling wild.

“Thank you all so much for coming out tonight, I love each and every one of you.” He lied, his voice echoing through the entirety of Madison Square Garden, a venue he used to dream of playing with his buddies.

The banshees erupted once more. He tried to ignore his splitting headache.

Just pick a spot and smile.

His eyes darted along the barricade, a plastic smile etched on his face. He waved, he mouthed “thank you,” he even winked to a particularly perky redhead.

But as soon as his eyes landed on the private section in the corner, his smile faltered, but never fell. Not completely, anyways.

A few of his buddies, a few girls he’d fucked, a few more he planned to. All of them clapped and cheered, though, not nearly as enthusiastically as a “best friend” should. Especially on his birthday.

His eyes glanced over to the security guard standing with a clipboard and list of VIPs. Nobody else was in line to get in.

He wasn’t sure if it was the coke, the heavy bass, the blinding spotlights, or maybe all three. But his heart stopped beating.

She didn’t come.

His first thought was anger, like an involuntary reflex. She’s a bitch, anyways. Always holding me back.

But it didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to rethink. When was the last time he’d shown up for her birthday?

When was the last time he’d called?

When was the last time he’d seen her?

When was the last time he knew anything about her life?

A wave of guilt flooded his senses, making his already-erratic heartbeat quicken. He couldn’t believe she never showed. This was the gig he always dreamed about as a kid. A dream he dreamed with her.

But could he really blame her?

August 2nd, 2007 - Las Vegas, Nevada

“I’m telling you, y/n, it’s gonna happen.” He said, his voice squeaking in a mixture of determination and 16-year-old excitement. The Vegas sun beat down on him, leaving his lean frame covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His sunglasses slid down the bridge of his glistening nose.

“Well, I’ll be sure to get tickets when it does.” I said, lazily fanning my own sweat-streaked face with my hand. My t-shirt clung to my torso, parts of the white fabric turning grey and translucent from my wet bathing suit underneath.

The left side of Spencer’s mouth curved upward.

“Promise?”

My expression mimicked his.

“Promise. But I should at least get discounted tickets,” I chuckled. “You know, some kind of longest-running fan sale.”

Spencer smiled, leaning back against the shitty, cheap, plastic pool chair. A few drops of water clung to the small smattering of chest hair he’d grown over the last six months. I could remember the night he called me about it, excited at the prospect of finally becoming a ‘real man.’

“Please, you’re gonna get a whole VIP section to yourself.” He said. “Well, maybe you’ll have to share it with whoever Avery’s hooking up with at the time.”

A soft snort escaped my nostrils.

“He’s such a horndog.”

Spencer nodded and shrugged. “Can you blame him?”

I rolled onto my side, facing Spencer as I rested my hand on my palm.

“Yes, I can.” I teased. “Avery’s got the whole douchebag drummer act down to a science. I just don’t get why so many girls like it.”

“Girls like douchebags.” Spencer said, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose.

“No, we don’t.” I retorted.

“Avery’s track record begs to differ.”

I narrowed my eyes at Spencer, sitting up from the plastic poolside lounger.

“That’s because Avery’s idea of dating involves flirting, fucking, and running away as soon as there’s an inkling of something serious.

Spencer chuckled. I wasn’t wrong, after all.

Aside from me, Avery was Spencer’s oldest childhood friend. Born in the same town in the same year, growing up on the same street with the same interests… it was destined to happen. It wasn’t long until they started playing music together in Spencer’s garage or Avery’s basement.

But while Spencer retreated within himself, embarrassed by the trials and tribulations of puberty, Avery thrived. Every weekend there was another girl, another party, another wild story to share.

He knew that I couldn’t stand him, but it didn’t stop him from idolizing everything he did. Spencer wanted to be cool, just like him.

“Oh come on, he’s not that bad once you get to know him.” Spencer said coyly.

I slid my sunglasses on, turning to sit up and take off my water-stained t-shirt before lying back down on my stomach, letting the intense August sun warm my skin like a heat lamp.

“You’re right. He’s worse.” I said before nuzzling my head against my arms.

Spencer’s eyes dropped from behind his sunglasses, tracing every inch of my exposed back. Every pore, every divot, every curve caught his eye. He felt his heart skip a beat at the sight, trying to ignore the fact that the only thing between him and my breasts was a small string bikini loosely tied atop my shoulder blades.

“He’s just not a relationship kind of guy,” Spencer coughed, forcing himself to look away from my skin, grateful for his polarized sunglasses. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, my head buried beneath my crossed arms. “But the way he does it… it’s sleazy. He gets these girls to ignore their better judgement enough to trust him, gets into their pants, and then shuts them out after.”

Spencer’s smile faded as he registered my words.

“Okay, yeah, that’s not great.” He admitted, rubbing some sweat from the back of his neck.

“It’s hurtful,” I replied. “Which is why I don’t understand why you idolize him so much. You’ve got such a big heart.”

“I do not.” Spencer protested, as if it was a bad thing to be a gentleman. Ah, teenage masculinity.

“You called me in tears when you turned Rebecca Flores down.” I quipped back, peeking my head out from behind my arms with a toothy smile.

Spencer grimaced, his face scrunching up.

“God, don’t remind me of that,” He said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I still feel bad.”

I laughed, lifting my head up more. Spencer’s eyes darted across the smattering of freckles across my cheeks - a trademark of a fun summer.

“First of all, she’s gay now,” I giggled. “Second, you cared about her enough to want to avoid hurting her feelings. Sure, I’m sure it sucked for her in the moment, but you did the right thing. The kind thing. That’s not something you should be embarrassed about.”

Spencer scrunched his mouth up again.

“I guess.”

“I know,” I responded, sitting up to face him, patting him gently on the shoulder. “That's why I like you way more than Avery.”

Spencer’s heartbeat quickened at the touch as he looked into my eyes. He hoped the blush forming on his cheeks could pass for a sunburn.

“Yeah, well,” he started, his lips curving into a bashful smile. “I like you more than Avery, too.”

March 20th, 2009 - Las Vegas, Nevada

To say the waiting was killing us would be the understatement of the century.

For 4 months, Spencer and I had spent every moment dreaming about UCLA. The research programs, the music school, and the idea of getting to explore LA together… it was everything we wanted. It seemed so close yet so far out of reach.

“You gotten anything yet?” Spencer asked, his voice ringing out over the phone. It was shaky and giddy.

“Not yet. We’ve still got 4 minutes.” I said, my voice even shakier. My eyes were glued to the computer screen as I waited for the email to pop up. There was a beat of silence, the dull crackle of the phone filling the void.

“I don’t think I’m gonna get in.” I said, trying to mask the dejection in my voice.

Spencer’s eyes widened as he held the phone closer to his ear.

“What? Why wouldn’t you?” He asked.

“Because I’m nowhere near as smart as you.” I mumbled.

Another beat of silence.

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. Don’t lie to me, Spence.”

“I’m not lyin-”

“Yes, you are.”

There was another beat.

“I’m coming over.” He said quickly.

“Wait, Spence, don’t-”

The dull buzz of the dead line rang out from the plastic landline on my nightstand. I sighed, setting the phone back on the receiver with a click.

The silence was maddening. I pulled my knees to my chest, resting my head on them, finding no comfort from the soft fleece of my pajama pants.

Despite the fact that it was only in the mid-40s outside, I could feel the sticky sheen of sweat clinging to my palms and the back of my neck. My heart was hammering in my chest as I prayed to any god that would listen.

Please let me get in. I don’t want to say goodbye yet.

Since we were 6 years old and Spencer’s family moved in a few streets over, we’d been inseparable. We played in sprinklers, we rode our bikes, we wrestled for the last bomb pop from the ice cream truck.

We snickered to one another about the throes of puberty; our first zits, our first armpit hairs. We shushed one another excitedly as we recalled the details of our first kisses. Both were sloppy, wet, and disastrous. But we didn’t care.

We helped one another get ready for our first and last school dances. I tied his tie and pinned his boutonniere , he slid the corsage on my wrist and zipped up my dress. Our mothers must have snapped a thousand photos of us. We spent the whole night dancing (poorly, I might add) and the early hours of the morning laughing and throwing popcorn into one anothers mouths.

It was that night, hours after the junior prom ended, that I realized that I may like Spencer. Like, like him.

At first, the thought mortified me. I cannot like him! He’s like my brother!

But I found myself doodling hearts on the margins of my physics homework every time he’d walk me through the problems. It was hard to focus on calculating velocities when he sat just inches away. Especially when he finally ditched the Axe body spray and started wearing real cologne.

But now, a little less than a year later, the thought didn’t embarrass me anymore. If anything, it made me sad. I was too chicken-shit to ever make a move, too terrified at the prospect of ruining over a decade of friendship. It was better to bite my tongue until it bled. It was better to fill locked diaries with pages and pages of how nice his hair looked or how handsome his smile was. It was better to think of him late at night, letting my heart race and eyelids flutter as my hand dipped below the loose elastic of my waistband. It was better to imagine the feeling of his lips on my cheek, my neck, my-

No. Enough. Snap out of it. It’s not going to happen.

I let out a deep sigh, my shoulders slouching as I rubbed my eyes to try and knock some sense into myself. I need to focus on what’s right in front of me.

Even if it means I won’t see him much after graduation… that this could be the beginning of the end.

The idea of losing him stung worse than any wasp ever could.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The sound of small pebbles hitting the window pulled me out of my episode of teenage angst.

“You know, I’ve got a front door. You should try it some time.” I scoffed, sliding up the windowpane as his long and lanky form bent over to crawl inside.

“This is more fun.” He responded, his dirty converse leaving behind some specks of Nevadan dust as he stepped into my room, his clunky, sticker-covered laptop tucked under his arm.

I rolled my eyes, eyeing him knowingly. He slipped his shoes off.

“You heard anything yet?” He asked, plopping down on my quilted comforter, resting his laptop on his stomach as he opened it.

“It’s not 8 yet.”

“God,” he groaned, clearly impatient. “Can they just hurry up already?”

I sat down next to him, albeit a little timid. Spencer was a genius. He was guaranteed acceptance at any school he wanted. Me, on the other hand…

“Are you still nervous?” He asked, sitting up to face me. His eyes were a little tired, but still warm and kind like always. As I glanced into them, I couldn’t help but think about how much I’d miss seeing them everyday if I didn’t get in. I nodded sheepishly, letting my eyes drop back down to my clasped fingers in my lap.

“Look at me.” He instructed, his voice firm but quiet.

I did as I was told.

“You’re gonna get in.”

I started to protest, letting my eyes drop back down to my lap. He pulled my chin, turning my head to face his.

“Look at me.” He repeated. As his long fingers grazed my chin, I felt my heart skip a beat and another sheen of sweat start to form on the back of my neck. I did my best not to gulp nervously like a cartoon character.

Spencer wasn’t normally one for much physical contact, but I seemed to be the exception. He didn’t ever say anything when I’d hold onto his arm to steady myself on the bus, or when I’d tuck a particularly curly and wild strand of his hair behind his ear. It was this contradiction that left my head spinning when I wracked my brain to figure out if he might like like me back.

“You’re the smartest girl I know. If they don’t let you in, it’s their loss, not yours. You hear me?”

Still completely dumbfounded by his fingers - which still lingered on my chin - I nodded silently. For a moment, I let my eyes flick down to his lips. His perfect, pink lips. My whole body screamed at me to throw caution to the wind and shove mine against his. But I didn’t let my gaze linger. I couldn’t.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Thanks, Spence.”

Before he could say anything else, the sound of the small cuckoo clock on my dresser filled the room.

“You ready?” He asked, stifling a nervous, toothy grin. As I turned my head back from the clock, I saw his eyes flick up ever so slightly.

What had he been looking at?

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I sighed.

Without another word, Spencer took my hand in his own, squeezing tightly as he opened his laptop and refreshed the page.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

My world blurred as Spencer cheered at the sight of his acceptance letter. He was going. He was really going. With or without me.

“I’m in!” He laughed, still holding onto my hand tightly. “I’m going to LA!”

I smiled despite the agonizing feeling of panic building in my chest.

“I’m so happy for you, Spence.”

He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing.

“What does yours say?” He laughed, still holding onto my hand tightly.

I pursed my lips uncomfortably.

“I don’t think I can open it.”

He stared at me, his expression falling ever so slightly.

“(Y/N), just open it. You’ll feel better just knowin-”

“No, I wont.” I snapped, my voice nervous and icy as I dropped his hand, standing up from the bed. I ran my fingers through my hair.

His eyes widened as he recoiled from the echo of my voice. I never snapped at him, even when he really deserved it.

“Why not?” He asked, standing up next to me, trying to force my eyes to meet his.

I bit my tongue, lamenting the building frustration in my veins.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” He said before even thinking about it. “Tell me.”

His gaze was microscopic, looking so far inward I fear he could see right through me. I had to turn around just to gather the courage to speak.

“It’s just,” I mumbled, wracking my brain for the right words to say. It felt like I was writing my college essay all over again. “I’m gonna be sad if I can’t be with you in the fall.”

I stared anxiously at my window, not daring to turn around and face him. It was silent. I bit my lip, hoping he was just trying to think of the right thing to say.

“Well,” he started, his voice quiet.

Oh god. This can’t be good.

“Good thing you won’t have to.”

What?

“What?” I snapped my head around.

There he was, sitting with my computer in his lap, the screen facing me.

Congratulations on your admittance into the UCLA class of 2013!

“Oh my god,” I said, my voice breathy as I yanked the laptop out of his hands in disbelief. Was I dreaming? Was this real? “Oh my god!”

I don’t know whose smile was wider, mine or his. In this moment, it felt as if anything was possible, as cheesy and cliche as that sounds. For the first time in my life, it felt like everything was in the right place. It felt like I was in the right place.

Especially as he wrapped his long arms around me and squeezed.

“I told you!” He chuckled into my ear, squeezing me tightly. “You can’t get rid of me that eas-”

For the first time in my life, I did something without thinking.

I kissed him.

Almost immediately, he pulled back, his eyes wide and his lips smeared with some of my lip gloss. He stared at me in disbelief, as if my face was a text in a foreign language that he was trying to decipher. I felt my heart sink.

The shame and embarrassment followed shortly thereafter.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking,” I stuttered out, covering my mouth as if it would undo the massive mess I’d just created. Involuntarily, my eyes darted towards the floor. I couldn’t stand the sight of his face as I imagined the horrified expression contorting his delicate features.

“I don’t know why I did that, I’m-”

I didn’t even get a chance to look into his eyes before it happened.

My senses went into overdrive as I felt his lips smash against mine.

Needy. Hungry. Desperate.

Without so much as a thought, my hands found their way into his hair, each finger intertwining with one of his shaggy curls. I pressed my chest against his, allowing myself to stop thinking and just feel.

His hands snaked their way onto my hips, pulling me closer against him as he leaned back against the bed, almost losing his balance. Each one of his fingers had electricity in it, sending fiery jolts of excitement and pleasure into my stomach. My lips pulled back just enough for a breathy gasp to escape my lips.

His eyes widened ever so slightly.

That was all it took.

Before I even registered the movement, he’d pulled me onto the bed, our heads resting on my pillows as we stared into one another’s eyes before locking our lips together once more.

Maybe it was the teenage hormones, or maybe it was the fact that I was convinced I was dreaming, but I felt like I couldn’t stop myself. His lips felt like velvet against mine; soft and lush. The smell of his cologne - sort of a musky teakwood - fluttered into my nostrils, causing the butterflies in my stomach to flap their wings even harder.

As I let my senses guide me, the kiss slowed, fading from a fiery fervor to something tender, deep, and loving. A sweet kiss from a sweet boy.

For a moment, he pulled back his lips, resting his forehead against mine. His wide brown eyes stared into mine, a mixture of excitement, relief, and understanding splayed across his face. It was the most intimate thing I’d ever experienced.

“Wait,” He sighed out, clearly a little out of breath. His cheeks were flushed and warm under my fingers.

“What is it?” I asked, worried I’d done something wrong or that he’d say this was all a huge mistake.

“Are you just kissing me because you got into college?”

My brows furrowed. He mimicked my reaction.

“You know, for a certified genius, you’re kind of an idiot, Spence.” I said, my lips contorting into a wide, toothy grin. I couldn’t help but laugh.

After a moment, he did, too.

“Good,” He chuckled in relief. “Because I don’t think I could keep myself from kissing you again if I tried.”

He pressed his lips against mine again.

Maybe I was right.

Maybe everything is right in the world.

Maybe - no, not maybe…

I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

so this is quite literally the first fic i've ever posted on this hellsite (but defo not the first one i've written lol) so if you like it pls let me know! also, i'm taking requests. fire away, friends. <333

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid au #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #tw substance abuse #musician!reid #musician!spencer #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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ratnasteeltech · 3 months ago

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square hollow sections

Square Hollow Sections (SHS) are a popular type of structural steel tube that serves as a middle ground between Rectangular Hollow Sections (RHS) and Circular Hollow Sections (CHS) in terms of attributes, appearance, and structural behaviour. SHS features a flat surface that is economical for joining and welding, requiring minimal edge preparation and offering clean lines. With a symmetrical appearance, SHS is formed into equal-sided square sections, distinguished from the circular shape of CHS. This design provides an ideal balance between strength, functionality, and aesthetic appeal for a variety of applications requiring these three aspects

#square hollow sections #ratnasteeltech

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turcott3 · 6 months ago

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hands on me

brady skjei x fem! reader

warnings?: smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cockwarming, oral m receiving, lightly fluffy, cursing

kinktober mini series!!

you felt a long sense of nervousness around brady, almost at all times. not a bad nervous, just scared of the judgment you were gonna receive after posting your halloween post on instagram together.

you knew what was coming.

brady being 30, and you only 21 was sure to offset some people. you sat on your bed staring as notifications flooded in, looking up to see brady with a white towel hung low on his waist after a shower.

“did you post it?” he asks.

“yeah i did. i’m a little scared about the response.”

“put the phone down y/n. who cares what they think of us. i love you, nothing anyone can say in an instagram comment section is gonna change that.” he says, taking the phone from your hands and placing it face down on your nightstand.

“look so gorgeous in your new set.” he smirks, using two fingers to guide your eyes up to his.

“thanks, you’ll never guess who bought it for me.” you reply as he leans down to kiss you passionately. he drops the towel from his hips, revealing his hard cock, almost hitting you square in the face.

“want me to…” you trailed off, his eyes giving away his answer and you giggled devilishly, taking him into your hands, pressing kisses down the shaft as you locked eyes with him, your tongue tracing pictures along his skin before paying careful attention to his tip.

you took him into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks, his hands holding the back of your head as he pushes himself into you, gagging as he hit the back of your throat. your eyes pricked with tears as you held onto his large thighs, coughing as he removed himself from your mouth, your slut webbing from the corners.

“can you finish me off quick baby?” he asks and you nod.

“such a good girl.” he smiles, bringing you in for a quick kiss before putting you back to work, bobbing your head up and down his large cock, hitting the back of your throat each time. you paid close attention to his sensitive tip, feeling his cock twitch in your mouth, shooting his cum down your throat, allowing him to finish completely before pulling him out.

“tastes so good.” you tease, wiping your mouth with your arm before his leans down, his tongue diving straight into your mouth before pulling away slightly after a few moments.

“lay down, i want you to warm me.” he mumbles in your ear and you comply, finding your way under the covers, shaking your panties loose from your hips. he climbed in bed, laying face to face, bringing your lips to his as he nudged his slightly hard cock against your wet core, pressing into you. you fought the urge to grind your hips as he grew rock hard inside you, tucking your head into his neck as you bit your lip.

“fuck.” you moan.

“shhhh baby.” he replies quietly, stroking your hair as his other arm was wrapped against you.

“feels so good, s-so deep, so full.” you groan against the skin of his shoulder as you chuckle, vibrating his cock inside you ever so slightly.

you laid there impatiently, remaining calm so he wouldn’t deny finishing you off. he was never rough with you, he just knew what he wanted and you would always give it to him.

“nothing anyone can ever say would ever change how gorgeous you are to me and how much i love my pretty baby, you know that right my love?” he mumbles in your ear, mustering up the courage to peel your head away from his forehead you smiled at him.

“i know, and i love you impossibly more for it.” you reply, your eyes flip flopping contact between his lips and his eyes, bringing his lips to yours for a soft and sweet kiss, almost so light it felt like a dream. he deepened the kiss slightly, beginning to rock his hips in and out of you slowly, filling you up with each thrust.

“fuck.” you moan against his mouth as he nipped your bottom lip. grabbing onto your waist, he flipped to his back, having you on top of him as you grinned your hips back and forth, your nails scratching his bare chest as his grip on your ass tightened, your warm, wet walls hugging him tighter and tighter with each movement.

“baby i’m gonna- fuck.” you moan loudly as a swift wave of euphoria passed through your muscles, your thighs shaking as you tried to keep moving through your orgasm, his hands assisting you as you bounced up and down quickly on his throbbing cock, swelling bigger before pumping you full of his milky seed.

slowing to a stop, you catch your breath, a slight giggle shared between the two of you. he tapped your ass to signal you to get off but you denied.

“why baby?” he asks as you lean over wrapping your arms around his torso.

“want me full of you.” you mumbled into his neck, his hands running up and down your back, sighing in contentment.

“so perfect for me angel, so so perfect.” he replies kissing your shoulder delicately. after a while he finally pulled out, rolling you onto your back, your legs straight up in the air.

“why are you doing that?” he chuckles.

“don’t wanna spill any out, gotta keep it all for myself.” you reply simply.

“mmmmmm need to go again to double our chances.” he says, referring to the one thing that turned you on the most, turning your head sharply to him as he smirked, bringing you in for another kiss.

#brady skjei #brady skjei smut #brady skjei x reader #brady skjei imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl smut #turcs’ talk

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