I can't decide on which one to choose between Touching #28 or #35 so you can choose which ever one you want or you can do them both or you can somehow merge them into the same oneshot. Whatever you want!
There was another request for #28, so I'm going to go with #35 ("kissing their bruises and scars"). I've based this on some of the gifsets and behind-the-scenes images I've seen; giving Olek these scars was clearly an intentional detail (no doubt part of his backstory), although there's no explanation for them in the show.
Olek had little experience with women.
His brothers used to tease him, calling him a monk or sometimes Saint Olek, but the truth was he was mostly shy. Girls made him nervous, the way they looked at you, the way they laughed behind their hands, and by the time he felt confident enough to start looking back he was already gone from the village, in a camp full of men working in the oil fields. There were a few women there, it was true, but they were the kind you paid for, and besides being shy, Olek was also poor.
Perhaps that helped explain why the girl in his arms seemed like nothing less than a revelation. Ling Yi was so beautiful, from a world far beyond the earthy reality of his own, but for some reason she had chosen him. He still could not entirely believe it, although she worked to convince him of it every time they were together, curling her arms around his neck and peppering him with kisses. And so what Olek lacked in experience, he did his best to make up for with enthusiasm.
They did not always have the luxury of time, often having to wait until night, when their absence was less likely to be noticed. But occasionally they found moments during the day, slipping away from the others to find some quiet corner or deserted stairwell. One afternoon, Ling Yi pulled him into an empty second-class stateroom and behind the locked door they reached for each other, laughing and kissing as they stumbled toward the bed.
The golden afternoon light spilled from the porthole as they lay there, most of their clothes having been discarded along the way. Olek brushed his callused fingers along her collarbone and the shallow indentations of her ribs, barely breathing for all that he was in awe. It was hard to imagine anything as perfect as she was, delicate and soft as down, so warm under his touch.
Ling Yi did not let his explorations go unanswered, and it was clear she was curious, her wide gaze taking in as much of him as she dared. Her fingertips traced the ridges of his brow, then skimmed the slope of his nose, before dipping lower to his throat and down the center of his chest. It was all he could do not to shiver.
Her hand stilled, stopping as it reached the right side of his chest. Olek held his breath, unsure what her reaction would be. Against an otherwise smooth expanse of skin lay a spiderweb of puckered flesh, measuring about the width of her palm.
She let her fingers run along the pale lines, her gaze following, and with her touch Olek began to feel the stirrings of shame. It was terrible to look at, and he knew if she kept looking, it would not be the only one she found. There was a matching burn mark along his left side, and still other scars, other places he had bruised and bled. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was true. Compared to her, what was his body but a map of imperfections, a reflection of hard-worn life he had been given?
Ling Yi glanced back up at him, her dark eyes wide and serious.
"How?" she asked in halting English.
What could he tell her? It wasn't something he liked to remember, much less talk about. What he mostly recalled was the pain, incandescent and searingly deep, and the aroma of hot pitch mixed with what he realized was his own burning flesh. The bosses called it an accident—another worker had let a lantern overturn, setting an overflowing barrel alight—but before it had happened, Olek had noticed the other man's stumbling gait, the smell of cheap liquor on his breath. He had spent less than a day in the camp infirmary before they sent him back out to the fields, the bandages still weeping.
Olek pressed his lips together, his mind sifting through the foreign words, even though he found little to aid him.
"Fire," he finally told her.
Ling Yi nodded, although her expression remained blank. She would probably turn away now, not wanting to look at his marred skin any longer—and he wouldn't blame her. How could she not be at least a little repulsed by what she saw?
But then she moved closer, her head dropping down, and Olek stilled in shock as he realized what she was doing. Her lips gently pressed against the ridges of his scar, soft as a blessing, an unspoken gesture that it did not take him long to understand. It is part of you, she seemed to say, and I will take it along with the rest.
And yet for all the sweetness of her kiss, it burned just the same, searing heat of a new and different kind swiftly igniting across his skin.
[send me an Olek x Ling Yi kissing or touching prompt]
21 (jealousy kiss) for ling yi and olek pls! loving them rn after the 1899 binge
What's so fascinating about this ask is that kissing #21 is actually "tearful kisses" — and that "jealous kisses" isn't on the list at all! But I still think it's fun, so I'm going to do it anyway! This is inspired by an ask I got about the 1899 New York AU and Olek catching the interest of a girl who works in the same factory.
Once the lunch bell rang, Olek rubbed his hands along the front of his trousers to wipe off most of the grime and then grabbed his tin pail from the shelf by the door. There wasn't much in it—some bread and cheese, a small red apple—but it would have to hold him until the end of the workday and the dinner waiting for him at home. He headed down the stairs and then outside, where there was an open area with some benches. A lot of the men liked to eat inside, where it was warmer, where they could talk and grouse and boast in that way that men did among each other, but Olek preferred the fresh air.
As he sat, pulling the items one by one from the pail, he felt a shadow fall over him, only for it to disappear as the person who cast it took a seat on the other side of the bench.
“Not much of a lunch,” a voice said in Polish. “Unless you've got some kielbasa at the bottom of that pail.”
Olek shrugged, then glanced up, acknowledging the girl sitting across from him.
Kasia worked a few floors up from him, manufacturing lacings, along with some other women and older children. She was one of the few Poles working in the factory—it was mostly Ukrainians and Germans—and as soon as she had learned Olek was also Polish, she had started sitting with him at lunchtime, often sharing some of what she had brought from home.
He wasn't quite sure why she looked for him each day—it wasn't for any need to speak the language, as she lived with her parents and brothers and sisters in an apartment on East 7th Street—but he didn't mind the company. She was nice, asking questions about his family and where he grew up. She had come over when she was five, so she didn't remember her village all that well, and Olek supposed she liked hearing stories about the old country. And maybe she pitied him a bit too, given how often she offered him some of her food. Her mother made it in their small kitchen, she told him. To Olek, it tasted exactly like home: pierogi ruskie, still-warm gołąbki, yeasty bread rolls. Sometimes there was so much that he suspected she was bringing in extra just for him.
He didn't know how old Kasia was, but she couldn't have been more than a year or two younger than him. She looked like a lot of girls he remembered from home: reddish-brown hair tucked into a crown of braids atop her head, dressed plainly and modestly in a skirt and apron, a shawl over her shoulders for warmth. If Olek had a sister, she probably would have looked like Kasia.
“Here,” she said, unwrapping a napkin filled with sliced sausage and handing it to him. “Courtesy of Mrs. Glazewski.”
“Thanks,” Olek replied, doing his best not to immediately wolf down the food in front of him. He wasn't sure what Kasia's mother put in her kielbasa, but it was far more appealing than the meager offerings he had brought for himself that day.
“I told her about you, you know.” Kasia pulled a hunk of bread from the roll she had tucked into her own pail and popped it in her mouth. “She thought we needed to make sure you were fed properly. That's why she gave me the extra today.”
Olek nodded, both grateful and embarrassed. It was true that he didn't have much in the way of home cooking—neither he nor Ling Yi knew how to cook very well, much less how to make traditional Polish dishes—and to someone like Kasia's mother, it probably would seem like he was being deprived.
Kasia glanced over at him, pressing her lips together before she spoke.
“And she said you should come over for dinner some night. She could make anything you wanted.”
There was a pause as Olek tried to think of what to say, how to explain that he wasn't available for dinner when he had someone waiting at home for him. Kasia smiled nervously, evidently still waiting for him to speak.
“I think she's just glad I met a Polish boy,” she finally added. “She was worried when I got this job, telling me that I'd never get married.”
Olek could feel his cheeks turning warm, flooding with realization. He might have thought of Kasia as a sister, but it was clear she did not necessarily think of him as a brother. And all the conversations they had shared over lunch, the food she had given him—it wasn't out of pity or homesickness. She was interested in him, and what she was asking him, at this very moment, was if he was interested in her too.
“Kasia, look...” he began, without really knowing where to go from there.
“You don't have to answer right now,” she said quickly. “You can let me know later.”
“No, it's... It's a very nice offer. And you're kind to offer it. But I can't accept.”
“Why?” Her brow furrowed in confusion. It must have seemed confusing—they were both young, with a lot in common, and they had already struck up an easy acquaintance—why wouldn't inviting him to her home be the next step? “Wait...” she asked, “are you married? You've never mentioned anyone.”
Olek opened his mouth, once again lacking the words to explain himself. How could he tell her about Ling Yi? There wasn't anyone he had told about her, mostly because as an unmarried couple, they shouldn't have been living together in the first place. And, of course, he was Polish and she was Chinese—and there were many people who would not have looked favorably upon that at all.
“I'm not married,” he told her. “But there is a girl I'm going to marry.”
It was only as the words passed through his lips that he understood the central truth of them. He had never spoken of marriage to Ling Yi—it had never come up at all—and most days he never thought about it, leaving the future to be considered at some later, undetermined date. But he knew now, in a way he hadn't let himself consider before, that he was going to marry her one day. Olek loved her more than anything—more than he had ever thought possible—and he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life.
Still, that realization wasn't going to do much to help the girl sitting beside him.
“Why didn't you say anything?” Kasia asked, her eyes downcast.
Olek shrugged. He wished he had something better to tell her, a way to lessen her disappointment.
“I didn't know it mattered to you. I'm sorry, Kasia.”
She nodded, then began to pack up the remainder of her lunch back into her pail. There were some awkward final moments as Olek tried to thank her again for the food and they both said goodbye. He didn't know if she would try to talk to him again after this—he wouldn't blame her if she stopped coming outside at lunch.
The next few hours were a blur as he tried to focus on his work while replaying the conversation in his mind over and over again. He felt so foolish for not recognizing the signs of Kasia's interest before today—they had been right in front of him, clear as day—and he wished he had found a better way to let her down. She was a sweet girl and one day she would find someone who would make her happy. But today had to have been very hard on her and it was terrible to know that he had been the one responsible for her heartache.
The other question, of course, is what he would tell Ling Yi. He had never mentioned Kasia to her, not because he wished to hide the girl, but because it seemed so inconsequential. And what would Olek tell her now? Their shared vocabulary was rudimentary at best, and he would somehow find the words to explain the situation in a way that left no cause for concern? Ling Yi was not a jealous girl—she had never once questioned him or his devotion to her—but why give her any thread of doubt to pull on? He didn't want to put that burden on her, not if he didn't have to.
On the way home, he bought them dinner, tucking it under his arm as he made his way down the crowded street to their building.
In the hallway, he could hear a baby screaming, and a man's voice yelling louder to make it stop. One day, Olek thought with a smile, after they're married, they'll leave this place and find somewhere peaceful and quiet to make a home together. There would be no long hours, no loud neighbors, no counting their pennies before the rent was due. He liked imagining this future, one where they had each other—and perhaps a few children—with all their other worries kept at bay. It was possible, wasn't it? In that moment, it felt like it was just within arm's reach—and she was right there, so very close.
He rushed to the door, throwing it open, and finding her at the kitchen table. Within a few seconds he had pulled her into his arms, picking her up and spinning her around the floor.
“Olek!” she squealed, only to be quieted as he pressed his mouth to hers. Her arms curled around his neck, bringing him closer, kiss upon kiss following in quick succession.
He pressed his face against her neck, not trusting himself with anything but his own words. “Ling Yi,” he murmured, “chcę się z tobą ożenić.” He knew she didn't understand. But one day, he promised, she would.
[send me an Olek x Ling Yi kissing or touching prompt]
In his dreams the ghosts arrive, pale-eyed and silent, shadows drawn across faces, a discordant buzzing sound reminding him that none of it is real, even as it aches with familiarity.
The scrape of a chair against a wooden floor. His father's grunt and the roll of his powerful shoulders as the wood splits in half along the oiled blade of the axe. His mother's hands kneading bread, the sour tang of dough filling his nostrils even as it transforms into something bitter and resinous. Olek reaches out to make it stop—for he has watched this happen so many times, these shards of nightmare coming to life—but he is powerless. His fingers pass like air through his mother's sleeve, his feet stuck to the floor as the ink-black pitch rises higher and higher: ankle, knee, thigh, then chest. They are all there with him—mother, father, brothers—sinking into the stygian darkness, faces covered in tar with only the whites of their eyes left to glare accusingly at him. And they are right to accuse, for all of it is of his making. He is the monster and the nightmare is his own.
Olek wakes in a sheen of sweat, disoriented, his heart pounding in his ears. His eyes blink open into darkness, but of a different kind than before. It feels softer, a comfort rather than a curse.
Still, there is enough light to see her there, to watch her hand reach out towards him, palm resting against his chest like a benediction. Ling Yi is whispering something, a soft susurrus, the meaning clear even if the words are not. In the dim lantern light, she moves closer, her touch a reassurance that slowly starts to anchor him back into the world. She traces her thumbs along the curve of his cheeks, finding them wet, a remnant of his dream—and a reminder of all that he has lost.
Perhaps it is a miracle, then, to have been found.
Her breath warms his skin, a gentle prelude to the sensation of her lips following the path of his tears. Olek's heart begins to stir once more, but he waits, surrendering himself to her, until no trace of the bitterness and salt remains.
[send me an Olek x Ling Yi kissing or touching prompt]
i am here to ask for touching prompts 44, 14, and 3. (If they haven’t been done already) i am literally infatuated by olek and ling Yi and ur prompts r fueling my obsession with them. thank you for your service lafiametta you are carrying this fandom on your back.
So #3 ("hiding face in neck") has already been requested, but I'm happy to do a combo of #44 ("sitting on the other's lap") and #14 ("putting an arm around the other's waist"). Again, set in the New York AU, with a bit of a holiday twist! (For a visual reference and more info about Olek's gift, click here.)
One Sunday in late December, she and Olek take the elevated train and then a streetcar to his brother's apartment in Brooklyn. Besides being a Sunday, it's a religious holiday and the two of them have been invited to join Janusz and his wife at the service in their neighborhood church and then for a small, celebratory meal in their apartment afterwards.
Outside, the air is so cold, her breath crystalizing in puffs of white, and she pulls her thin coat closer, hoping for a little extra warmth.
Inside the church it's more comfortable, and while Ling Yi does get several errant stares—and a few more blatant ones—she's glad for the peace and calm the service provides. There's some singing and praying and at times they're asked to stand or to kneel. Olek closes his eyes when he prays, his forehead pressed against his clasped hands, and she smiles to herself at how he looks, so sweet and sincere. After it's over, they trudge back to Janusz's apartment, where they sit at the wooden table and share a meal of beef and boiled potatoes. There's a cake, studded with dried fruit and a dusting of sugar, and while Ling Yi isn't much for sweets, she lets Janusz's wife serve her a full slice. Most of the conversation is in Polish, leaving her with little to contribute, although she does offer up a few things Olek has taught her. Both Janusz and Agnieszka seem appreciative of her effort, and far less distrustful than they had been when she and Olek first arrived on their doorstep.
After the meal, they exchange gifts. The ones Olek and Ling Yi give are modest, just plain handkerchiefs that he purchased second-hand and that she embroidered with either navy or rose-colored thread. Janusz and Agnieszka thank them both, and then Janusz presents them with a handsome mantel clock, its dark wooden base carved and polished to a sheen.
By the time they head back across the river, the afternoon light is thinning, the winds picking up, and Olek slips an arm around her waist, warm and heavy against the cold.
Once they're home and have had a moment to light the stove, Olek takes the clock over to the shelves of their makeshift parlor and tries to find the most appropriate place for it. Ling Yi sits at the kitchen table and slips off her boots, then tries to rub some feeling back into her toes. She becomes so preoccupied that she doesn't immediately notice as he comes to sit in the chair beside her, his hand reaching in his pocket for something that he places right in front of her.
It's small, no larger than her hand, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.
“For you,” he says in English, a touch sheepishly. His cheeks are flushed with pink, something she would attribute to the cold outside, but she suspects it has more to do with the gift he's put before her.
She glances at him curiously, even as her heart is growing fuller by the moment. Olek has already given her so much; why would he think she would need anything more than what she has already?
Receiving no other answer, she pulls off the twine, fingers eagerly unfolding the paper to reveal the object inside.
Ling Yi stills, her breath catching in her throat.
It's pale green, a smooth and perfectly polished circle, cool to the touch even though a part of her would swear it feels alive. She hasn't seen a jade bracelet like this in more than a year, not since the one she wore on her left wrist since she was a girl was painfully tugged off, lost and forgotten somewhere in Hong Kong with many of their other belongings.
The instructions had been specific: when Ling Yi boarded the English ship in the harbor she needed to look Japanese, with no trace of the Chinese girl she had been. The bracelet had to go.
It had been given to her by her mother years earlier, for good luck and protection, and it had grown so tight around her wrist that it was nearly impossible to remove. The outside of her hand had been mottled with bruises for several weeks afterwards, and during the long ocean journey she often found herself pressing her fingertips into them, the pain a distraction from the feelings of guilt and loss that threatened to overwhelm her.
But how would Olek know any of this? He wouldn't, of course. He probably just thought the bracelet was beautiful—which it was, admittedly—without knowing what it would mean to her. She smiles a little, thinking of how he must have secretly searched for something in the pawnshops of Chinatown, how the proprietor must have taken one look at him and immediately decided to charge double the cost of whatever he wanted to buy.
But he had found this for her. And with it, he has given something back to her, a piece of herself she thought forever gone.
It takes a moment before she realizes she is crying.
She glances over at Olek, who looks horrified. His eyes are wide, searching, as if he's trying to figure out what has gone wrong.
“No?” he asks, his voice tinged with worry, as he reaches out and lays a hand over her arm. “No good?”
Ling Yi shakes her head, smiling at him through her tears. “Good,” she tells him, repeating the word again and again as she wipes her cheeks dry. She slips the bracelet on her wrist; it slides easily, with only a hint of resistance, as if it was meant to be there.
With a painful tug in her chest, she realizes she has nothing to give him in return.
The only thing she has is herself, and her heart—for all that it's worth.
Pushing up from her chair, Ling Yi walks over and lowers herself into his lap. Without hesitation, Olek's arms circle around her waist, pulling her close, enveloping her within the warmth of his body. Her hands curl over his shoulders, catching on his shirt collar, her head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. It is so calm and peaceful here, a shelter from the coldness of the world outside.
“Dziękuję, Olek,” she whispers, using one of the words he had taught her at this very table. He makes a small, contented sound and then kisses the top of her head, as his arms curl more protectively around her.
[send me an Olek x Ling Yi kissing or touching prompt]
My baby's need to get clean soooo: Touching #34. washing the others body.
@dangdiggitydang also asked for #34, so I hope you both enjoy! ;)
Before Mrs. Wilson arrives, Ling Yi's mother insists she take a bath. The tub is not a large one, squeezed inside the lavatory of their stateroom, but the water is wonderfully warm, gushing from out of the brass faucet with little less than a half-turn of the knob. Once immersed, Ling Yi stretches out her legs a little, then pulls them up so that she can sink down and let the water cover her shoulders.
It's hard not to be nervous, knowing what's going to happen. She knows what will be required of her—the act itself is no great mystery—but it's hard to imagine what it will actually be like. It will probably hurt, but hopefully not for long. Ling Yi remembers the way the Frenchman spoke to her on the deck, his words soft, almost sad, so it's possible he might be gentle. At the very least she knows he will not be ugly.
She finds a bar of rose-scented soap and uses it to wash along her shoulders, across her chest and under her arms. There's dirt staining her knuckles and black rings under her fingernails, and despite the temptation to start scrubbing at it, she stills, thinking back to how it must have gotten there.
The boy. Olek.
He had been covered in dirt from head to toe, along with everything he wore. And yet that had not stopped her from pulling on his jacket, taking his hand, wrapping her arms around him and holding on as if he was the only thing keeping her from disappearing. He was a stranger, his words a burble of sound she didn't understand, but his brown eyes were kind, looking at her as if he truly saw her—the real her, and not one of the painted masks she wore.
He had held her, his arms solid and warm around her shoulders, and she hadn't wanted to let go.
Ling Yi lathers the soap onto her hands, a secret smile playing on her lips. For a moment, she wonders what she would do if Olek were here, his wide-shouldered frame suddenly filling up the space in the narrow lavatory. The tub would not be big enough for both of them—a stray thought that manages to bring a rush of warmth to her cheeks—but he could certainly fit in it by himself. What would he look like without all that dirt, his skin clean and pink from scrubbing?
First, of course, she would have to get him out of his filthy clothes. She would be mindful of his modesty and turn around as he undressed—although it wasn't as if she hadn't seen such things before. At home, fishermen often plied their harbor trade wearing very little, the sun beating down on their bare chests and the rounded curves of their shoulders. Those men had been thin and wiry, though, whereas Olek was bigger, his arms thickly muscled.
Once in the tub, he would probably protest that he was capable of washing himself—more of that modesty rearing its head—but Ling Yi would insist. Why else would she be there if not to help? Besides, she would be gentle, and careful not to push him too far. Soon enough, any remaining resistance would fade and he would let her wash along his arms and shoulders, across his broad chest, and up the column of his neck. Leaning forward, he would give Ling Yi room to thread her fingers through his hair, soap lathering in between the dark strands. Here, she might be a little rougher, scratching at his scalp until she heard him softly groan.
Ling Yi pulls herself from her reverie, a little surprised to find herself still in the tub, the water turning cool. Even more surprising: her palm is resting against the inside of her thigh, having drifted there without her noticing. Despite the lightness of her touch, the skin feels feverishly warm, startling enough that she pulls her hand back to the surface, water splashing to the tile floor.
She can hear her mother outside the lavatory, clearly about to call for her to finish her bath. The preparations need to be finished; soon enough, Mrs. Wilson will be here and then it will be time to keep her appointment with the Frenchman. Ling Yi breathes out, attempting to loosen the growing tightness in her chest.
But maybe it will not be so bad, in the end. Perhaps, while it is happening, she can find a way to let her mind run free. From there, she thinks, it wouldn't be hard to find him again: warm and clean, still damp from the water.
[send me an Olek x Ling Yi kissing or touching prompt]
I don't know how many prompts you received so far, and I hope this one won't make you even more busy, but I just had the best ideas! So, you can choose:
Touching #42. Braiding the other's hair (Olek's completely in love with Ling Yi's hair!)
Touching #23. Carrying the other one in their arms + Kissing #58. "Forever mine" kiss (coming home after their wedding??? can u imagine!!! 😭🩷)
ORRR
Kissing #48. Kisses to shut them up (you know. you know! 👀)
I decided to go with the first option (“braiding the other's hair”), but I'm going to reserve my right to do the other two at a later date! Set in the 1899 New York AU, one of my favorite spots to visit... :)
He comes home after work to find Ling Yi in the middle of the kitchen, seated on a stool and leaning over a tin bucket. Water drips from the ends of her wet hair as she wrings it out.
Her face turns to glance at him, a bright smile forming on her lips. “Olek!” she says, with some additional words of greeting, and then returns to her task, hands squeezing along the rope of her dark hair.
She likes to wash her hair frequently, carrying the bucket down the hall to the spigot and hauling it back to their apartment nearly filled to the brim. Some days, she'll wash his hair too, and Olek will find himself being pushed onto the stool and dowsed before she lathers up the soap and threads her fingers through the wet strands. She can't do much about the rest of him—but that's something he can see to himself, either with a daily wash at the basin or a trip to the public baths a few blocks away for a five-cent soak.
Sometimes it feels like an unending labor, keeping the dirt and grime off their bodies and their clothes and everything they own. Despite their best efforts, nothing ever seems to stay clean for very long.
Perhaps the only exception is her hair.
Back home, Olek had never really been one to notice girls' hair. It came in different colors, of course, shades of blond and brown and everything in between, sometimes frizzy or straight, or tucked modestly under a kerchief. But nothing about it made it seem all that interesting, much less like an object of allure.
When he first met Ling Yi, it was all he could look at, the way it covered her like a veil, and when he sank his fingers into it, it felt like strands of fine silk. The color was so dark, ink-black against her pale skin, but in the light it gleamed with auburn and honeyed gold. After those first few days on the Kerberos, when she had let it fall loosely down her back, she took to braiding it—nothing so ornate or complicated as the other women had, but a simple plait hanging between her shoulder blades. Each morning before she leaves for work, she braids it the same way. Then at night, before bed, she'll undo it, combing her fingers through the strands, leaving a dark spray across her back. In the darkness of their bed, it trails across the pillowcase and falls against his skin, light and tantalizing, and he'll reach for it, gathering fistfuls into his hands.
Olek loves her hair in a way he can't fully explain. It's so much a part of her, something he can't imagine her without, even as it's left unbound for no one else but him.
The rinsing complete, she grabs a small cloth and begins to dry her hair, rubbing vigorously along her scalp and then down the lengths. While he's hanging up his hat and coat, Olek half-watches as the damp strands grow into further disarray. Having done its duty, the cloth is finally discarded on the table, replaced by a delicate tortoiseshell comb with a silver handle. It was one of the few items Ling Yi brought with her from the Kerberos, and he suspects it's one of the most valuable things they own. She has never mentioned why she kept it and he has never asked; perhaps one day, though, she will tell him the story.
The comb gently moves from the crown of her head down to the ends of her hair, and then back up again, straightening and smoothing, the tines of the comb leaving tiny parallel lines in the sleek surface. She does this a dozen times, maybe more, until it lays flat and straight over her shoulders.
Reaching back, she begins to separate it into sections, as if she's going to put it back into a braid. He's seen her do this so many times that he recognizes the dexterous movements of her fingers, the precise way they grasp and turn, as if without thinking.
“Zaczekaj,” Olek says, the idea appearing in his mind so quickly that he doesn't have time to conjure up the word in English. He walks just behind her, placing his hands over hers, callused fingers slipping around the sections of her hair. “Let me,” he asks, a touch haltingly.
He isn't sure why he's asked this of her—it seems strange for a man to be doing this for a woman. Certainly Olek never saw his father braid his mother's hair, nor anyone else's for that matter. Besides, it's not as if she isn't fully capable of doing it herself. Only it's something he wants to do for her, this tiny thing, and as he's standing in the middle of their kitchen, he senses that perhaps it isn't so tiny, that it means something more in a quiet corner of his heart.
Ling Yi turns back to look at him, her eyes cautious even as a small smile begins to play along her lips. There's a nod and she pulls her hands away, ceding the task to him.
He struggles at first, his hands feeling too big, too clumsy. He has none of her sureness or her speed. Even though they're still damp, pieces fall from his grasp, and when he picks them back up, they lie unevenly, bumps protruding from the central plait. He's almost ready to give up by the time he reaches the end, and then she hands him a small ribbon, which he's able to tie on with only a little more difficulty.
She pulls the braid over her shoulder, eyeing the end result. Olek's certain she has to be disappointed—how could she not be when he's made such a mess of it? She will probably just pull it out and start again, this time without his poor attempt at assistance.
Instead, she stands, reaching up to take his face into her hands. She looks inordinately pleased—with what, he has no idea—but he's not about to question it, especially not after she arches up and presses her lips to his. He can smell the damp in her hair, the sweet floral scent of the soap she used to wash it, and for a moment he's lost in it, lost in her.
Ling Yi pulls back, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. And then suddenly her hands are on his shoulders and she's pushing him down onto the stool, leaning down close enough that she can whisper playfully into his ear.
“You now...”
[send me an Olek x Ling Yi kissing or touching prompt]
Thanks, Anon! For this prompt ("dancing with each other"), I decided to go with mechanic!Olek from 2099.
Their shift had ended an hour ago and Jérôme wanted to go out. Not that there were any real places to go on a ship as compact as the Prometheus, but the prospect sounded better than heading back to the crew's bunk room, which was crowded and noisy and almost always smelled like unwashed socks.
Olek had a brief wash in the lav and threw on some clean clothes. Up above, in the ship's passenger sectors, no one would really care what he looked like—he was just a faceless, forgettable mechanic, after all—but he didn't mind putting in a little effort. There was still some grease under his fingernails and he did his best to scrape it out as he and Jérôme made their way up an ill-lit stairwell and then down a longer series of cylindrical corridors.
Back home, it would never qualify as a bar, or even an overly-glorified canteen, but they served alcohol and played music loud enough to drown out the need for trivial conversation. Jérôme ordered drinks and they found seats at the counter, even though the only ones available were uncomfortable metal stools in obvious need of repair. Had Olek kept his tools on him, he would have had half a mind to turn his upside down and start tightening all the joints one by one.
They didn't talk much, which suited Olek. Mostly he just listened to the music and half-heartedly observed the other patrons, his mind drifting off from time to time. He still had his questions about this voyage—when would they finally arrive? and what would be waiting for them at their destination?—but he knew enough to know there would be no real answers, at least not tonight.
He was pulled from his thoughts by a flash of movement, coming from the makeshift dance floor. Surrounded by a handful of couples, a girl was dancing by herself—keeping time with the beat while somehow moving to a rhythm entirely her own. Olek watched, entranced, as her body swayed, hips and shoulders rolling while her arms extended upwards in abandon. She was beautiful too, with long black hair half-caught in a messy bun, clad in an expensive-looking orange and pink dress. A passenger, of course—most likely from one of the upper decks.
He glanced away, but not soon enough to escape Jérôme's notice.
"She's pretty," he said, and in the face of Olek's continued silence, pressed further, elbowing his friend in the arm. "You should go talk to her."
Olek made a rough, non-committal sound. He had indulged Jérôme enough already, agreeing to come out with him tonight; he wasn't in the mood to embarrass himself by trying to chat up an upper-deck girl.
Jérôme's eyes glinted mischievously. "Or I could go over and talk to her... Tell her that you've really been admiring her moves."
Olek glared at his friend, who he desperately hoped was joking. From his expression, though, it seemed like Jérôme had every intention of making good on his threat. With a growing tremor in his pulse, Olek glanced over at the girl again; she had stopped dancing, pausing as she reached up to tie her hair back in place. There was something about her he couldn't quite put his finger on, something he couldn't name, familiar and foreign in the same breath. It was pulling him towards her with invisible threads, unexplainable but seemingly impossible to ignore. And it was enough that despite his hesitation—and his irritation at Jérôme for goading him so successfully—Olek found himself rising to his feet and walking over to the dance floor, threading his way through the crowd until he reached her side.
She glanced up at him—a stranger suddenly in her midst—her dark eyes wide as her expression slowly shifted from confusion to curiosity. Olek, suddenly tongue-tied, could think of nothing to say, except of course the ridiculous line Jérôme had given him, which managed to escape his lips before he fully realized what he had done.
"You're a beautiful dancer," he said, leaning closer to her so as to be heard over the noise.
Her smile was delicate, a touch unsure, even as her brows furrowed. She opened her mouth to speak and it took Olek a moment to realize she was speaking in a language not his own. From her expression, though, it seemed like she wanted him to repeat himself.
"I said, you're a beautiful dancer."
He wasn't sure if his words had made any more sense to her the second time, but all at once her eyes lit up, cheeks rounding in pleasure as she nodded in rapid agreement. But to what? He hadn't asked her anything.
She reached for his hands, fingers threading through his, sparks of warm current flickering in the space between. Her body began to move, swaying to the rough beat of the music, bringing him along with her—and suddenly it became clear. She must have thought he had asked her to dance, even though he never would have presumed to do so. For someone like him—a dirty mechanic, a nobody from below decks—it was enough just to look and to admire her. Whatever mysterious connection he might believe they shared, he had no business touching her, no business being so close.
And yet he was touching her. He was close enough to feel the warmth of her body as it brushed against his, close enough to see the small pinpricks of sweat in the hollow of her throat, the bow-shaped curve of her lips.
There it was again—the feeling that he could not deny. It held traces of long-forgotten memory, of paths forking and joining in an endless cycle. Was it possible that she sensed it too? One look in her eyes—dark and wide as the night sky—told him that it might be.
"I'm Olek," he said, then tapped his chest for emphasis as he said it again. "Olek."
It was hard to hear her in the middle of so many other things: the music and the voices, the pounding of his heart. But she pointed at herself, the words soft and clear as if spoken for him alone.
"Ling Yi."
[send me an Olek x Ling Yi kissing or touching prompt]
Kissing 25 (kisses in the rain) is fun, cute, and romance all tied together in a beautiful package! ^^
So this is probably more angsty (and less fun and cute) than you had envisioned, but I still hope you like it!
She must have seen something on the deck—what it was, he had no idea—but it was enough to send her running from the bridge, her silk gown billowing behind her as she was swallowed up in the wind and the pounding rain.
Olek was dumbfounded; the two of them were the only thing keeping the ship from capsizing, so what could be so important to abandon her position at the wheel? Regardless, Ling Yi was gone, and without her, he had little hope of keeping the Kerberos steady.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered in Polish, and then ran after her.
When he found her again, she was halfway to the railing, taking unsteady steps across the roiling deck, arms outstretched towards something he could not see. He held onto one of the mast lines for support and yelled out to her, hoping to be heard through the wind and the roar of the waves.
“What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
It was enough to get her attention, and she looked back toward him, as if somehow surprised to find him here with her. Still, she didn't come any closer, and then turned back to the deck and the open sea, like whatever she was looking for was still out there. But there was nothing—at least as far as he could see.
“Quick!” he shouted. “We have to get back!” He knew she didn't understand, but he hoped the urgency would be clear enough. If they didn't return to the bridge soon and steady the wheel, the entire ship could be lost to the storm and there would be no saving any of them.
A wave broke over the side of the ship and suddenly Ling Yi was lost behind a blinding veil of water. She screamed, the sound enough to give him hope that she had not been swept over the railing, and he bellowed her name, his eyes frantically searching along the deck, finally finding her in a soaked, crumpled heap.
Olek scrambled towards her, pulling her to her feet and bringing them both back to the safety of the mast line. He couldn't tell if she was crying or struggling to breathe, but he wanted her to know that he had her, that she was going to be alright. His hands reached to cup the sides of her face and he pressed his forehead to hers, creating a tiny, quiet refuge in the midst of the storm raging around them.
“You won't die. Not today,” he murmured. “I promise.”
He stepped back, trying to get her to follow him towards the stairs that would take them back to the bridge. There still might be enough time to keep the ship from sinking, but they needed to hurry.
From the corner of his vision he saw it: a churning, furious wall of white that seemed almost alive as it hurtled over the side of the ship. And then it hit him, the force of it so powerful as to knock him from his feet. For a moment, everything went silent and still, and Olek was filled with the startling clarity of the realization that this was how he was going to die. He could hear Ling Yi screaming his name, her voice floating above the roar of the wave, and he reached out, knowing it would do little to save him, but hoping that the gesture itself might be able to convey all the things he would never have the chance to tell her.
He felt only the cold as the seawater enveloped him, about to pull him into the sea, but suddenly there was a flare of warmth and solidness as something caught him by the wrist. It wasn't very strong, but it was enough to keep him from being swept back to the railing, and he fell to the deck, coughing and sputtering for air. He couldn't see anything, not with the wave still battering him, and so he blindly felt for whatever had reached for him, finding an arm and a thin wrist he could grab onto.
The water flooded past the railing, receding enough that Olek could partially sit up, somewhat astonished to find himself on the deck of the Kerberos and not sinking into the depths of the ocean.
Ling Yi had collapsed beside him, her hand still clasped tightly around his wrist.
He reached for her, lifting her up a little, turning her face towards his so that he could look her in the eyes and make sure that she was unharmed. Perhaps it was also to convince himself that he was there too, which seemed so improbable. And yet he was, sitting next to her on a howling, rain-drenched deck, the two of them miraculously still alive.
“Olek,” she breathed, followed by a string of incomprehensible words, laced with worry and relief. Her arms wrapped around him, bands of warmth pulling him close, and all at once her lips found his brow, his cheek, and then his mouth, fast and desperate, as if it was the only way to know that he was real. Olek kissed her back, his eyes falling closed as his lips sought hers, deliberately, thankfully, as if he had all the time in the world.
The rain soaked their skin, the ship beneath them rolling on the waves of a storm-tossed sea. They would have to go back to the bridge soon, and pull the Kerberos back from the precipice. Olek had made her a promise, one that he intended to keep. But for now, it was enough to be alive, to hold onto one another for a moment longer. It was enough to know that their story would not have to end here.
[send me an Olek x Ling Yi kissing or touching prompt]
