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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: ii

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii (epilogue)

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @firein-thesky

word count: ~15.2k

Healing takes time, but it’s easier with someone else around who’s on the mend with you.

(You and Keigo learn to start living again.)

warnings: codependency but make it sexc, injured reader, post-trauma symptoms, reader has abandonment issues, angst, ouchies <3

a/n: part 2 :’^) we made it!! soft hurt and very horny codependency that involves keigo’s immaculate d*ck. all that is left after this is part 3 which will be more of an epilogue :’^)

enjoy loves <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The doors to exit the hospital scare you.

How can they not?

They’re... automatic.

The glass panes are wide, sliding and slapping as folks come and go, the quiet ring of metal on metal and the slap of the plastic padding makes your heart race.

Get over it, get over it, get over it—

It’s just some doors, they’re normal.

You’ve walked through automatic doors so many times. Never before had you even taken conscious note of them.

(But that was before you heard them let in that man who—)

Without thinking, you take a little, tentative step back from them.

Consider you are leaving your own slice of healing hell; you are shakier and sweatier than you would’ve liked. Your clothes are like the ones... he used to wear, cheap garments obviously pulled from some industrial multipack that stank like plastic and rubbing alcohol.

You hate it.

But you didn’t have another choice. Your old articles were bloodied and disposed of long ago, and the hospital gowns you wore during your stay were far more uncomfortable than your scratchy, wide pants and crewneck long sleeve the same pale, lifeless blue as your old bed sheets.

It would be enough.

You shift the crutch under your right arm and shuffle the backpack on your shoulders. It contains just enough to get you to the shelter, where they’d supposedly have a bed— a cot, more than likely. You had a toothbrush, some extra socks, and a prepaid card for a single, one-way train trip across the country and into the unknown.

Tears stung your eyes as you lingered by the doors.

It all feels so uncomfortably real. The world kept moving, and you’re reentering it far-more battered and perpetually bruised.

And completely alone.

(The thought horrifies you to your core, but you try to ignore it.)

Despite the time you spent at the hospital, you were leaving without a hint of reverie. Everyone, nurses and doctors and anyone who has fucking eyes is too busy dealing with the casualties that had lasted months.

It didn’t matter how long you stayed. You were just a body. A fucked up one too.

You count yourself lucky to even have the backpack, as cheap and sterile as it smells.

It all unnerves you, but you didn’t have a choice. Numbness settles over you as you accept your future.

There... is a little glimmer that he will show up.

(He won’t. Empty promises.)

(Everyone leaves.)

(Why’d you call him, anyway?)

(Because no one had spoken to you like a human in a month.)

Solitude makes people desperate and crazy.

You are a little crazy, you know. Maybe not in a bad way, but certainly in a way that is eating you up and out in ways you don’t understand. You don’t have the energy sort through it all. You just have to finally start moving forward. Or try to.

Tentatively, you walk toward the doors, stepping out and onto the pavement. You lurch and you would’ve tripped if not for the crutch shoved under your arm.

For the first time in a long time, you suck in fresh air and the trickling sunlight. It feels fresh, cleansing you with each little inhale as you face your cheeks to sky. You have your moment, basking before your journey.

Then someone whistles. You ignore it at first.

The person whistles again, calling out—

“Your ride’s here, starshine!”

Your breath punches from your lungs. You whip your head to the sound.

Though it’s overcast, you do see your morning sun.

Your steps stutter as you nearly trip over your feet.

He is standing, not far at all, leaning against a shiny black car, sleek and expensive and out of place. He’s all overgrown hair and lazy-expressions, one which stretches into a grin as he sees you.

And you see him.

(He really came?)

(Of course he did.)

Your crutch nearly clatters to the ground as you stumble toward him. The moment you waver, he’s running to catch you.

You meet each other halfway.

And without a goddamn lick of shame, the moment you near him, your arms lock around him. Your face buries into the hollow of his throw and you inhale. The scent of him, a bit spiced but mostly skin and sweat fills you. Not a hint of antiseptic.

And you shudder at how good it feels.

He stabilizes the two of you, greedily wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing as if to give a much-needed greeting.

There’s a moment of heat between you, familiar and blessed and so damned missed that you both share shuddering breaths.

“It’s good to see you, starshine,” He soaks up any part of you he could get to. So casually, he touches like he wants to consume you.

You squeeze him just as hard.

“You came?” Your words muffled into his skin.

He simply nods, and the only confirmation you need to sink into him. Perhaps, there’s onlookers, but neither of you have the mind to care. All you care about is the shift of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the heat of him, his golden, pretty visage—

Like he had so many times, he tucks hair behind your ears and tension drains from him.

So tenderly does he squeeze around your middle where he holds you up, “Let’s go home, starshine.”

You want nothing more.

...

The drive to your new home is long, but you don’t mind.

The world has changed in the months you’d been tucked away in the forest-hidden hospital. As disconnected as you were, you still heard of the unrest and upheaval across the country. The political clashes are marked by the... contrarian billboards lining the highway, new slogans battling each other every mile or so.

The scenery slowly goes from flatlands, to wetlands, to rolling hills that are a lush green. From the safety of the car, you could see that the air even looked wet, and you could imagine the way it would stick in your throat and tacky the tips of your fingers.

“Where do you live?” You finally ask, voice soft in the melancholy softness of the light mist that sprayed the car.

“In the mountains, high-up,” He squeezes your hand (the one he’s been holding the whole ride). Quietly, he adds. “I still couldn’t bear to be too close to the ground.”

He laughs, though it fades into the suddenly heavy air.

This is the world, isn’t it?

You blink, gulping at the face of your reality, and let your eyes go half-lidded as you trace the shapes of growing evergreen as your drive takes you higher and higher.

...

Keigo had made up the guest room for you.

He doesn’t have much for extra sheets and softness, let alone decor, but he does what he can. The bed is made and pressed with clean lines, freshly washed. The curtains on the windows hang heavy, but warm up the room with their clement, tan fibers. It’s a start, with lots of space for you to add your own touches as well.

He’d spent the night prior on it, laboring, like he was preparing a nest as opposed to a simple bedroom.

(It is a nest, but he doesn’t need to accept that just yet.)

There wasn’t anything else to do for a while when he first escaped that fucking hell. He’d really given up. Keigo was uncomfortably content to rot away as he had dreamed of since he’d been burnt. The little, dusty corners of the cabin would’ve made perfect places to waste away in peace and alone.

Except, he didn’t.

Keigo started to make the home better.

He isn’t sure if it was out of some need to just do something, and the outdated, worn cabin was his most available canvas. Part of him is convinced it’s some buried avian instinct, and without the Commission’s constant hovering, he has no reason to suppress those more animalistic urges. The need to nest somewhere cozy and safe took him over, and he had gotten to work.

The cabin is cleaned up incredibly well. New appliances, floors patched and polished. The furniture is mostly old, but it’s obviously been shined and tended to. The living area isn’t horribly large, but it’s more than enough space for the two of you. It has wide windows that looked down upon the slopes and peaks that your home is nestled in. The colors are warm oranges and tans that are easy on the eye. Nothing too red and nothing too blue.

Nothing too imposing.

(Nothing too reminiscent.)

He leads you from the car, gingerly helping you up the rickety stairs to the front door.

The wound on your leg may be ‘healed’, but you don’t appear comfortable in the slightest. Your expression pinches with half of your steps, the bending of your scarred flesh undoubtedly painful. It makes something in his chest squeeze as he navigates you into his house, from the snow into somewhere warm. A place that he crafted all on his own. Shaped with his own hands. A real possession, all his own.

When you enter, you don’t say anything, only tightening your grip on his hand.

“I like it,” You smile, soft and dreamy, worrying the strap of your backpack. “... Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay?”

“Of course,” Keigo assures you. Of course, it was okay for you to stay. “I’m happy to have you here, especially when the other option is one of the shelters.”

You wouldn’t have lasted a day with your bum leg and natural softness.

The thought has him gulping, the heat flaring in his chest as he tugs you closer, ghosting his lips over your temple.

With only a bit of stumbling, he shows you the rest of the home.

...

You’re quiet the rest of the day, curled up on the couch in the same clothes you left the hospital in. There’s clear exhaustion in your face, from the dark circles ringing your eyes and the tremble in your hand and leg. Keigo is content to cover you in a nice knit blanket he purchased down in the nearby town, and let you rest.

His own back burns when he catches glimpses of your scar. It ran down all the way to your ankle, even bleeding onto the top of your foot. The gnarled flesh brings back memories of screaming and metallic exam rooms.

And he, like you, stares at a wall for a while before making dinner.

You can’t manage much.

The TV glows with some show you might’ve watched and been engrossed in it. But the hollow feeling in your chest keeps you submerged in the static of your skull. It’s more comfortable than acknowledging how quickly the picture moves in front of you.

Your only motion is a ‘light’ scratching over the thin fabric of your pants.

‘Light’.

He enters sometime later, bearing food and an easy smile that falls all-too quickly.

“Hey, starshine— oh fuck,” His voice clips as he enters, setting down steaming plates on the coffee table and pulling your hand from your thigh. The tips of your fingers are stained with enough blood to make your eyebrows shoot up.

Your eyes shoot to your leg, where you’d apparently tore through the thin fabric of your pants and torn your skin up without even thinking. So close to the scar—

Heat flares between, light bouncing in your eyes as you cover the hole, “S-sorry, fuck, I didn’t even realize.”

“It’s okay, it happens,” Keigo assures you, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Let’s clean you up quick and then eat, okay?”

You nod, exhaling a weight from your chest as the light skitters out of your eyes.

And the heat fades from the room. The absence of it chills Keigo, and the abruptness makes his nose scrunch.

He patches you up quickly and with a precision that screams ‘yes, I have done this far too many times.’ The wound isn’t too severe, just a nasty-looking scratch. The dried blood on your finger is wiped away.

You both settle onto the couch, eating in silence.

Something hangs in the air, thick and unsaid. Questions and paragraphs that have been ignored up until now. Not out of will, perhaps just tired negligence.

But, Keigo has always been the blunt type, so he finally asks one of the many facets that needs to be broached.

“What’s your quirk?”

A little surprised sound lodges in your throat with a bite of baked fish, “My quirk? I thought you figured it out already.”

Keigo raises a feathery eyebrow, “I’m a bit slow these days, starshine.”

The nickname makes something settle pleasantly under your ribs, and the light, little orbs of yellow and orange return to your eyes.

And heat fills the room, like it had so many times before. Like those first nights in the common room, stargazing in the lamp and starlight. It’s warmth that bleeds between his bones and tendons, through and through.

Keigo puts it all together, jaw going slack and eyes going wide.

Had he never realized it?

It does make sense, in retrospect and without a sinfully heavy dose of painkillers swimming in his veins. The heat that permeated all of the nights you sat, eyeing the stars and each other.

The odd heat of it all.

You’d been warming the two of you. Souls cold from the sterility of it all.

“That’s your quirk?” Keigo leans in closer, inspecting the little specks of light in your irises. The tell. “This whole time?”

“U-um, yeah,” You worry a hangnail. “I don’t mean for it to be activating all over the place, but it has been since everything happened.”

“Why’s that?”

You chew the plump of your bottom lip, brows pinched.

Without thinking, Keigo bows to the will of the ever-present, needy feeling in his chest and presses a little kiss to your forehead, willing it to smooth away some of your worry.

I’m not upset, the action says, but the cabin is quiet.

“... You know how cats purr?”

Keigo quirks an eyebrow, “I do.”

“Well, I think it’s kind of like that,” You met his eyes, the light returning and the fire-like warmth tickling the hair on your arms. “Cats purr when they feel good, but sometimes, they purr when they’re not doing well.”

“... ‘Not doing well’?”

“If they’re in pain, or if they’re really scared,” You go quiet, tracing a seam on Keigo’s jeans. “They’ll purr to comfort themselves. It’s like that.”

Comfort themselves.

No wonder all those nights you spent together, you felt so warm. It was your quirk—

And you must’ve felt awful.

Part of him feels betrayed, just for a moment, before it dissolves with the watery look you wear as your injured finger traces over his knuckles.

And the heat of you flares.

Your quirk is a part of you.

“I didn’t think to tell you.” Your voice wobbles, yet remains vacant. “‘M sorry.”

You don’t need to apologize.

If anything, the knowledge only strengthens Keigo’s resolve.

...

The first weeks at the house are odd as you both settle into rhythms of living. There’s an orbit to how you choose to live, though it’s not predictable or reliable. It can’t be, there’s no way for it to be. You float around each other like little planets to a fickle sun, unstable and wavering, but elliptical, nonetheless.

You’re both learning to be human again with your own rhythms.

Keigo’s biggest challenge is dragging himself from bed each morning. The lazy bones he thought the Commission had broken and beaten out of him still remain somehow. Now that he has no obligations to tend to at the break of dawn, he thoroughly enjoys lazing about in the sheets, even if he’s just staring at his wood-paneled ceiling wishing that Dabi had finished the job and burned him dead.

He’s doing great.

Despite his sluggishness, you move about on your own.

You make coffee each morning, and curl up on the couch under the same knit blanket. A few patches of the multi-colored throw have been pulled apart by your restless hands.

Neither of you comment on it.

Though Keigo takes longer to rise, you move far less during the day during those first weeks. You’re tethered to the cushion until the sun goes down.

It’s like the nylon straps at the hospital never left your wrists.

Your vacant nature scares him, if he’s honest. There’s an unspoken, massive wound you carry with you, both physically and mentally, and its manifestation is a little haunting.

Keigo knows about trauma, knows about how the mind worked and how to, you know, deal with it. He is— was, a hero, for fuck’s sake. Trauma is in the job description and he’d had his fair share of bruises before he went undercover, before he killed Jin (REALLY don’t think about it—), and lost his wings. He’s stitched himself up by filling up his schedule with anything he could. Distractions. Things to occupy him, help him forget for a while. If that didn’t work, he always had a bottle or two of imported soju that he could nurse.

Again, coping.

The state you’re in is the opposite of coping, it’s being. Existing. The strain you carry from everything shows in you, and the way that it’s manifested terrifies him.

Keigo is smart enough to know to keep a few boundaries. He can’t fix you and he can’t get it in his head that he can. He’ll smother you; he knows he will. The solace he finds comes from being there when you need him, and always being close by.

It’s all he can do to soothe what’s obviously an open wound. He has his own, that you tend to in your own way as well when you can. It’s all give-and-take, naturally and easily.

You’ll find yourselves on the couch together, leaning and touching so naturally, but with no intent. Your little fingers trace shapes over his clothes, hearts and lettering he can’t catch. The heat of you will cling to him, whether your quirk activates or not.

He holds you, simply and truly. Tries to be a new, kinder being.

...

You don’t have much that is solely yours.

You’d been living in an odd combination of Keigo’s clothes and the single outfit you arrived with. It works, enough. Most garments are worn until they’re filthy, but it takes you a little too long to notice.

Keigo notices.

One day, he sits down with you and his heavy, black credit card and helps you pick out... whatever you wanted. The guy is loaded and will be until he dies, and he’s smitten to help you pick out whatever you need.

You’re more challenged by the task.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to do this,” you murmur into his collarbones, narrowing your eyes at the laptop screen. “I have enough.”

Keigo clicks his tongue, rubbing the fraying fabric of your shirt, the same, cheap scratchy fabric from the hospital. Your pants are soft cotton, old ones of Keigo’s that he should probably throw away. You adore them, and spend most of your time in them, too.

“You deserve some nice things that are yours, don’t you think?” He coaxes with some extra soft touches as you glare at the screen.

Perhaps, you think to yourself. Your jaw locks.

You deliberately avoided thinking about your lack of... things. The absence of all the bits of you that you had once carried tugs at something deep in your chest. Grief, probably. Loss at the very least. Your home has been torn apart and you have nothing. Not a single remnant of then except you. And you’re hardly a good cast of the existence you once lead.

The world feels dimmer with the thought.

...

The house gets cold at night.

It’s inevitable, with the chill of the snowy valleys and peaks slipping through drafty windows and cracks in the woodwork. It slunk into the house once the stars rose, sinking bone deep. It’s easier to ward off during the day. The little stray touches and the ambiance of shared presence helps.

But, you slept separately.

It’s cold— so fucking cold in your beds. Keigo hates it. Despises the way how it makes his eyes droop and his body heavier than it should be. Despite not having wings any longer, his other avian traits lingered, and torpor was definitely not in his top three faves. He can only be thankful that he thought to invest in an electric blanket for himself, for his nest.

Though it would be a lot better with you in it, the last thing he wants to do is push you. You’re fragile. Everything is fragile. Keigo has laid awake on more than one night, trying to make sense of all of it, everything and coming to the conclusion that sleeping in his too-big, too-cold bed would have to do.

Sometimes, there’s no way to swallow the state of things.

...

“Your packages are here.”

You look up, eyes wide and sweet.

Oh, yeah. Material goods.

Clothes.

Objects.

It takes a while, but the result of your shopping spree is a small horde of packages down at the town post office, all with your name attached. The idea of so much newness is daunting, but your few remaining garments are threadbare and practically falling apart. It’s necessary, you acknowledge, even if you’re terrified of not living in Keigo’s worn crewneck.

(Change can be good, you remind yourself. The thought is quiet.)

Keigo stands by the door, buttoning up his coat and lacing up his boots as you watch from your soft perch on the couch. The blanket has a new, wide hole picked in it, but you don’t notice.

“Would you like to come with me and pick them up?” Keigo flicks his gaze to you with a careful, easy smile.

You hadn’t left the house since you’d arrived.

The thought sends your stomach knotting and sweat gathering in your palms. You jerk your head side to side, sinking back down into the cushions.

Keigo doesn’t hold it against you. You can tell by the way his expression softens around his eyes.

He leaves after kissing you on the forehead a few times, telling you he’ll be quick to return. It’s not often that he leaves, though he’s always timely on coming back. His excursions are never more than a trip to the town market, thankfully. An hour or two feels like a lot, but the too-still air and quiet of the floorboards without Keigo’s pacing unsettles you.

Not having him near unsettles you. The thought of having him gone for too long shoots something hot and needy in your chest.

(Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave—)

Thankfully, just like always, Keigo isn’t gone for long. And he returns bearing a few armloads of packages and some takeout curry. You take it all, and him, greedily.

(Thank you, thank you, thank you.)

...

It’s a few days later when Keigo wakes to you knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning.

It had been a... rougher day. You had been a bit livelier early on, joining him on the snowy patio for morning coffee and even taking a quick walk around the neighboring forest. With the snow so deep, you could only go so far though. The motion of it aggravated your injury, left your gasping and clawing at Keigo’s arm as the scar tissue pulled.

The scar is still dead, thank god, but the impact is just as present physically as it is mentally for you.

The rest of the day you spent curled up on the couch, taking little sips of water between short naps. That night, you hardly touched your dinner. Keigo was smart enough to cut up some fruit and lay it with a handful of crackers and offer it to you throughout the rest of the night. You nibbled at the bits, but hardly consumed much at all.

You went to bed early, giving him a hard hug before retiring to your lonely room.

Those days are the worse, the bad ones. They’re the ones where Keigo wants to break all the boundaries he still has. The little touches and kisses he gives you are one thing, but there’s much more he wants to do. Craves doing. But, pushing you too far or too hard would break you. He’s smart. He knows that. So, Keigo doesn’t wait. He satiates all those protective needs.

He accepts circumstance, just as he always has.

(He doesn’t understand how much you crave him, but that’ll come later.)

That night, things begin to shift.

His voice cracks with sleep as he calls for you to enter. You linger in the door frame, clutching a pillow to your chest, like a scared child who’s had a—

“Nightmare?” He asks, sitting up and tugging a blanket with him to cover his bare chest.

The cold air of the cabin hits his scars. He hisses under his breath, shoulders drawing tense. You must notice, eyes going a little wider as you recede from his room. The darkness of the hallway nearly dissolves you. His chest aches, hands tightening around the fabric in his fists.

“Come back here, starshine, come on,” Keigo calls, praying you’ll heed him. “It’s alright. What’s wrong?”

Keigo half-recognizes that that’s a very loaded question, but you’re both a bit sleep addled. Maybe it will slide.

Your eyes alight in the pitch of the room, sputtering with little orbs of amber. Your atrophying arms squeeze the pillow, and you take a few more tentative steps closer.

“... We’re safe, right?”

The question surprises Keigo, enough to make his old wounds ache.

One loaded question answered for another.

It’s reasonable to ask. It’s very reasonable to ponder. Keigo has wondered about it too. The townsfolk don’t know who he really was, and he was quite secretive about the initial move. The world hadn’t caught onto the fact that ‘Hawks’ had moved him and his new love to an isolated little cabin in the woods, and hopefully they never would. Society had a lot bigger problems, according to the over-processed news channel he tuned into on occasion.

Keigo was old news at this point.

So many heroes had been called out for poor behavior. Scandal after scandal, coverup after coverup. Corruption, everywhere. It was an industry secret, all of the bullshit behind closed doors. Keigo’s little double-agent schtick and you know, murder of a good man (for the love of god, do not fucking think about Jin) was still bad, but the public had a whole new slew of bullshit to torch people at the stake for.

Still.

He’s glad no one knows about your little hideaway or you.

“We’re safe, starshine. Very safe.”’

It makes his answer easier to say, more honest.

You inch closer from the doorway. There’s a tremble in your shoulders that runs to your hands. You’re only wearing a t-shirt and thin shorts, maybe just panties, he can’t tell. Your scar runs down your thigh and calf, gnarling and twisting the flesh it dared to mar. The seam of it is a shining black that Keigo had failed to notice before.

It reminds him of why you’re so scared and the types of nightmares you must have.

“... Promise?” You stop at the foot of the bed, throat bobbing with a thick gulp.

Keigo gives a sympathetic smile, patting the sheets next to him, “I promise. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

You look skeptical, but climb into bed with him all the same.

Something stirs in Keigo’s chest as you do. As he watches you clamor over the sheets and blankets he... nests in, the heat of it fills him. A combination of yours and his own, spills through his ribs and down to his toes.

He shudders with it, something needy wriggling down from

You sit up on your knees, sinking into the mattress and holding the pillow tight to your chest. Watching, eyes still alight and wide.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keigo asks.

You don’t, you both know that, but breaking the silence is a start.

You push the pillow against the headboard, trading it to link your fingers with his, over his chest and pressed to the linens.

You squeeze and let out a breath you’ve been holding. There’s a weight to it, like there’s something you’re actually carrying. There has been something you have been carrying, but only you are able to see it— feel it in its actuality.

But, that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder the burden alone, especially on darkened, lonely nights.

He tugs you closer, mindful of your tenderness and the scars you both bear. The night is only lit by starlight, and the room is dark with the new moon. It makes it easier to be closer as you settled into the bedding next to him.

It’s uncomfortable for a few moments.

Despite how much contact you share, this feels different. The little touches, kisses and caresses you trade throughout the day are second nature. Comforting someone else who so obviously needs it. His person who needs it.

(He wonders if you think of him as your ‘person�� too.)

You lay on your side, facing away from him as you fall into his nest, still tense, still on edge and unsure. It reminds him of those first days at the hospital, when you both had lost your tongues and yourselves and just enjoyed the stars together in oddly comforting silence and broken conversation.

It’s a process, he reminds himself.

Keigo slides closer, throwing an arm over waist and adjusting the blankets with his other. There’s plenty, piled on top of each other without much reason. Careful hands properly tuck you into it all, next to him, with him. He brings them up to your chin, pressing stray hairs back into place and laying a trailing kiss or two over the back of your neck.

“... Is it okay if I stay?” Your voice sounds far-off, like the question is more for yourself than for him.

He can feel the unease and fear still bound up in your shoulders. It’s always there, whether it’s a moonless night or a snow-glitteringly, sunny day. The tension he presses his thumbs into is held in all of the muscle of your back, in your hips, your hands— everywhere.

It makes part of him ache.

A few little coos, soft little rumbles, roll from the back of his throat.

Normally, he’d be a bit embarrassed. But at the birdish chirps, you’re falling deeper in the sheets, the nest, and against his chest.

“Please stay,” He assures you with a squeeze. A small comfort, one he’d keep giving.

The odd quiet returns, sans the little sounds in his chest.

Slowly, tentatively, you turn in his arms. Your own lock over his waist, splayed low on his spine. The pads of your fingertips brush scars, the old ones and the new. It makes him writhe a bit in his own skin. It’s unfamiliar, compared to all of the cold prodding and meaningless pleasure he was used to.

It is the closest anyone of familiarity has been to the scars in a long time, and you, preciously, grace him with the softest touch. No expectation in it, just some much-needed, shared bits of love. Once again, precious.

And you both relax into it all. The ambient thrum of the other's body, the shared breath and smells that mingle between you. There’s little pains and stings that never really go away, but with the other so close, neither of you mind.

It’s hard to tell when your quirk settles, and the organic heat you create together fills the rooms and your lungs.

All Keigo knows is that he falls asleep with your lips brushing the hollow of his throat, still and warm against his chest. The feeling of the living rhythm of your body with your breath lulls him off, content and hazy.

...

You never sleep alone after that night.

Keigo pulls you into his room, or you pad in after brushing your teeth and pulling on your soft, soft sleep clothes. The bed feels a lot less big and lonely with the two of you wrapped up in each other, fully giving in.

It puts Keigo at a remarkable amount of ease.

The urge in his chest to ‘keep you safe’ feels the most sated at night, when he can keep as close as you both can bear. Your hands always make their home at the base of his spine, or the fat and flesh between his lower back and his rear. The pads of your fingers rub away years of stored tension and weight, quietly and kindly before you fall asleep each night.

During the day, you’re equally as needy, though you’re slowly becoming a bit more independent. You’re more lucid in general. Though the couch and worn blanket are your greatest comforts (other than him), you’re beginning to stray and poke around the house a bit more.

The shelves have a few more familiar comforts, things Keigo had slowly accumulated to pass the time. There’s a video game console or two he’d never used, a few stacks of books he’d heard were good, and some tucked away art supplies if inspiration struck.

As much as he urges you to take and use whatever you’d like, you’re still tentative. The first few times you pluck a crisp book from the shelf, Keigo’s back aches with how the old muscles that once controlled his wings tried to puff-up non-existent feathers. Despite how it tugs at all the wrong parts of him, he still glows at the progress.

You start to help him with dinner too. That’s some of your favorite time.

There’s a rhythm to it, when you both start preparing meals together. Keigo can’t season food for shit, (though, he’s made leaps and strides with cooking that pats himself on the back for) but he’s quite skilled with a knife. Remnants of his training that have domestic applications.

He doesn’t tell you that that’s why he’s so good at dicing vegetables and paring meat, he just chatters to fill the air. You tend more to the process of cooking, seasoning and watching and nodding along to his words.

The more meals you share in creating, the more you start to speak up.

It’s progress, even in something so small.

...

But progress isn’t linear.

It’s not even a goddamn line and it’s fucking infuriating.

...

The depth of winter bears down on the hills, the house, and the two of you. You’re coping, both of you. But the momentum of it is fragile.

It scares you, secretly and privately.

You feel fragile, and you have for a long time. Your scar remains tender, gnarled and ugly on your leg. You avoid looking at it at all cost, though Keigo has free reign to graze tender touch nearby it.

That’s how you find yourselves, leaning on each other on the cushion of the couch and idly watching the glow of the television. Your cheek tucks over his shoulder and you watch with half-lidded eyes. You’re only half-there as Keigo changes the channel.

He hums after a few moments.

“There’s a storm coming tonight,” Keigo tells you, lips just a touch dry against the shell of your ear. “I’m going to go to town and—”

Oh wow.

You interrupt, fisting the front of his shirt, “Can I come?”

The question stuns both of you.

Your eyes are honest as you peer up, genuinely unsure if you can.

“Of course, starshine,” Keigo assures. You notice the way his eyes, his pretty eyes, look wide and bright. All for you. Wow. “Let’s get you out of the house, hm?”

Getting out.

Time has stretched out and you can’t remember the last time you left for anything more than a little stroll on the backroads, Keigo on your arm. Going to town and seeing people strikes something odd that has your stomach churning.

You’re nervous when you finally pile into the car, both bundled up with hats, mittens and scarfs (Keigo wears a mask to better hide his identity, but he’s sure some of the townies have figured him out.) The tasks are simple. Stock up for the coming storm and make sure he pays to plow their little backroad out once the storm passes. Easy, things that wouldn’t take too long, but it still makes your palms sweat.

Keigo massages your thigh as you drive into town. The comfort of the snowy hills and evergreens disappears, and it has you in goddamn knots.

You squeeze his hand, locking your jaw.

“I’m scared.” You break the silence as the small structures of the town come into view. “I don’t know if this was a good idea.”

You haven’t decided again.

He kneads his thumb into the tension in your thighs with a little smile, “Let’s give it a try.”

“It’s scary, though.”

“I know.”

You pull at a hangnail with your teeth but say nothing else as you roll in and park at the small market.

The first thing you notice is the goddamn doors. Automatic doors.

When you see them, you want to climb back into the car, maybe the trunk for fuck’s sake, and hide like you’ve never hidden before. Go home and bury yourself in a snow pile with how your heart hammers in your chest and your breath catches.

Deep breaths.

You catch yourself, just a little.

You keep walking, Keigo’s hand in yours and you enter the market like nothing feels as wrong as it is.

The store is small, but there’s a decent selection, all things given. Keigo places a basket in your hands, tells you to ‘go nuts’ and ‘literally get whatever you want, especially if it’s salty or sweet’ and you heed him the best you can. He busies himself talking to the clerk, organizing with that honey-voice you crave.

You take a few deep breaths and walk around the market like a normal person.

(Even though, the last time you were in a situation close to this, you got that nasty, cute scar on your leg.)

(You suppress the thought for as long as you can.)

The basket gets filled quickly, but you stuff it to the brim. Keigo picked out plenty of good food, and had learned how to cook decently, but having some... agency felt nice, if not fucking terrifying.

You’ve got your back turned to the entrance of the store when the (automatic) doors suddenly swish open.

A chill so cold and hard shoots down your spine and you freeze, hovering over a box of breadcrumbs.

One...

How long was it between that sound and when he touched you?

Two...

This was a terrible idea.

Three—

It was four—

Four—

Four seconds, you propose, as your heart beats out of your chest and you sweat under your arms. Four seconds from the door opening to pain.

You wait.

And wait.

Nothing.

Just more voices from the front of the store, a figure entering your aisle and then leaving.

You hate the way you're so rigid, tense enough in your shoulders for it to hurt. The ghost of the wound on your leg makes you want to fall to the ground and writhe, but you grab the box of breadcrumbs and try not to think.

It works, and you land next to Keigo, presenting your filled basket to be rung up.

You bury your face into his shoulder and take a deep inhale. Keigo keeps you close, tucked in your side with an arm around your waist. Your anxiety must’ve been quite visible, as he takes to quietly rubbing your shoulders over your sweater.

Things get hazy as you feel safer. Keigo laughs and sways the two of you as he speaks to the clerk.

(Her sons are going to blow your little house out when the storm passes. The family cat recently got out and came back pregnant. Her husband has been reading some odd literature he found on the internet. Something about ‘the strong triumphant over the weak’. Her daughter might be able to return from her foreign university now that the travel restrictions had been lifted.)

Everything moves forward, even if it’s unpleasant.

It’s an awful reminder at an inopportune time.

You watch your feet as you crunch your way back to the shotgun side of the car, only relaxing when you hear the doors lock and the engine thrum.

...

The storm comes, just as the faces on TV said it would.

You’re in the country, in the hills and mountains where the weather is already turbulent and changeable. All the same, the overcast skies dump snow over the land and blanket the world in quiet and cold.

Snow silence sucks the sounds from the air, sans the howl of angry wind.

You’re tucked away and safe. It’s Keigo’s only solace.

After going into town, you keep more to yourself as the storm takes it sweet time rolling in. He recognizes the far off look in your eyes; it’s the one you wore stargazing, but there’s no kind smile on your face. Just a thoughtless frown as you go through the motions of your day.

It makes his chest ache.

(Part of him regrets bringing you with him to the market. It rots part of him, and he can only hope it sprouts again.)

Finally, when the storm truly comes and the hills get heavy and crisp white, a bit more of you returns. Keigo wants to take the fragments you’re willing to give him and tuck them close, horde them and squeeze. The way he’s gotten abashedly greedy for you has him handsier and needier.

He’ll take what he can get, and give what he can too.

It’s easiest to bear at night, probably out of habit. Maybe the time in the hospital fucked both of you up (yes, for sure, it did), but nighttime was the time where you were open and easy with each other.

The storm gives the perfect opportunity to all of your time shamelessly twisted together, only leaving for brief coffee breaks and light meals. Otherwise, you’re both nested.

Pillows and blankets piled on the oversized mattress, all soft against your scars and old scratches. Keigo’s still fond of the color red, he can’t let that go, but he trades in the scarlet that was once his ‘brand’ for a deeper burgundy. All the sensations are rich and velvety, whether it’s the bedclothes you’re wrapped in or the touches you share.

It feels safe.

The feeling is something almost foreign to Keigo. He’s been getting used to it, even as the isolation weighs down on him. No one around means no reason to be so alert. The house isn’t bugged, there’s no villains or Suits watching his every move. He’s just a flightless bird, with no cage, but no captors either.

It feels amazing.

It feels even better that you’re always the heat against his side. That you and your perfect, sweet hands always know how and where to touch. Your words flow easier when you’re so close, so surrounded and so deliciously suffocated.

Keigo fills you up in all the best ways, and you’re finally able to breathe easier.

You tell him your secrets, little stargazing facts and facets of you that you’d held away and far from him before.

“Do you know what cosmic microwave background radiation is?” You ask, sweet as your lips nip at his jaw.

“No, not a clue,” He laughs, the giggle only you get to hear.

You hum, shifting your thighs so it lies over his. Your hips grind, slow and unhurried as wind rattles the windows.

“It’s this ambient radiation that’s just everywhere, all the time, forever,” You tell him, voice going a little huskier despite the fact you’re talking about theoretical astrophysics. “It’s left over from the Big Bang. A little bit of the beginning that never stops.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“A documentary, love.”

The questions fade as your lips slide together, lazy hands sliding into each other's hairs. You pull, only lightly, just to bring him closer. Keigo gets greedy, (again, always), licking into your mouth and tasting you. It’s all cheap coffee and the stale mint of toothpaste, and he drinks you down like the finest nectar. He sucks on your tongue, moaning at the way you keen and shift next to him.

It’s not enough. It never is, so he rolls to sit himself over your hips and grab your jaw in a tight grip. He can’t be too forceful, he can’t— his little birdbrain won’t let him do anything too rough to you, even if neither of you would mind it. He tilts your head just right.

You roll your hips up, breath mingling with his as it hitches and shudders from you. It’s so much, so much good, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Keigo pulls away, eyes half-lidded to take in your own blown pupils. It makes something purr in his chest, to see your eyes already glassy and wide for him. Your neck is thoroughly covered in darkened splotches, already sucked and bitten while the storm sang.

Little marks of him.

“You’re all mine, you know?” Keigo nearly moans at the way your expression goes gooey and sweetened. He tightens his grip on your jaw just a fraction, enough to make you gasp before he licks and nips below your ear. Just to make sure you hear him. “‘Everywhere, all the time, forever’, I’ve got you.”

“Y-you do,” you gasp as Keigo shifts your sleep shorts off, pushed away forgotten in the nest. The thin tank top you’re wearing is hardly covering anything, not that either of you care. The nearly-sheer fabric of it stretches over your collars and curves beautifully. It does nothing to hide the way your breaths heave or the sweat and heat gathering on your neck.

You’re bared to him.

And if Keigo’s being honest?

You own each other, in the most pleasantly fucked up way.

“Y-You’re so good,” The word holds weight, so much heaviness. Keigo groans, palming one of your breasts and rolling one of your nipples. It’s ambient, something to occupy himself as he resists your words. Just a little—

Your hand slips into the front of his sweats, bare beneath, and wraps around the velvet of him. Thick and hot, firm in your hand but not close enough.

You squeeze, almost in warning.

“You are good.” You gasp as Keigo pulls off you, leveling gazes with you, all pretty eyes reflecting the starshine and snow. He is good. There’s so much more to it than that, but your poor, fucked up little mind can’t synthesis it yet. Only that Keigo is good, warm, safe, and wholly yours. And you’re his. You stretch to ghost a kiss over his lips. “My good boy, always keeping me safe. You keep me so well.”

He stills, even as you slowly pump in his cock. It twitches in your hand, your thighs squeezing between his hips.

Keigo’s mind races, in the best way.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He murmurs, head tilting and body sagging to drink down your kiss-bruised lips. More, more, more— “You just need to be taken care of.”

“I don’t need to,” You lie, huffing.

Keigo raises an eyebrow, biting his lips as your grip floats down to his balls, massaging them in your soft grip. It’s tender, weirdly vulnerable, as the whole of you two are.

“Maybe you don’t need to, you’re very capable,” Maybe not right now, but he knows it’s in there. “But you want it.”

“I-I like it,” You scramble the wording, shoving down his sweats, huffing again and urging Keigo to kick them away. Your palm goes to his cheek and drags him closer. “I like you a lot, love you, you know. You make me feel... safe. It’s a good feeling.”

It’s the most honest you’ve been in a long time, and it sits in the air. Keigo remains silent for a moment, silent and trying to control the way his birdbrain wants to take you. Wants to fuck you up and ruin you for anyone else.

You’re his, aren’t you?

“Good girl,” Keigo breaks the tension, squeezing your hips to the point of bruises. His, his, his. “I keep you so good, don’t I?”

You nod, spitting out little affirmatives between kisses. They dot his cheeks and forehead, slipping to his nose and downward. You pull his bottom lip into his mouth, letting out a little half-sob as Keigo’s touch drifts to your cunt, to your clit that’s swollen and untouched.

More, more, more—

“You keep me so good,” You gulp, whining and grinding into the heel of his hand. Slick coats your sex, sticky and hot. “So, so good—”

Keigo drops down the bed, ignoring the flare of his scar tissue, to seat himself between your thighs. They get thrown over his shoulders with a squeeze. His hands cup your ass, slipping a pillow beneath your hips before eating your cunt like he’d die if he didn’t.

It’s one of his favorite things. Stuffing you full of him until your belly swells is another, or seeing the way his cock opens and stretches you until you’re gasping for breath and begging for more, more, more—

Keigo slips a finger into you without resistance. He curls it, unyielding as he massages the little knot of nerves in you that makes you arch and beg for more, for him.

You choke on a sob when he adds another finger, and he hushes you so sweet, tears prick your eyes.

“Starshine,” He coaxes, withdrawing only to give your clit, a few kitten licks and slow kisses. His gaze flickers towards yours, holding your wet eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

You nod, the meat of your thighs squeezing around him. Keigo would be happy to die like this, you soft and opened for him, crying for him. Broken and cracking for him, by his tongue, by his touch, Him. His.

“Who takes care of you?” He curls his fingers, and you throw your head back into the nest of pillows.

“Y-You,” Your voice breaks and you rub at your cheeks.

“Who knows just how to keep you so well? How to make you feel so good?”

He presses a third finger in, tending to your clit as you cry above him. You’re molten around him, and he laps you up until the smell and taste of you is all he comprehends.

This is what you both need, isn’t it?

Each other. All of each other.

Your cries turn sour quickly, and it has Keigo jolting up, fingers withdrawn and leaving you to feel empty. The little sobs turned into hiccupping cries, one's stifled with the back of your hand.

Keigo rises over you, tugging you hand away to get at your cheeks, kissing them soft and sweet.

It isn’t often that you cry, surprisingly. You probably should more often.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Keigo urges. Please, please, just tell him what the fuck is wrong. He knows, you know, the meat of it all. But please tell him something he can tend to. Something he can stitch up because god, he needs to be useful— “What’s making your cry sweetheart? Tell me.”

You paw at your forehead, “It’s silly.”

You sniffle and look at him with the most unguarded expression he’s seen you worn. The vacancy is gone, the hollowness and pain has been pulled away in the safety of that perfect nest and all that’s left is—

“‘M scared,” You mumble. Your arms curl over your chest, covering what’s primitively most precious to you. “I’m scared.”

Your eyes grow bright and heat, hotter than anything he’s felt from you, explodes over the room.

He’s half-choking and he fucking loves it.

Something in his chest snaps and he worries your hair, bringing his nose to yours, nuzzling and nudging your hands away. He nips you. His poor little birdbrain.

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave.”

Keigo stills.

He sits with your fear for a few beats.

“I’d never leave,” He says easily, truthfully and fully. He couldn’t.

Those long nights in the hospital and the warmth passed between you had so easily gotten you wormed his chest, right next to his second and third rib. He can feel it, always; you’re ever present. He grabs your arms and holds them to yours sides. You’re exposed, soft flesh and squirming a bit beneath him. He wants to mark you purple and near-bloody, so that no one would think of you as anything other than his.

His, his, his.

He shows you.

Worn hands, a bit chapped with the dry air, pull your high to rest on his shoulders. He massages your calves, kissing your ankles.

“I mean this real lovingly, starshine,” He breaths deep, fisting his cock with a few slow strokes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t get a chance to protest as he slides into you in one stroke. The stretch of him has you burning; he can tell by the way your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his shoulders as your little cries only get harder.

“Bear it, I know you can,” You had before, and you would many times more. The stretch feels amazing, even if it burns something in your core. You like it, how the pain pricks something that shoots into your toes. Only Keigo gets to fuck you up, gets to own you. “You’re always good f-for me— f-fuck, so fucking good—”

His, his, his.

There is, of course, the inverse.

You grab his jaw, your grip tight like his was earlier, and you meet his gaze. You blink away tears, sniffling, but expression set with determination.

“You’re mine too,” You squeeze around him, grinding down to the root of his cock. “‘M only good for you because you’re mine too, Keigo. All of you.”

Without thought, your hands ghost over his scars.

You have avoided them for so long. It was an untouched spot, something tender and from a time where Keigo was being that was entirely and wholly different from who he is now. It’s a piece of him that’s always been off-limits.

But you’re both so cracked open, you do it without thought.

And something in Keigo snaps.

He pushes you down by the backs of your thighs, folding your legs to your torso. And he fucks you.

His hips slam against yours, opening you up with pants and groans. You feel full, full of him in every and all ways, everywhere, always, and forever.

You’re greedy with your touches, tugging him closer and uncaring of the way your nails scrap over his shoulders and arms. His body is yours and you’re his. It’s disgusting, it’s fucked up and perfect the way you slot together. It’s like little, scared pieces of existence slide together, and everything feels whole, yet open and uncracked.

Keigo fills you up with a sob, tears dripping down his cheeks as you pressed down on the burns and scars that rack down his back.

“Fill me up,” You demand, the heat of you swelling as his hand dips to your clit, circling and rolling with the little pleas falling from both your lips.

The world drips as his thrusts go harder, sloppier as you tip your head back and scream. Your voice breaks, hoarse from all your pleading and possession.

Keigo stuffs you, tip of his cock pressed to the deepest parts of you. His cum, all him, leaks from around his cock as he gives a few more weakened grinds. He makes sure you’re full, content and sated and his.

He falls over you, coating your cheeks in kisses and praise. You sputter little sobs for him, begging for him to be closer, despite the way he still fills you even as he softens.

It never feels like enough, the closeness. But you’ll settle for all of him that you can get.

...

The storm passes, and you spend your time much the same way. Fucking, feeling, and for a little, blessed while, forgetting.

Eventually, the snow stops falling. The wind that has been whipping the power into tree trucks and your windows falls still. It’s peaceful, then. Not that it wasn’t before, but without the weather bearing down on you, you’re both less hungry. Still greedy, just not starved.

You share the first morning after the storm outside, on the porch. Keigo had shoveled a little clear patch and you’d brushed off the two, brittle lawn chairs that had seen better days. You fixate on the task a bit too much, the steaming coffee you’re to share is forgotten. The straining plastic of the chairs is a yellowed-white and bright red. It felt strong enough under your fingers, cold fingers, as you cleared away the snow.

It feels like a remnant

Whatever fixation you have on the object passes as Keigo runs a hand up your spine. His hand is wide and warm, still a bit warm from the toasty mugs.

You rearrange your chairs and yourselves to be close as can be, in your little patch of snowless porch, and sip at your coffee as the world begins to wake up.

...

Oddly enough, the storm helps you make forward progress, at least a little. You take up making breakfasts on your own, occasionally carrying plates into the bedroom with a big, previously unseen grin

Keigo returns the smile so big, his cheeks burn for hours.

You take to a few of the little crafts and things Keigo has been hoarding. Paper folding and little canvases with acrylic painting are your favorites. Sometimes, you paint your little strokes and press creases from the comfort of the couch. Other times, you make you place for the day at the kitchen island while Keigo makes his day-long meals.

There’s a rhythm to it that’s so good.

It’s progress, and seeing it visibly start to the fill the walls feels good for both of you. Your little canvases get hung around the cabin, little portraits of the stars and their mother, all for you and Keigo to admire. ;;

...

He gets the call exactly three weeks after the storm passes.

Keigo awakes before you to the shrill ring of his cell. It vibrates against the bedside table, loud enough to wake the both of you. You both startle out of sleep, squeezing each other.

He takes the call in the other room, after he sees the contact name.

[Suits] Calling...

He paces as he listens to her drone on.

There’s no greeting, no “hey, how does it feel to be a flightless fucking failure?”. It’s business. Just business. It’s always been like that with her, and the lot of suits that treated him like a fixture until he got particularly cracked and unsightly.

“So, you come into Tokyo, we’ll do a small event—”

“The event you’re describing really doesn’t sound small,” Keigo tilts his head and gives an angry smile to his own reflection in the mirror. “It sounds like a circus that I really have no interest in being a part of.”

“It’s for the people, Hawks—”

It makes him snap.

“Stop fucking calling me that.” He growls into the receiver, grip tight enough to hurt. “Stop calling me, stop asking me, I am not coming back.”

The woman is silent on the line for a beat, before spitting, “What if I didn’t give you a choice?”

His blood runs cold before burning in his veins. And he laughs.

“You think you could?” He only feels a little hysterical. “You don’t have any power, not over me, not over anyone else as far as I’ve seen, Madam President!”

“Hawks—”

Shut up, shut up, shut UP.

“The Commission is dead, the world is in chaos, and putting the corpse of a hero on the big screen isn’t going to convince anyone that this is all fixable,” Keigo chest gets tight, and he can’t tell if it’s from the uncomfortable laughter he’s spitting or the sobs that are locked in his chest.

“So, you’d rather turn your back on the people you swore to protect?” Suits speaks with no emotion, not an ounce of feeling. “Selfish.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish. The word echoes in his mind, worms its way down his throat and suffocates him.

“You’re really going to say that to me? Of all fucking people?” He feels his nails break skin where he’d been clenching his fist. “Me, selfish?”

“You left, didn’t you? Ran away?” The woman has the stones to fucking laugh. “Everyone’s lost something. You’re not special, and it doesn’t justify—”

“What the fuck are you getting out of this?” Keigo interrupts, burning, burning— “Did you call me to go to this little gala or did you call to dig into your perfect little hero? You told me I could be done. Should’ve known you were lying, you always lie—”

“You’re being childish.”

“Oh my GOD!” Keigo nearly screams and doesn’t notice how you’ve tip-toed from the bedroom. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I hear you screaming at me, the woman who practically raised you, like some petulant brat. Get a grip, Hawks.”

He snaps.

“STOP FUCKING CALLING ME THAT!” He screams into the phone, vision going white and scarlet. “I am not Hawks! Hawks is DEAD! Why can’t you understand that? There’s no fucking hero to attend your little ‘healing’ gala, there’s just me. ‘Childish’, ‘selfish’, and wingless, babe. That’s what I’ve got, and this is what I am.”

Suits takes an audible sigh, and Keigo can almost see how she’s shaking her head at him, “You’re being ridiculous, Hawks. Take at least a goddamn ounce of responsibility for your actions that helped cause all... this.”

Ah, there it is. The thing Hawks has so properly compartmentalized, tucked so far back in his psyche that it’s almost impossible to reach.

How much of the dissolution of... everything is on him?

Something in him snaps, and it slips through his own fingers.

“I’m not going and this, Madam President? This is for me.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

He hears her unspoken words echoing in his skull as he hangs up, slamming the phone on the countertop.

Something hotter than rage and more poisonous than pain fills his blood, and it makes him want to both wretch and break his fingers in the same breath. He slams a fist onto the phone, cracking it against the countertop. He can buy a new one—

“S-Sweetpea?”

Keigo freezes.

You’re at the mouth of the hallway, hardly out of the shadows, eyes wide and fearful. His chest somehow gets even tighter.

Normally, he would’ve rushed to comfort you, calmed himself down to console you for seeing his little outburst.

But he doesn’t that day.

He breaths ragged with his lips slowly curling, panic’s ugly cousin turning his spit acrid behind his teeth.

“Here, let’s go back to bed, okay? We can—” You take a few steps closer, hand outstretched and eyes beginning to light.

Oh, and Keigo’s hit by fucking envy, and it’s over.

“Don’t.”

You freeze, “Pretty eyes—”

“Don’t, just don’t.”

You don’t move as Keigo trudges to the door, throws on his thick parka and snow boots, pocketing his keys and grumbles to you that there’s leftovers in the fridge.

It’s shitty and selfish.

And he just doesn’t care.

He can’t make himself care as the door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing off the trees and so quickly dampened by the snow.

...

Keigo drives, white noise in his ear that echoes the wind in the treetops of the mountains he’s descending. He’s only half there as he leaves town.

It’s still too much.

...

You, on the other hand?

You’re frozen, stuck-still, as you watch Keigo climb into the car and drive off. Maybe your mouth has gone a bit agape, you aren’t aware of your body.

You panic.

There’s no other word for it, not that you were able to think of as you were untrenched in it.

There’s something thick and knotted that is rolling unraveling in your chest. The... thing is worse than a feeling and runs deeper and hotter than you can manage.

You tried to manage it.

While Keigo is god fucking knows where, you paced the house, always within eyeshot of a window. Hoping for a glimpse of his dark parka, or the tufts of his blonde sticking out in the snow, a return—

Fucking nothing.

He just left.

No return time, no destination, just a departure with no explanation. He’d obviously left the cabin before, you’d handled those times quite well, but he’d never stormed out. Never raised his voice and screamed and then just left.

Is he okay?

(You heard most of the call, at least his side of it. Is that awful Hero Commission he told you about calling him back? Or even worse, dragging him away.)

(He’d tell you, wouldn’t he?)

(Guess you’ll never know! Because he’s fucking gone.)

It made something seize in your chest, hot and awful as you walked your circuit, praying. Worry is damning.

How could he just... leave?

You need him back.

You alone without him.

Your thoughts rot you, despite the winter’s cold outside. The chill of the cabin seeps into your bones, coats them and leaves you sticky and downright paranoid. The lack of... presence (his presence) was driving you up a wall. The air is too still, the floors quiet and without the telltale old creaks of movement that you’ve become accustomed to, and the cabin is silent other than your breathing and rabbit’s heart.

Beneath the anger was a thick layer of fear.

You are alone.

The feeling rolled its way into you as the sun began to dip lower in the sky.

What if he never comes back?

Of course he is, you remind yourself, hurriedly, worrying the scary on your leg and picking at the core of it. He wouldn’t leave.

Why wouldn’t he?

The thought gets your poor little heart racing faster, air choking in your lungs. Your head whips to the window to see the empty, snowy driveway.

“I-I’m alone,” You break the silence of the house, the walls answering with their pensive quiet and the wind shaking the fresh snow from thin branches just outside.

All alone.

All fucked up and broken and fucking alone.

“He wouldn’t leave,” You start talking to yourself, threading a hand in your hair, gripping. “He cares, he wouldn’t just leave.”

He cared about being a hero too and he left everyone else.

What if things changed?

Insecurities, new ones and old ones, cloud your mind and vision and stuffed your lungs. The grip on your hair goes tighter.

All alone in the mountains.

All.

Alone.

It scares you more than anything, how much you need him.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you tug at the roots of your hair. It hurts, but everything is starting to hurt very quickly, and a bit of hair pulling is child’s play to how it feels like your chest is being hollowed out.

You really have so little. It stuns you in the moment as you choke back a sob. The little house in the mountains, Keigo, and the starlight you still both enjoy— that’s fucking it. You’d never returned to your ‘apartment’, or rather the remnants of it. Any possessions you had were lost to destruction and unsalvageable. Your meager relationships and friendships had fallen away when you were bound to hospital for months.

He’s all you have.

“No, no, no,” You nearly trip in your pacing, dragging your feet as you accept your reality. “He can’t l-leave.”

The world responds with silence. The mountains are cold and lonely, just like you are. It’s cruel, it all hurts and after being in a daze so often, the reality of your situation hurts like a hot brand.

He’ll come back.

He cares.

You desperately try to convince yourself as you tug your parka on, throwing on your boots. You don’t bother to fasten or tie anything, you just stumble onto the deck blindly and scan the hill of the drive.

Not a single soul.

Something rotten curls up behind your teeth. Bile climbs the back of your throat and you have to swallow to keep from vomiting. Your chest is too tight, the world is too bright, and you’re terrified.

You’re not sure what to call the type of panic response you have; it doesn’t make any logical sense. Your heart runs in your chest, your breath is hot and tight, and you simply slip to the ground in the fresh snow.

And you wait.

...

Keigo drives until he’s nearly out of town, into some flatlands near the river that gurgles and churns nearby. The surrounding forest is the perfect place for a pensive walk.

It’s the best place for him to just get it out.

It had been a long time since Keigo had just talked to himself. Audibly sorts himself as he walks along the bank of the almost-frozen river. He doesn’t keep his voice quiet, no, its full volume complaining. It’s anger that’s bundled up in his chest that’s finally being lit and the smoke of it nearly chokes him out.

It’s not fair.

He does feel a bit childish, thinking about it like that. But hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t they told him that he’d done enough? He lost it all and was just starting to the plant the seeds for a new life to sprout. Couldn’t he just have that? He’s not the shiny thing he used to be he’s fucking worthless. And that’s fine. He’s made peace with it and can find worth outside of saving people.

He’s capable. Adaptable. And he’s doing it all at his trademark speed.

But the thing that makes his gut twist is facing everything he (ran away from) left behind. The only short statement he’d given after Dabi’s video was nearly as viral as the actual video of him killing Jin (don’t think about it, don’t think about it—)

He’s not sure what possesses him to pull out his phone and pull up the video. It’s not hard to find.

It hurts to watch, but he does it anyway. Fucking masochist.

He’s standing beside Enji and Tsunagu, all of them in hastily tailored suits. They all had their visible injuries. Scars and brands that had just been carved and burned into skin. They look haggard, they look beaten.

Because they were.

Keigo watches as he adjusts his microphone in the video and gives his statement. Stupidly simple and vague, all at the same time.

“The villain Dabi did not lie. I am the son of Takami, and I killed Twice of the League of Villains. It was all necessary. Please accept my apology for the upset I have caused.”

His voice doesn’t even sound like him. It’s manufactured and broken. He remembers how the smoke had charred his throat and lungs for the first few days, before he was transferred from Central to the big facility in the tall-tree-ed forest.

He bows on the video and Enji begins his statement. Something solemn about the suffering he’s caused his family, how he wants to atone and how he is atoning. The public was too angry to listen and is too angry to listen. And the world Keigo ran from is the result.

He lets himself cry.

Finally.

His shoulders shake as he hunches over himself. The tears slip down his chilled cheeks and make little divots where they fall into the snow beneath him. His little gasps turn into sobs, the kind that hurt your chest and give you a headache that lasts for days.

He repeats a little mantra between scratchy breaths—

“I’m still good.”

He falls against the thick bark of a tree and slides down to the ground.

He let’s go.

It’s good for him, cleansing. Maybe it’s the rushing of the nearby river or the snow he's buried his hands in, but with each ragged breath he can feel some of that filth that’s clinging to him fall away. Not all of it, not by a long shot.

But feeling the worst is the first step to feeling your best.

So, when Keigo’s ready, he stands and moves forward. Trudges onward, albeit a bit slower.

...

Keigo returns home just as the sky begins to change from red to indigo with the night. It paints the pines and evergreens an eerie, dark color, shadows long and deep against the fluffy snow.

His gut twists in knots as he gets closer to home.

He’s tired. Exhausted. His eyes are still puffy from his tears, sore and aching. His body still feels tight, tense in his shoulders and arms as he grips the steering wheel. He needs rest. A good cup of tea and maybe a beer later.

And you.

As weak as Keigo feels, he knows he fucked up... just a bit.

It wasn’t fair to storm out. He isn’t dumb. All the same, if he stayed with you in the cabin, he probably would’ve said something he regretted. Or locked himself in the bedroom all day. It wouldn’t have been good or fair for you or him.

(Coward.)

Probably, but he was also burned alive fairly recently, so he had to give himself a bit of credit.

As he nears, his stomach drops.

You’re on the porch. You sit on the steps, parka pooling around your waist as your head rests on your knees.

Something’s not right.

Some of his old, honed senses trill to life, seeing you. Something in his gut twists, the muscles in his back tense, the old ones that controlled his wings.

You must be cold.

Keigo leaves the car and slaps on a smile, “Waiting for me, starshine?”

You twitch, curling over your body harder.

Something is very wrong—

He calls your name, your actual name, and you hardly stir. You all but twitch from where you sit, head tilting up just the slightest bit. It’s not enough to ease any of the worry pulling his old muscles, if anything, it makes it worse.

He falls to his knees in front of you, ignoring the crack his bones make.

“How long have you been out here?” Too long, he knows the answer, but he still has to ask.

“... A while,” You murmur, barely audible. “You’re back.”

“I am,“ Keigo pushes you up by your shoulders, scanning your face as more fear curls in his gut.

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused.

“We need to get you inside, now,” He isn’t sure if he sounds scared or angry (probably both), and he can’t make himself care.

You’re freezing.

Too cold, way too cold.

Keigo had to take plenty of survival courses during his training with the Commission and he had learned plenty about hypothermia. His avian anatomy made him more susceptible to the cold and knowing the symptoms for himself kept him from turning into a bird-adjacent popsicle more than once. He’d rescued his handful of civilians—

(Don’t think about being a hero right now or you’re gonna start crying again.)

You’re not some civilian, you’re you and you’re in front of him with darkened lips and dull eyes and full panic breaks his ribs.

...

You remember how pretty red the sky was.

You like sunsets.

You should see if Keigo wants to watch the sunset sometime.

Keigo’s gone.

You could drive—

Keigo drove away. You’re alone.

You aren’t sure how long you sat in the chill, but it was comforting despite how your fingers and toes began to ache. Outside, there were plenty of sounds and sights to keep you company. The wind whistled through trees, and the sky echoed a few, far-off sounds from distant civilization.

It was nice. Peaceful, at the very least.

...

“Inside, you need to be inside,” Keigo sputters, pulling you up under your arms. Your feet drag for a moment before going flat, and you sway in his arms.

Getting you inside makes his body ache in new ways, your weight mostly on his side. Old pains crawled to the surface as he dragged you to the couch, setting you down on the cushion and assessing you better.

His hands run over your body, over curves and divots he knew and loved and the chill of you filled him with dread.

“Your pants are wet from the snow,” Keigo swallows, rising. “I’m going to grab you dry clothes.”

As soon as he tries to move away, you catch his wrist in a weak grip.

And finally, half-lucidly, you regard him with terror in your eyes.

“You l-left,” You spit, lips curling over your teeth. “You left, Keigo.”

You use his real name and he really wants to die a little.

Sure, Suits used it on the phone with him and it made him see blood fucking red, but it’s you, and you saying the name he never really had, for the first time, so fucking angrily makes part of his secretly fragile heart break.

He freezes, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at you.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly. “Let me get you warm, then we can talk, okay?”

You don’t look convinced, tightening your grip on his wrist and pulling him closer.

Keigo gives in, so, so easily, dropping to his knees and pulling your icy hands into his. He rubs warmth into them, bringing them to his lips and breathing hot over your knuckles.

“Please, starshine. Let me get you warm.”

“I’m already warm,” Your voice slurs, entirely unconvincing.

“I say this very lovingly,” He says, somehow cracking a smile, “but you’re genuinely hypothermic. You can be as mad at me as you want, but you need to get warmed up.”

You chew your lip, cupping his cheeks with your freezing palms, “... You’re not leaving?”

Your voice drawls and Keigo makes a note to turn up the thermostat.

“No, god, no, I’m not,” He tries to assure you, shaking his head, but your grip only gets harsher. He placates you with a squeeze to your knee. “Please let me help.”

He can’t tell you how much he needs to. How hyper aware he is of your chill and of his own thumping heart. That protective urge in his chest wants to just pull you to his chest and wrap you up in him, in his heat, but that’s for later.

Your eyes' gaze goes softer, little specks of light bouncing between your irises. The room fills with blessed, familiar heat and Keigo can feel his shoulders slacken and some of the worry in his chest dissipate.

...

He returns with some of his own soft joggers, fleece-lined and well-loved. He grabbed a few layers, and an armful of blankets and pillows. Anything he could carry gets brought as his little, avian mind craves something he suppressed for years so well.

Nest, nest, nest.

Heat them first, then nest.

He helps you slip into your new, dry clothes as your teeth begin to chatter. Thank fucking god. Keigo is smart enough to check your toes as he slips onto fuzzy, thermal socks, and they all look to be healthy and functioning.

You’re quiet during the whole ordeal, save for soft breathing and snapping teeth. You occasionally grab his hand and hold it to whatever part of your skin was bared, mumbling something about how warm he is.

Keigo eventually gets you settled and surrounded by blankets and pillows which you sink into, eyes hardly open. Only then does he feel like he can pull away enough to start the nearby fire.

It feels somewhat unnecessary, given you’re still heating the room. It’s probably somewhat for the atmosphere, considering the sky is nearly fully black. A bit of crackling flame and light would do you both good.

(He rarely lights fire, but considering the flame is a kind red and not a fucking disgusting blue, he can bear it. Especially now.)

When the fire is stoked, he turns back to you and deflates.

“I’m sorry,” You say, all soft and half-lidded from the blankets. “That was... dumb.”

“It was.”

Keigo can’t fight you on the obvious.

There’s a goddamn list of questions he wants to ask you. ‘Why’s and ‘what’s, but he has a pretty good idea of why you were sitting outside and what you were thinking.

He’s not sure you’d want to talk about it anyway.

The couch creaks when he sits down a few feet from your little nest, running a tired hand over his face.

“... You know, this couch folds out,” You shift a little, slow and lethargic. Still cold. “We should sleep out here tonight.”

He turns to regards you, and it takes everything in him not to fucking break.

“Why?” His voice shakes and he knows you can tell.

You hum, leaning toward him, “Change of scenery. I think we could both use it.”

“Later.” Keigo agrees. The urge to wrap you up in his (wings) arms feels unbearable, the little avian tickings in his skull loud and needy. “Warm first. Futon later.”

You huff weakly, but lift the blankets to let Keigo slip behind you. His body curls around yours, finding the coldest parts of you and tending to them first. His hands clasp over yours and your feet get tucked between his calves.

“Thanks,” You murmur, neutral and vacant.

Keigo doesn’t push you.

Instead, you stay tucked in his arms, still shivering, but significantly less cold. Your lips and cheeks look a far healthier color and they’re warm to the touch. He traces his fingertips over the curves of your face and neck, preening in the only way he can muster up.

You eventually break the silence, when the fire is all but embers.

“I heard some of that call…” Your voice trails off. “It sounded bad.”

“It was,” Keigo agrees with a little nod. He really doesn’t want to think about Suits and, you know, the rest of the world, but it feels necessary. “Very bad.”

“Who was it?”

“Old boss.”

“… And?”

Keigo sighs, squeezing you probably a little too tightly, “Why don’t we focus on warming you up from your hypothermic excursion and not my shitty life as a shitty hero—”

“You weren’t a shitty hero, Keigo,” He can hear the mourning in your voice and it makes him want to die, just a little. You cup his cheeks, eyes sad and soft around the edges. “You were a really good one.”

“Was I? News to me.” He laughs, the bitter sound tasting like bile. He hates it, the feel of it mixed with the heat and softness of you. It feels wrong. “I don’t want to talk about all that, starshine. Please just drop it.”

Your face hardens.

“No.”

“… No?”

“No, I’m not done,” You sigh, big and hard. “I think we’re more fucked up than we talk about, Keigo.”

He winces, but you keep going, and he doesn’t move to stop you.

“Probably.”

Your jaw sets like stone on stone. It makes him internally wince as your hands go to cup his cheeks.

“I’m fucked up, you’re fucked up, everything is fucked up. We can ignore it up here, quietly, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“Yeah.” He feels his gut roll, but he doesn’t stop you. His grip goes tighter on your hips. “You’re not wrong.”

“Can we just… Acknowledge it? Please.” You ask, beg, softly as you rub his cheeks with your thumbs. “Please, Keigo.”

He doesn’t know what to do at first. He really wants to lock up. Shut down. Lock all the nasty feelings in chest, behind his heart, so they can burrow into his spine and keep him moving forward.

He wraps his hands around your wrists.

Your eyes look glassy, tears sticking in your bottom eyelashes, but not daring to fall. Not yet.

“Keigo, I’m fucked up, I know that, and that’s okay,” You deflate a little. “I’m getting better. We’re getting better. I know we are.”

“We a-are.”

Keigo’s voice cracks, hoarse in his throat and tight as the uniform belt he used to wear. His lungs feel hot, too stuffed even as he tries to swallow the heat that’s welling up on the very back of his tongue.

“You are good, Keigo, I promise,” You lean in to give his forehead the lightest kiss and Keigo feels part of himself die in the best way. “Please, let’s just talk.”

And so, he does.

…

He tells you about Jin first.

You’d heard about him, the villain Hawks killed during the War. Published for the world to see, over and over, forever. The video was one you’d only seen once, during your early days at the hospital, but you could recall the footage on your grainy hospital television.

Your pretty eyes, pretty Keigo, cut him down. One of his old feathers, hardened into a stiff blade, struck Jin across the chest, arcing up to his neck and slicing a few important arteries and veins. It was an imperfect job, one that probably made his death more painful and prolonged than it needed to be.

You don’t let go of Keigo’s cheeks as he tells you the story. You can’t, you’re too busy thumbing away the little tears that roll down his cheeks.

He speaks between sobs that break from his chest. Underused and much-needed.

“He was good, starshine,” Keigo curls in a little on himself, but you keep him mostly upright. “I had to, y-you know? I didn’t have a choice, if I didn’t—"

How many more people would be dead?

His body convulsed, the little tears turning fat as he collapsed into your chest and buried himself in you. Like he was hiding, and god, did you let him.

You hushed him, soothed him with little kisses, and listened.

“And then Dabi—”

You hate him, obviously. You only know his name and visage, and you hate him so much it hurts. Part of you wants to rub at his scars like he lets you, but you decide against it in Keigo’s fragility.

He tells you of the blue flames, how the boot felt against his back, how his throat burned for weeks from the heat and smoke. His grip on you goes so tight, you’re afraid he’s going to tear your shirt to shreds.

“He took them, starshine,” Keigo’s voice muffled into your shoulder, the sound of it rattling you. “He t-took them!”

And he slumps against you, well and truly, and can’t muster up another word. All you could do is hold him, rocking him from your little, shared spot on the couch and whisper to him little comforts. You’re crying a little too, breath tight and hazy as you let Keigo shatter in your arms.

He’s not ready to talk about his wings and that’s okay. More than okay.

So, you soothe him. He soothes you right back, rubbing at your sides, hips, thighs— whatever he can reach and touch and claim. You’re good, you’re the closest he’s going to get to permeance and he’ll be damned to let you go when you feel so good and he feels so fucking awful.

You fall back onto the chest, pulling Keigo with you so he can lay atop you. His ear presses to your chest, heart thumping in his ear while you lock your arms around him. Caged in and held, with the lightest pressure on the thick skin of his scars.

“I’ll never truly get it, I can’t,” You admit, quietly as you smooth back some of his tear-matted hair. “But I want to be here. I want to listen when you’re want to talk. Need to talk. You can dash off on your own, Keigo, that’s okay. Just know that I’ve got you to, okay?”

Keigo sniffled, peering up at you with wide eyes, “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I am now, aren’t I? Just a few hours out from nearly being a popsicle,” You hum and joke, glowing from the inside out when Keigo graces you with a little smile.

It takes a few more moments for him to cover, haul himself up to the crook of your neck and breathing hard and deep for a while. Like he’s trying to absorb you through scent alone.

“… Are you okay?” Keigo asks, squeezing you so tight it hurts. (And you want more of it.) “You’re not as cold anymore.”

“I’m feeling okay,” You paw at your face a bit, rubbing your cheeks like they’re still numb and not flushed with blood and sticky with drying tears. “I just freaked out a little.”

“… Because I left?”

You nod, chewing your lips.

“I don’t want to be alone, Keigo,” You whisper it, though he already knows your admission. “I’m terrified of you leaving.”

“When I left,” Keigo rises to meet your gaze, gooey and cobbled. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”

“… Maybe,” You shake your head, refusing to look at him. “You didn’t say anything about coming back, just about… leftovers.”

You both frown.

“I panicked.” You shake your heard.

“… That’s what happens when you panic?”

“I guess?” Your mouth feels too dry. “I don’t know. I got scared. I panicked. What else was I supposed to do?”

There’s an obvious answer or two, but it’s unspoken.

“I’m not leaving,” Keigo rubs at your cheeks. “You’re gonna have to try pretty hard to get me gone, starshine. I love you too much to go easily.”

It’s a declaration, a strong one, and god does it feel fucking good to hear.

“… Promise?” You ask him as his palms cup your cheeks and jaw.

“Promise.”

“I heard on the call—”

Keigo interrupts you with a kiss, hard and long that steals your breath and makes your head spin.

“Promise.” Keigo breaths, pretty eyes meeting your heat-filled ones. “Everywhere, all the time, forever. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a start, even if that insecurity is so deeply rooted. The adoration in his eyes, and the sweetness of his touch tempers it all. It’s there still, just like how there’s so much unspoken that needs to be sorted, chewed on, and digested.

But now?

The embers in the hearth need another log or two. The futon needs to be folded out and I’d be best if you shared a cup or two of tea. Preferably something with lavender that’ll scent the cabin with the smells of spring and herbs.

Now, you’re both more than enough.

…

thank you for reading!!💞keep an eye out for part 3! 👀

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawk x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia #anyways ouch <3 #kiss it better keigo #enjoy this big boy heheh #kith kith :'^)

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aiiwa · 4 years ago

Text

BEAUTIFUL IN BLUE — IWAIZUMI HAJIME.

— iwaizumi hajime.

⤷ genre: college au - fluff / smut

⤷ warnings: cursing, mature content and themes. smut: fingering (vaginal and anal), unprotected sex. kind of proof read but if you see a typo...no you didn’t.

⤷ word count: 6.4k

— a/n: set in the “FRESHMAN YEAR” universe, and is a continuation of “PRETTY IN PINK” - which i suggest reading before this. for those who wanted some real action after pretty in pink, this is for you <3.

a couple of weeks had passed since the incident. at least that’s what you had been addressing the day you had sent photos of you modelling your new lingerie to iwa, as. things had seemingly returned back to normal, photo unmentioned, and still your steady friendship continued with the oblivious brunette.

and now november had announced its arrival, with your boots beginning to disappear under crunchy oceans of cherry, merigold and bronze, and the potent, musky-sweet smell of browning leaves swirling around the air. it was the tell tale sign that fall was well and truly here, and what better of a time to drive out of town for the day, and celebrate momijigari.

at least that’s what you had told yourself before, what was meant to be a two hour drive, turned into over three hours spent in a car with the oversized toddlers know as your best friends.

“i’m hungry~!” whined toddler number one from behind you.

mattsun outstretched his long arms, reaching around the passenger seat you sat in, in an attempt to steal more of your snacks. you had made sure everyone knew to bring their own food and water, double- no, triple checked everyone was on the same page. but of course it was no surprise that mattsun was the only one to turn up empty handed. so when his grabby hands slapped against your cheeks for the nth time, you angled your face and snapped your jaw right on his thumb.

mattsun shrieks, jolting back away from you. “fucking hell, y/n!”

twisting around in your seat, you smirk, watching as he checked over the distinct bite mark on his red thumb.

“ha, serves you right.” pipes the figure slouched next to mattsun in the back seat. “ugh i need to take a leak.”

the peach-haired, number two toddler was none other than makki. he’d woken up cranky that morning, and it only seemed to worsen when he’d been shoved into the back with the chatty mattsun. within the first ten minutes he had tried to suffocate the latter with his pillow, and when that didn’t work, he took to blasting music in his headphones and facing himself towards the window for majority of the ride. only engaging with everyone when you began snacking, and he had decided to drink all of his juice just to spite mattsun.

“oi, iwa! control your gremlin!”

“shut up.”

“no, you shut up! you didn’t even want to share your juice with me!”

“i will literally piss on you right now.”

losing interest in the bickering duo behind you, your attention diverted to the third, brooding toddler beside you in the driver’s seat. you had spent majority of the drive admiring the way iwa handled himself behind the wheel; the flex of his arms under the fitted cotton of his blue long sleeve as he turned the wheel, and how the pads of his long fingers would tap against the worn leather to the beat of whatever tune began playing on shuffle. yet out of everything, it was when iwa took to mumbling the lyrics of whichever cheesy love song you were belting out to, that you found yourself falling even deeper into the pit of your affections for him.

throughout the drive, iwa had mostly managed to ignore the others’ antics - with your intervention of course. but with how tight his grip on the steering wheel had become from the squabbling in the backseat, and the dark look brewing under his cap; it was clear how close he was to losing his cool.

extending your arm out in front of him, you offer the hershey bar in your hand, brushing it against the pout of his bottom lip. iwa’s olive eyes glance questioningly at you from the side, to which you only offer a small grin.

“take a bite.” you order. the, ‘you look like you need it,’ is silent, but obvious in the way you prod the treat at his closed mouth.

“mmph-”

his eyes returned to the road before him as he parted his lips, pink tongue making a brief appearance before he took a small bite of your chocolate. you attempt to retract your arm, until iwa moves one hand to grab your wrist; bringing you back to him to take a bigger bite of the sweet, thumb rubbing against the inner side of your palm.

the corner of his mouth tugs upwards, as he mumbles a small, “thank you.”

heat floods your cheeks, and you catch yourself before you drop the chocolate on his lap. distracted by the deafening beat of your heart pounding in your ears, you don’t notice the silence that fills the car, or the not-so subtle click of mattsun snapping a photo of the two of you in the front and sending it to the group chat. you’re pulled out of your slight trance, by a flash of peach entering your field of view.

“that was disgusting...ly sweet. and now i suddenly need to puke, so hurry it up would you.”

as makki leans back, mattsun is quick to replace him, popping his head between you and iwa.

“don’t just ignore me, y/n, feed me chocolate too!”

rolling your eyes, you shove the bar in his mouth; the rest of you three laugh as he falls back into his seat, all the while he happily munches on the treat.

a little time passes before iwa’s flicking his indicator, signalling his turn into the free parking space outside the nature reserve. he shifts the gear into park before everyone piles out - makki walking over to wrap his thick, fossil grey scarf around your neck, the cashmere soft against your skin; while mattsun offers to carry your little backpack, only sending you a sly smile when you question his reasoning for taking the bag from you. you hug iwa’s offered arm to your chest, as the four of you start trekking along the uneven pathways leading towards lake kawaguchi. the walk isn’t necessarily long, but none of you are in a rush - strolling leisurely and enjoying the atmosphere.

and when you finally reach the end of your walk, you still yourself, awestruck by the beauty surrounding you. the glassy lake shimmering under the afternoon rays, crisp maple leaves painted red, swaying to the breezy flow of the cool wind, and the tinkling laughter from young children running about on the golden fields - filled your chest with warmth.

“it’s so beautiful here.”

your voice comes out as a whisper for only iwa’s ears to hear; with makki off to relieve himself and mattsun trailing after him, acting as if you didn’t see him rummaging through your snacks. iwa only hums in agreement, missing the way he hasn’t even acknowledged the view, his gaze set solely on you.

this is what the tradition of momijigari meant; taking time away from your busy schedule to spend a moment to enjoy this small piece of life. and of course, capturing the moment with some of your favourite people on camera. so when you busied yourself with taking photos with the towering men, it really shouldn’t have surprised you when your phone began to buzz with an incoming facetime call.

sliding your thumb across the screen to answer the call, you’re greeted by the sight of oikawa’s toothy grin; illuminated by a bright light you knew had to be artificial, since it was nearing two a.m. in argentina.

“yahoo, y/n-chan! you didn’t think i’d miss out on a photoshoot did you? i already missed out on you feeding me chocolate!” you shoot an embarrassed glanced at iwa, noticing the slight furrow between his brows and the faint dust of pink across his cheeks.

“photoshoot…?” a confused makki mumbles behind you.

mattsun leans over your shoulder, shoving his face in the camera. “oi, isn’t it late for you?”

you raise a single shaped brow as oikawa scoffs, brushing his fingers through his perfectly styled hair. “the pretty face of this group has finally blessed you, and that’s all you have to say?” mattsun scrunches his face in offence, as oikawa continues. “besides, i may be in a different country but i refuse to miss out!”

and it was because of his soft pout that you found yourself posing with your phone by your face, making sure to catch oikawa’s best angles; having long given up on questioning the setter and his antics. the so-called photoshoot came to an abrupt end later on when a tired and cranky oikawa yawned, apparently ruining another photo according to him, and iwa’s finger just so happened to slip and disconnect the video call.

“he’s stubborn.” was all he had said when you, makki and mattsun side eyed him. “we should head back home before it gets late.”

the drive back to tokyo seemed relatively faster than the journey to fujikawaguchiko. it was as if your body went into autopilot as you sat behind the wheel, this time taking responsibility as the driver while the boys napped; only coming to when you were parking iwa’s truck into their apartment’s parking lot, moments after the sun had set.

it was a silent and unanimous decision to order take out for dinner, the four of you seated around the black walnut dining table to dig in. meal times with the boys were hectic, and competitive for the most part - it was survival of the fittest. you were often being challenged by mattsun - tonight having lost the last few gyoza to him.

though it became obvious who the real loser was when mattsun flopped his head onto your lap, while you were lounging out on the settee.

“y/n~” mattsun drawled out. “rub my belly, it hurts!”

“no.”

“please, y/n~! my one and only best friend, the moon to my stars, the curry to my rice-”

he releases a satisfied sigh once you reach a hand out to press your palm against his stomach, rubbing soothing circles to stop his whining; and you catch makki roll his beady eyes at the two of you, as he flicks through suggested films to watch on netflix. iwa strolls into the living room, pillows and a comforter stacked in his arms; laying them neatly on the couch he shares with you on movie nights.

“oh, iwa, could you send me the photos please?” he nods his head once, barely glancing over at you and mattsun; pulling out his phone and dropping himself unceremoniously across the adjacent sofa. “thank you.” you call out once your phone pings with several notifications.

still rubbing mattsun’s stomach, your free hand casually scrolls through the pictures from today.

you snicker to yourself at the first series of chaotic images. a selfie with smushed faces pressed together and a phone-sized oikawa tucked right under your jaw, a blurry pic of the boys throwing vermillion leaves at each other, and even a timed snapshot where you, mattsun and makki had leapt on iwa’s back - your legs wrapped around his torso, while makki squished you from behind, and mattsun had flopped himself on top of the pile. there was even a shot of the aftermath, your phone and oikawa somehow surviving the tumble, and a deadpanned iwa staring straight at the camera as the three of you behind him cackled with your heads thrown back.

at least a few wholesome pictures had been captured. a sweet group photo with all of you huddled by each other in front of a vibrant maple tree; you and iwa were flanked by mattsun and makki respectively, as oikawa was held between you and iwa like a prized trophy. even a rare moment where makki and mattsun had their arms hooked around each other, with easy going grins on both of their faces, had been caught.

butterflies erupted in your tummy, fluttering about once you swiped to the next photo. it was a candid shot of you and iwa standing by the brilliant blue lake front. you were leaning into his side, holding two leaves at the top of your head to mimic cat ears, face tilted upwards. giggling, your eyes were shut, and only now can you see that you missed the soft smile iwa donned looking down at you.

it was almost painful to admit that together you looked like a couple, and it didn’t help that most times you even acted as such. sneaking a glance at the man in question, you watch him chatting quietly to makki, gripping your phone tightly in your grasp at the sound of him laughing at whatever snide comment escaped your peach-haired friend. you couldn’t help but sigh, being in love with one of your best friends only got harder each day.

unknowingly you had already swiped to the last photo iwa had sent, so when you return your gaze the screen, you shriek; dropping your phone flat on mattsun’s face.

“um, what the fuck, ow.”

iwa’s sharp eyes shoot towards you instantly. “what’s wrong?”

you only shake your head, warmth filling your cheeks and an itch you just can’t scratch prickling under your skin. makki only shrugs, shifting his attention back to the television. iwa is more hesitant, the feeling of his olive eyes giving you a once over does nothing to calm your nerves from being sent into overdrive. when he finally turns away, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“ugh, what even had you going even more crazy than usual all of a sudden?” mattsun groans from your lap. as he reaches to lift your phone off of his face, you’re quick to snatch the device away.

“n-nothing!” he only raises a thick brow at your defensive tone, before grabbing your hand to continue your ministrations.

glancing around the room, you pull the screen close to your face; taking in the photo, you felt your mouth run dry.

there was no way this could have been sent to you on purpose - because the sight of a shirtless iwa at his second home, the gym, was definitely not taken at lake kawaguchi. anyone with eyes could tell how ripped iwa was under his fitted shirts. but over the past few months you had noticed that he’d run off to the gym more often; and it was obvious in the way his clothes struggled to stretch over his bulked up build these days.

it was a mid work out, mirror selfie; iwa’s dark, mocha coloured hair plastered to his forehead, bare chest glistening from the sweat dripping down from his neck. he was seated on the rubber floor, one long, tanned leg stretched out in front of him with the other bent at the knee, elbow resting loosely against his leg. your eyes greedily took in the defined dips of his toned stomach, dark snail trail leading downwards to the evident bulge of his grey shorts; the hem cutting into the flexed muscles of his thighs.

the heat pooling between your thighs as your imagination ran wild was just about to peak when-

“oi, y/n.” you almost jump, locking your screen, and blinking away the dazed look in your eyes. when your vision cleared, you found makki standing in front of you. “we’re gonna watch the movie now.”

“oh, right.”

mattsun rolls off your lap with a groan, complaining to makki about who is gonna rub his belly now, while you stand up. shuffling over to iwa, he stretches before shifting and making room for you to squeeze in next to him.

“c’mere.” he mumbles, throwing his arm around you and pulling you into his side.

the beat of your pounding heart is almost deafening in your ears, you’re near to hyperventilating, as your mind is sent into overdrive. the two of you were always cuddling platonically during movies, ever since the one time you had complained about being cold in their apartment. but this time was different. ‘is this how he felt when you had sent a picture of your new lingerie?’ you think to yourself. you spend the next hour deep in your thoughts, completely lost to whatever is happening in the sci-fi film makki had chosen, and when the end credits start rolling on the screen - iwa announces he’ll drop you off back to your dorm.

it’s close to midnight; so makki wishes you a goodnight, as a sleepy mattsun rests against his shoulder, making grabby hands for you not to go. you wave as you leave, following after iwa who opens the passenger side door of his truck, helping you jump up into the seat, before closing the door and making his way to the driver’s side.

your dorm isn’t too far from their apartment complex, so you’re not surprised at how quick the ride is. the street is unusually busy, yet completely void of any roaming students. and with no private parking for students, iwa’s forced to pull up near a secluded cluster of tall trees, a bit away from the dorm entrance.

“i’ll walk you in.” iwa says, leaving no room for argument. he reaches for his phone, as a message flashes across his screen. “oh, oikawa asked why you’ve been ignoring his messages.”

“huh?” you flip your own phone in your hand, watching as the facial recognition unlocks and suddenly iwa’s gym selfie is on full display for the both of you. it takes a moment for you to process the situation, and all you can manage is a simple, “oh,” as you resist the urge to fling your phone out of the window.

“nice photo.” iwa pipes up, you don’t even try to look at him, but the smirk in his tone is evident. “where’d you get it?”

his question throws you off, and you’re quick to turn your head to narrow your eyes at him. “what do you mean? iwa, you literally sent it to me?!”

“really? shit i must have done it by accident.”

“an accident?”

“yeah, like what you did to me. remember?”

you gasp, moving back almost as if you’ve been struck, while iwa simply laughs at your expression. a full on belly laugh that has him throwing his head back, illuminated by the glow emitting through his open moon roof. you should’ve been dwelling in the embarrassment that came with him turning your own words back on you - yet you found your own laughter mixing in with his. only when both of you had calmed down a bit, did an electrified silence fill the car.

fiddling with your phone in your lap, the strands of hair curtaining the sides of your face, is brushed aside and tucked behind the cuff of your ear. glancing at iwa, the corner of his mouth is pulled up into a fond smile as his thumb caresses the shell of your ear.

“sorry for teasing you, pretty lady. couldn’t help myself after you sent me that picture looking all pretty in pink.”

“i…” words escape you as his large hand trails down the side of your cheek. you’re suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to do something - it’s almost at the tip of your tongue, before you grab at his wrist and whisper a, “fuck it.”

leaning over the middle, you reach a hand to hold the back of his head as your lips press against his own. lips even softer than they appeared, the lingering taste of his wild cherry lip balm, the same one you owned, tasted sweeter than you remembered. after a moment, of the kiss not being reciprocated, you pull back.

“just had to do it once.” you murmur, lips still tingling.

iwa’s minty breath fans across your face as he releases an airy sigh. “then let’s do it a second time.”

this time his hand wraps loosely around your neck, pulling you towards him, and slanting his mouth over yours. you moan into the kiss as his tongue darts out to tease your lower lip. leaning into him, you almost keel forward as this time he pulls away. slightly breathless, you open your eyes to take in the barely restrained lust and adoration in his handsome features, mimicking you’re own.

“third time’s a charm, right?”

the devilish grin iwa gives you in response to your innocently posed question, has you climbing over the centre console. at the same time he’s rolling the chair back away from the leather steering wheel, making space for you to slide onto his lap and straddle him. molding your lips to his, the feeling of your tongue exploring his mouth and you grinding into him slowly; has him release a hiss as his hands grab at the fullness of your ass.

tugging at his collar, your words are muffled against his mouth. “take this off, now.”

he chuckles at your demand, pulling the hem of his shirt past the bulk of his shoulders and over his head - blindly throwing it to the backseat. you drag your eyes over the sight of his broad chest, taking in every delicious dip of his stomach; leaning forward, your tongue licks a tentative stripe along his neck, that has iwa’s breath hitch before peppering wet kisses along his skin. your hands roam around his toned body, while his own larger ones slide under your top; a searing hot trail following his exploration of your body. he draws small circles at your hips, leading up to hold your waist and bring your even closer against him.

“your turn, baby.” he whispers to you, fisting the bottom half of your top. “be fair to me, i wanna see more of you.”

sitting up straight in his lap, you slip the thin top over your head; following his suit in flinging it to the backseat. your hair brushed past your bare shoulders, exposed skin feeling the chill of the autumn night; but the look in iwa’s olive eyes, irradiated by the moonlight streaming in from the uncovered moonroof, was scorching hot. rough palms, flat against your smooth skin, slid over your tummy, teasing the sheer mesh of your bra, before playing with the baby blue ribbons on the straps.

“y/n.” iwa groans out, tracing the floral stitching and feeling the hardened nubs of your nipples under the fabric. with the moon haloing behind you, the way he stares up at you is so raw and intense, it has you frozen in anticipation. “you look so fucking beautiful in blue.”

he doesn’t wait for your response as he reaches behind you to unhook your bra, freeing your breasts from its confines. iwa’s quick to take a pebbled nub into his hot mouth, suckling as his fingers tweak the other. your fingers thread through his dark locks, when he moves and switches his focus; a lewd string of saliva dragging from your nipple to his pink tongue. stuttered grinding from his mouth distracting you, had you reaching a hand between each other to palm his erection - wanting to ease some of the tension. but iwa’s quick to snatch your hand away.

“iwa...let me touch you?”

releasing you from his mouth, he kisses the pout from your lips. “no, baby, don’t worry about me.”

“why not?” you whine.

“i wanna make you feel real good, gotta prep you for me first. is that okay with you, baby?” he only smiles softly as you start to relax against him. “i need to know if you’re okay with this. care about you so much, i just want you to be comfortable. let me know if you wanna stop right now.”

“no, h-haji...please, i don’t want to stop. i want you so bad. i need you, ah-”

your consent was all he needed before he pulls you back into him, kissing you so slow you feel dizzy; his hands travel low on your body, working the button of your jeans, as your fingers dig into his shoulders. when he breaks away from you, he helps you slip out of the dark denim, tugging each pant leg off until all you wearing is the stringy, baby blue panties that leaves little to the imagination.

“fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” iwa groans out, rubbing a hand across his face as you giggle lightly. while you hover over him, he quickly strips off his pants, kicking them off onto the floor before grabbing onto your hips. “flip around on me, baby. that’s right, face the front.”

settling down onto his lap, the thin cotton of his briefs does nothing to hide the print of his hard-on he’s sporting underneath. and with your back pressed to his warm chest, you roll your hips teasingly into him.

“come on, haji...let me help you.” you huff, continuing to grind against him.

“oi, cut it out.”

his grip on your hips tighten in warning, and you gasp as he manhandles you easily. shifting you around so that the heel of your left foot digs into his thigh, the other secured at the edge of the leather wheel; he has your legs wide open. before you can even think about any stragglers catching you so vulnerable; iwa hooks his arm under your thigh, pads of his fingers brushing over your clothed pussy.

“haaaa~” you breathe out, hips jerking into his touch.

“fuck baby, your panties are soaked.” he continues to tease you over the drenched crotch of your panties. iwa rubs lazy circles, casually sliding under the material to play with your silk folds. his touches have you yearning for more, as you feel yourself slowly going insane as he starts to coat his fingers in your slick.

“mmm...touch me, haji...properly.”

wriggling around in his embrace, you keen once he pulls his hand away from you; holding his fingers before you, showing off how they glisten so prettily in under the moon. and then you watch over your shoulder as he leads his hand to his mouth, and licks his fingers clean.

“you taste so fucking sweet.” he’s quick to bring his fingers back to your drooling pussy, coating his fingers once again, but this time bringing them to your own lips. “here, have a taste for yourself.”

opening your mouth, iwa wastes no time pressing his long digits flat against your tongue. sucking on his fingers, you savour the saccharine essence of your pussy; moaning at your own flavour sending your tastebuds into overdrive. iwa hums, heated gaze taking in the way you take his fingers in your mouth; he slowly pulls them back out with a pop - smiling softly at the way you stare at him, all wide-eyed and wanton.

“should we get you out of these messy panties now, baby?”

at your eager nods, iwa presses a kiss to your shoulder as he has you lift your hips up; slipping your soaked panties off, and placing them on the passenger seat side the two of you. sitting you back down against him, he hooks both arms around the undersides of your thighs, grabbing at your soft flesh and spreading you wide open for him. you whimper when a big hand cups your sex, rough palm brushing against your throbbing clit.

“shh.” iwa coos, entranced with how you’re rolling your hips to grind against his hand. “i got you.”

he presses his thumb against your clit, circling the sensitive bud peaking past your puffy lips; as his middle finger teases your slit. slowly he pushes his finger inside you, a heavy, relieved moan escapes your throat, as he easily slides in and out of you. through heavy lidded eyes you watch as fog clouds the windows of iwa’s truck, the glass steamy; while perspiration collects between your bodies. you’re brought back to focus on iwa, when he teases a second finger against your slit, dipping inside you and stretching you out even more. hissing, you clench around him; the lewd squelches as he fucks you with his thick fingers, has you digging your heels into his thigh and the steering wheel.

the way iwa’s fingers reaches deeper inside than you could ever on your own, and the added stimulation to your clit, has the tightening coil in your belly snap as you cum all over his hand.

“oh baby, feels good doesn’t it?”

“yeshhh...h-haji, mmph-”

he doesn’t stop pumping you with his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm to the end. even when you feel the high descend, twitching at the slight overstim, you expect him to stop. but all he does is bury his face in the crook between your shoulder and neck, dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin as the hand not occupied with your pussy, fondles your ass. you lean into him, mewling at his touches when your breath hitches at a new sensation.

“haji, no! it’s dirty!”

the hand at your ass had moved to pet at your puckered hole - completely drenched in your cum, he was sure he could slide a single finger in with ease. and he was right. the feeling of your tight hole being prodded, stretched by the tip of his forefinger, before sucking the entire digit inside - had you throwing your head back in pleasure.

“f-ah-uck! oh shit, nghhh!”

“you gonna cum again for me, baby?”

the feeling of both your ass and pussy being stuffed full of iwa’s fingers is overwhelming. you’re a panting and moaning mess, writhing on top of him. and when the back of your head is thrown back into iwa’s shoulder, all you can see is hazy stars in the sky as you stare up, completely intoxicated by the feeling of his fingers moving inside you - brushing against the thin barrier of skin between your two holes. the familiar pressure in your tummy has you bucking your hips and crying out.

“you’re squeezing my fingers so tight.” he maintains the same steady pace, fucking his fingers into you nice and deep, while working your sensitive clit. its only a few seconds later he hits a particular spot that has you jolting forward, crying out at your sudden release. “shit, that’s right, i can feel you cumming all over my hands again, baby.”

you can barely think straight as your body trembles from the aftershocks of your second orgasm. still in a daze, iwa eases his fingers out of your twitching holes, and you groan at the empty feeling.

“you okay?” iwa asks, wrapping his arm around your waist. you nod, chest heaving as you attempt to steady your breathing. “you think you can cum one more time from my fingers-”

“no!” you grab at his wrists when he moves to play with you again. “i need you inside me, haji. please.”

whatever calm iwa had possessed while pleasuring you had vanished at your words. sticky hands lifted you up by your waist, turning you around to straddle him - while he slightly lowered the back of his seat. lip locked, your hands find themselves wrapped around the nape of his neck, while iwa’s hands grab at your body - stilling your wriggling form as he grinds up into you.

without breaking the kiss, you reach down and ease your fingers under the elastic waistband of his briefs; hand brushing against the tip of iwa’s cock. that earns you a muffled groan as he allows you to hover over him and slide the boxer briefs down his muscled thighs. your mouth salivates at the sight of his cock slapping against his toned stomach. he was easily the biggest you’d ever seen, with a thick vein on the underside, and a red, angry tip leaking pre-cum.

“fuck, you’re so big haji.”

he hisses when your hand touches him, you can barely wrap your fingers around him; and you start to question if he could even fit inside you. iwa notices the slight hesitation in your movements.

“we don’t have to.” he reassures, brushing the hair out of your lust filled eyes. “i can play with you some more, or i can eat you out in the back seat-”

“-haji.” you cut him off, stroke him before lining him at your dripping entrance, grinding the leaking tip across your slit. “i’ve wanted this for so long.” lowering yourself, you gasp at the delicious stretch of his tip entering you. “i’ve wanted you for so long. don’t hold back, give me everything.” and with that, you completely impale yourself on his cock.

“fuck, y/n, i can feel you clamping down on me- shit baby, you gotta move.”

lifting one leg at a time, you shift around off of your knees, steadying yourself on your tip toes; before grabbing onto iwa’s shoulders and starting to slowly ride him. his hands roam across your body freely, loving squeezes trailed in their path, as praise after praise is whispered out to you.

“you take my cock so well, fuck.”

your fingers dig into his shoulder blades as you quicken your pace. bouncing yourself faster on his fat cock, iwa’s attention is drawn to to the way your breasts move in front of him; massaging the soft flesh, and then leaning forward to smush his face between them.

“could stay right here forever.” his muffled voice croons.

you whimper at the feeling of his hot tongue dragging a wet trail down the valley between your breasts, and you’re certain plum love bites will have bloomed across your chest by sunrise. your arms shoot up to press against the foggy glass of the moon roof above you, palms pressed flat against the steamy window, handprints painted on the transparent screen - as you bounce harder and faster. the lewd sound of your ass slapping against his thighs and of your pussy sucking him in with each stroke; shows how desperate you are to cum again.

“you’ll cum on my cock, won’t you baby? i can feel how close you are, shit, you’re so close aren’t you?”

the way you ride him gradually becomes sloppier the closer you are to cumming, so when he holds your waist and helps you bounce on him, you cry out in relief.

“f-fuck, feels s’g-good, haji! nghh, yes, yes, yes-!”

only as he reaches a hand down to roll your sensitive clit between his index and thumb, do you fall apart on his cock. your velvety walls spasm around him as he continues to fuck you through your high in chase of his own, overstimming you even more as you cream all over him, tongue lolling out. the sheer intensity of your orgasm has you collapsing forward onto his heaving chest, a babbling mess, while he holds you to him.

“you made such a mess on me, baby.” he huffs out.

“h-haji.” you whimper into his neck, arms looped around his. “s’too sensitive, haaa~”

your knees are by his hips, the tops of your feet pressed against his inner thighs, as he rolls his hips into you. large hands slide down your spine, over the curve of your ass to knead the smooth flesh in his palms.

“just hold on to me baby. you got one last one for me, don’t you?” all you can do is nod, releasing an onslaught of mewls and moans. “that’s a good girl, fuck.”

iwa is relentless in pursuit of his own orgasm - fucking into you at a punishing pace that has your mouth jar open in a silent cry, his truck jolting with each snap of his hips. your juices completely drench his cock, allowing him to slide in and out of you with ease, and you’re sure by now your pussy has been shaped out by the imprint of his cock. you can feel him throbbing inside of you, close to his climax; while his fingers dig into your ass shoving you down on his cock, and hitting your sweet spot over and over that you can’t help but gush all over him yet again.

“h-ah-ji, hnghh!” you sob, your body spent and thighs slick with your cum.

iwa only lasts a little longer with the way you were clenching down on him; pulling out of your fucked out pussy, and setting you on his thighs. he fists his cock in his hand, jerking himself a few times before thick, white cum spurts out - coating his entire hand and painting his stomach.

“mmm baby, that was fucking amazing.” he growls out, leaning back into the seat to catch his breath. “d’you feel okay?”

you only hum, entranced by how much cum he spilled. or wasted, you thought to yourself.

“can you reach over to the back and grab the towel in my gym bag, gotta clean us up…” your lack of focus has iwa trailing off. “y/n?”

“we don’t need the towel.”

reaching for the hand covered in his seed, you bring it to your mouth. iwa tries to question what you meant by that, though he’s cut off when you lick a tentative strip across his palm. gathering his cum on your tongue, you swirl his essence around in your mouth, before swallowing. you make a show of taking each finger in your mouth, sucking his cum clean. once his hand is licked clean, you slide down his lap; ready to do the same over his abs.

“you’re so good to me, y/n.” iwa runs his fingers through your hair, and then pats your head. “y/n?” he calls out again, still petting your head just as your about to trace the dips of his stomach with your tongue.

“hmm?”

“y/n? y/n?”

you move back away from him. “what?”

“y/n? oi, y/n? wake up!”

iwa watches as you jolt up from where you had fallen asleep on his lap. makki, who had been hovering over you, moves away as you try to swat at him - a confused look on your face.

“huh?”

“you fell asleep.” makki informs her. “you were interrupting the movie. if you’re that tired, just sleep in one of our rooms.”

lazed out on the other couch, mattsun pipes up; “yeah, you were making these ugly noises and then iwa said you licked his hand, what a weirdo.”

he only clears his throat awkwardly, finding a sudden interest in the beige walls of their living room. he misses the horrified expression on your pretty face, scrunched up in utter embarrassment, before you turn to start arguing with mattsun.

iwa was grateful for the pillow resting over lap, hiding the evident hard-on he was sporting. he wanted to argue with mattsun too, because the sounds you made were definitely far from ugly.

#haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu smut #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru #matsukawa issei #hanamaki takahiro #haikyuu fluff

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flopsy-art · 3 years ago

Note

i am having much 309th brainrot and would love to hear some fun (or not so fun) facts about them i love them all so much

Oop welcome to the brainrot! I have alot of stuff about them cause they take up brain space

Most of the ✨content✨ is in the 309th tag. We got a couple fics and all my art :3

I'm gonna rant about Okuzy cause I love him.

Okuzy is quite a bad Jedi (lol). He falls in love easily and doesn't handle loss well. He originally wanted to become a medic but found he had major fainting issues whenever he saw blood and essentially gave up his dream. His master Sajnálja (shy-nay-a) saw something in his future and decided to take him on as a padawan learner. Yoda saw something similar in Okuzy's future but did not want him to gain any power from continued training. He urged Sajnálja to not take him as a padawan (and later to not knight him) but she refused. Okuzy is about the same age as Obi-Wan but is knighted much later than Kenobi is. (I imagine they're friends and at one point he meets Anakin and Kenobi and all Anakin has to say about Okuzy is "master, that person is strange" and Obi-Wan just has to sigh and be like "yes, my young Padawan. He is.")

Okuzy is knighted a few days before the first battle of Geonosis. This battle is where his master dies. He does not handle her loss well (despite his best efforts to bottle up his grief) and this causes the council to dislike him further. Eventually he is enlisted in the war effort but the council only give him Jedi Commander rank (a rank usually reserved for padawans) and placed in charge of the 309th. The 309th is a smaller reserve battlation filled with mostly older clones deemed 'defective' for one reason or another. They have no colour and only have 3 companies instead of the usual 4. Here he meets Sap. An overtly emotional and mildly disliked clone who changes his life.

Here's a fun little bit:

---

'but I know nothing of command, masters. How shall I hope to lead these troops with the capability they deserve, with the ingenuity we need to win this war?'

"Avoided this long enough, you have. You shall only be a commander, not a general. Which may ease your mind, Knight Zishral. Trust in the force."

'I will. I do. May the force be with you."

In all of the twenty eight years Okuzy Zishral had been alive, he had always thought he was meant for something else. Sure, the force provided. It flowed through his mindscape, an itch impossible to ignore. It was a part of him, as much as his marigold stiped montrals or his tendency for attachment. There was never a more omni-present sense of that lingering doubt in his life's voyage than when he was assigned military duty. Stationed on a cold, massive (apparently it was one of the smaller battalion war vessels, Okuzy could barely believe it) ship called 'Incredulity' that stank of inhumanity and disconnect. He did not know how to make it home. What was worse, maybe, than the open hallways and the slowly receading parts of his soul, were the troopers. All so different and wonderful. People that flowed through the living force in bright colours from pinks like a sunset sky to the ever present green-gray of herol tree bark. But they turned stoic and solid at his approach, introduced themselves with numbers and ranks and apologies for delay. It was mildy insane, he thought. To be regarded by people, who in all means where stronger and smarter than he was. Most Jedi in the temple halls barely gave him notice, or if they did it was with a mild scowl.

A muffled "Sir?" threw him from his stupor and he looked up to see more of those white plated helmets. He sunk his fingers into the hilt of his lightsaber and tried not to think too much about why.

"Excuse my impropriety," he said, glancing at the nearest helmet. It had a scuff of light blue just along the top dome. "I was lost in thought. Would you repeat the last of the conversation for me please?"

"Sir," the closest nodded. "The commander has arrived shipside and is waiting for you on the bridge, sir. He told me to fetch you, since you have not yet received a commlink."

Ah. A commlink.

"Very well. Thankyou for informing me, take care," and then he was down the hall. Clenching and unclenching his hand like his life depended on it. He tucked his fingers together, hid them in his sleeves and breathed

---

Okuzy and Sap do survive order 66. However the lead up and follow through on that is quite horrible (Sap looses his leg to an infection and Okuzy temporarily looses his connection to the force.) During the empires reign they work as underground medics, Okuzy using his healing abilities to calm and Sap doing the more practical field medicine.

I have more omg I could talk about each individual clone for hours, thankyou for your interest ehehhehe 😖😌💕😀😁😘

#309th battalion #i love them so much you shouldnt have gotten me started #starwars

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chandelier-s-notebook · 3 years ago

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Chapter 3

Let me know if you wanna get tagged when I post new chapters in “These Streets Are Made For Walking”. @sleepysnails.

Ao3 Link

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

“Police! Everybody put your hands up!” they shouted barging into the main hall of the abandoned mall.

Heads turned and there was a brief moment of disconnect; on one side you had the fighters wondering who snitched, and on the other you had officers equipped for a potential multi-party drug deal and instead got a fighting ring operating in broad daylight.

People scattered, some ran to the exits; some hid in the rubble of the crumbling building; some were still with shock; and others were close enough to get grabbed by an officer. Out of those, a few guys fought them off, but others--such as the Dream Team--went quietly.

The Dream Team and two others were led out of the building.

“Where are you taking us?” the younger girl walking along with them asked, worry etched on her face.

“We’re just taking you to the parking lot,” the officer said. “Then you’ll be taken to the station to make a statement.”

“First time?” Dream asked, trying to make a joke.

Sapnap whacked him upside the head. “Not funny.”

“I’ve never been caught before,” the girl murmured to him, her tone significantly hardened. She quickly lightened up her voice and addressed the officer, “Will we be charged?”

“Mostly likely.”

The officer led them out to the parking lot.

Captain Craft met them at the barrier. “I’ll take them from here X33N. Jordan's just arrived to take over the scene, I’m going back to the station to get these guys processed.”

“Yes Sir.”

“We’ll send out rotating cruisers to pull in detainees as your team apprehends them.”

“Understood Sir.” The officer--X33N--left the five of them with Officer Craft.

Captain Craft’s junior partner then abruptly grabbed Dream by the shoulders and shoved him down to the car.

“Ouch!”

“You are under arrest for loitering on private property.”

“Geez, I get it! No need to be so rough. I came quietly, for goodness sake.”

“Just had to make sure you didn’t get away,” they said snidely.

“The only place I’m going, is the fucking station.” Dream let the officer pull him upright. “I’d like Captain Craft’s car if I get the choice.”

Captain Craft gave his junior partner a nod as well as a hard look. “Be gentle. Treat them with respect, otherwise things will just get worse. You respond, not instigate,” he reprimanded. Captain Craft was much gentler with Sapnap, George, the girl, and the other boy.

Dream and George rode with Captain Craft, while the other three took another car driven by the junior partner.

“Fuck,” George whispered under his breath.

“What is it?”

“Seriously?”

“Specifically,” Dream amended.

“Mother is gonna kill me.” George dropped his head forwards. “She’s been on my ass for that 92 I got in biology last week.”

“She’s still on about that?” Dream asked. “Dude it was a 92, people would kill for a 92.”

“Word choice,” Captain Craft teased from the front seat.

“Sorry,” Dream quickly said, attention never fully leaving George. “She’s too hard on you.”

“And now I’m being taken into the station.”

“George, you’re the medic. You didn’t do anything.”

“Willful ignorance,” George cried pitifully.

“Dude shut up. Anything can and will be used against you and all that.”

“Fuck. Right. Sorry.” George took a deep breath. “It would come out in questioning anyways. Fuck. Mother’s gonna read this on the news.”

“You didn’t have to come with us.”

“I need to live Dream.”

Captain Craft parked the car. He opened the door and ushered the two of them inside, the other three following close behind.

“Names?” the receptionist asked.

“Dream Taken, you?”

“F1NN,” he replied offhandedly, typing Dream’s name into the system. “No current warrants. Next.”

“George Lore.”

“Sapnap Halo”

“Hannah Rose.”

“Walli Bear.”

“Any injuries?”

All five of them stood patiently as F1NN led them through the spiel, the Dream Team bored, Hannah putting on her scared little girl front, and Walli looking genuinely panicked and muted. Dream was then taken away for solo questioning by Captain Craft first, and the rest were taken into a communal holding cell in the station.

“Dream Taken, was it?”

“Yes Sir.” Too formal.

“How are you this fine afternoon?”

“Wonderful. Going to me on my best behaviour for the few weeks I believe. I’ll try too anyway,” he bantered.

“Dream.”

“What’s on your mind Captain?” Dream leaned forward on his elbows. “Any questions for me?”

“There was this kid--your age--in the parking lot.”

Dream blinked, his joking persona dropping for a split second. “Yeah? What about it?”

“He was doing homework. Said that was his spot to get out of the house. What’s the likelihood he didn’t know what was going on?”

Dream wasn’t about to throw Techno under the bus. “Pretty high. He could have gotten there before us and not noticed everyone parking around him today. Also could be a case of thinking that this was normal and not questioning things. You know, Las Nevadas guys running around, best to keep your head low.”

“Advice you clearly stand by.”

Dream shot the officer a wide smile. “That’s my aim.”

Captain Craft scribbled something down in his notebook. “How often does that ring meet?”

“Every so often. It moves around.”

“How many locations?”

“Three? Four? Not sure.”

“Fight often?”

“When I’m told the location.”

“Where’s the next one?”

Dream wiggled his eyebrows. “Not telling.”

“Less community service hours coming your way if you ‘fess up.”

“Need that in print before I hand everyone over. Besides, I only attend when it’s at the mall.” Dream smiled again, clearly having fun with the banter. “Am I done here? I think I’m done.”

“Nothing more to say?”

“I didn’t fight this afternoon. I only watched.”

Captain Crafted jotted it down, he flipped the page and wrote down another note before ripping it off and closing the book. “Take this to F1NN and call your guardian for pick up. Loitering on public property, and willful ignorance to assault and battery.”

Dream stood up and pushed his chair in. “Not gonna walk me there?”

“We’ve been here enough times,” Captain Craft sighed. “Best behaviour?”

“Of course.”

Captain Craft cut open Dream’s zip ties and sent him on his way.

Dream gave the note to F1NN and was given the phone in return; like clockwork these visits were. That was a bad thing wasn’t it?

After two rings Bad picked up his phone. “Hello?”

“Hi Bad, it’s Dream.”

“Tubbo just left,” he said as if he knew exactly what Dream would have wanted from him. “Techno just came by to pick him up.”

“That’s ‘cause I told him to,” Dream explained. “The three of us got picked up by the police, think you could bring us home?”

Bad could be heard moving around the apartment, and he heard the clinking of keys. “I’m on my way. Anything I need to know?”

“George and Sapnap will probably be calling you, once they’re finished with their interviews.”

Half an hour later Sapnap was sitting shotgun in his dad’s car, while Dream and George chilled in the backseat of the car. The first stop of the night was Punz’s house, so they could pick Tubbo up, before dropping Dream off at home.

Bad parked on the driveway, and Dream got out of the car. He walked up to the front and used his spare key to get in.

It’s quiet, and too early for the fourteen year olds to be asleep. Tubbo and Purpled are good friends, they had been since childhood; getting dropped off at Bad-Halo’s-Unofficial-Daycare-for-the-Siblings-of-Petty-Criminals-and-Their-(Count-‘Em)-One-Normal-Friend did that to friendships. They should have been playing around here somewhere.

Dream stalked around the house looking for clues as to where they might have gone. It was in the kitchen that he found a note.

“Purpled went out. Didn’t want to be here alone. Went to Ranboo’s.”

Dream grabbed the note and groaned in frustration, all this way for nothing? He checked his phone. Nope, Tubbo hadn’t even sent a text message. He left the house--making sure to lock the door behind him--in a huff.

Opening the car door, he slid in, exhaling loudly. “Punz wasn’t home. Purpled’s gone. Note saying Tubbo went to Ranboo’s. I’ll just bus home from your place. Think Techno left my bag with you.”

“He did. I noticed it on my way out.” Bad pulled out of Punz’s driveway. “Why don’t you stay the night?”

“I would, but you know Ranboo’s parents. If they find Tubbo there, they’ll kick him out, and I’d rather be in the apartment if he has to come back.”

Bad nodded. “I’ll drive you and George back to your places then.”

“Actually, Bad?” George interjected quietly. “Can I crash at your place? Mom’s been a lot this week already and they got our picture. Think we’re gonna be in the news again.”

Bad sighed. “You’re ruining your future. How will you get into university with those articles?”

“Good grades and scholarships,” Sapnap said.

Bad laughed. “Of course you can stay the night.”

#Dreamwastaken #Sapnap #Georgenotfound #Badboyhalo #Philza #These Streets Are Made For Walking

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glitterblazercalum · 4 years ago

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got a river for a soul, and baby, you’re a boat

or: Oh, fuck. We showed up wearing matching couples’ costumes to this party by accident and now everyone thinks we’re together.” + cashton

hello and happy halloween everyone!! giant thank u to ainslee @ashesonthefloor for putting this event together!! and for forcing me to actually get this fic done, looking it over, and generally being a major source of serotonin in my life. another huge thank u to bella @clumsyclifford for being one of my favorite people and loving frat boys enough that it made me want to write a fic about them to annoy her <3 love you both <3

here is the link to the event masterpost bc I highly recommend checking out all of the other amazing fics:

https://ashesonthefloor.tumblr.com/post/633534107120549888/hello-welcome-to-my-halloween-fic-event

warnings: mentions of alcohol

word count: 2,872

without further ado, please enjoy the fic I wrote mostly all last night while looping drag me down for thirteen hours straight :))

Calum doesn’t know what fuckhead came up with the idea of having a joint Halloween party for Sigma Nu and Sigma Pi this year, but he really wants to fight them. He thinks he’d probably have a lot of people on his side, considering how much Sig Nu and and Sig Pi hate each other, so he tucks the idea of interfraternity war away in his head as a contingency plan in case the party goes to shit, as joint parties with any other frat always seem to. And it’s not like it’s a one night thing, because all three days of the “Halloweekend,” as Michael refuses to stop calling it, are supposedly going to be spent with Sig Nu, one party at their own house, and two at the shithole that he assumes is the Sig Nu house, in some deranged attempt at bonding. He’ll be lucky to make it out alive, probably.

Before college, he really never did anything of his own for Halloween, mainly used to being used as a prop or side character for his sister Mali-Koa’s elaborate costumes, or, after she’d moved out, sticking a pair of fake fangs in his mouth to hand out candy to the few kids who rang the doorbell despite his efforts to keep all the lights in the house off. Last year, as a freshman, he’d gotten roped into a group costume with some of the other Sig Pi pledges, and while his memories are...hazy at best, he vaguely remembers falling asleep in a Teletubbies onesie at the end of the night.

This year, though, no one has tried to tell him what to dress up as, so it’s now a few hours before the first of the three parties, and Calum still has no ideas for what he should dress up as. A quick Google search for “cheap easy costumes” hadn’t really been all that helpful, so he decides to ignore the problem and take a nap until he actually has to leave.

A few hours later, Michael barges into the room to drag him out of bed, and looks around for a few seconds before asking, “You don’t have a costume, do you?”

Calum groans, pulling himself out of bed and wracking his brain for an idea that he can plausibly bullshit in the next few seconds, because he can’t let Michael be right and have something to tease him about, so he blurts, “I’m going to be a salt shaker.”

Michael gapes at him a bit for a few seconds before asking, “What the fuck? What kind of costume is that? What are you even going to wear for that?”

Calum mentally kicks himself in the shin, as hard as possible, because he really hasn’t thought this through. Why couldn’t he have just said cat or cowboy or something even slightly in the realm of normal Halloween costumes?

“Uhhh.. y’know that baseball tee I have? The one with the black sleeves and white middle?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s in my closet, but continue.”

“What the fuck, dude? Give it back!”

“You haven’t noticed that it’s missing for like three weeks, I just assumed it was mine now. Tell me what the rest of the costume is,” Michael demands.

“I’ll just tape a piece of paper with a big ‘S’ on it to the front of my shirt, and then put one of those pots with the holes on my head. Bam! Salt shaker!” Calum says, moderately impressed with his ability to pull stuff out of his ass this quickly.

“What makes you think we even have a colander?” Michael asks, crossing his arms.

Calum gives him a blank stare. “A what?”

“That’s what the pots with the holes are called, you idiot.”

“You think Harry would live anywhere that didn’t have a fully-stocked kitchen? There’s bound to be one in one of the cabinets or something.”

“Fine. I’ll go get the shirt while you look for the colander.” Before Calum can object, suggest that he look through Michael’s closet himself and steal back any of his other clothes that have somehow wound up there, Michael’s already halfway down the hallway.

Sighing, he trudges down the stairs towards the kitchen, where one of the seniors, Niall, is sitting with his head in his hands, dressed as a pirate.

“Hey, dude, nice costume,” Calum offers as a greeting. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find a colander, would you? I know Harry—”

“Do not talk to me about Harry right now,” Niall says, and Calum stops his search for a moment to send him a concerned look.

“What happ—”

“That needy-ass motherfucker thinks that just because I didn’t want to do a couples’ costume with him, it means I don’t love him anymore! Never mind the fact that he literally mentioned this idea to me yesterday, well past the point where everyone finalizes their costumes.”

Calum offers him a sympathetic look and offers, “Couples’ costumes are boring and cheesy anyways. Neither of you are missing out on anything, at least in my opinion.”

Niall lifts his head up from where he’d been repeatedly hitting it on the table to smirk at Calum and ask, “Have a lot of experience with couples’ costumes, do you?”

Luckily, Calum has finally found the colander, so he opts to ignore the question and just leave the kitchen entirely.

When he gets back upstairs, Michael’s in his room, unabashedly checking himself out in the mirror that’s on the back of the closet door. “Yeah, yeah, your anime character of the year looks great, now get out and let me get ready.”

Michael scoffs, “Get ready, as if you’re even doing anything,” but moves towards the door anyway.

Michael’s right, the costume is ridiculously easy to throw together, and two minutes later, they’re both out the door, walking across Fraternity Row to get to the Sig Nu house, where the music is already blaring and strobe lights throw red, then green, then blue shadows across everyone’s faces. On his way to the kitchen to grab a drink, he sees Niall and Harry walk into the house, holding hands and laughing together, so he assumes that their fight has blown over as quickly as all of their other fights always seem to.

He sees a few different trays of shots and decides he might as well take one to get the night started off right. After, he realizes that he probably shouldn’t grab a beer now, Mali’s rule about sticking to one color of booze for the night ringing in his head, so he settles for filling up a Solo cup with whatever glow in the dark gin concoction is in all the punch bowls. He wouldn’t put it past the Sig Nus to poison the drink on purpose, but it tastes relatively normal, so he grabs another cup for Michael and attempts to leave the kitchen, steering around the couple sloppily making out in the doorway.

It’s harder to spot Michael than it usually is, considering that at least half the people at the party are wearing some type of wig, but Calum eventually makes his way back over to him. He’s talking to Niall and Harry, and they both offer him a smile before continuing on with the conversation. Once that reaches a lull, Niall leans closer to Calum and says, “Mate, you didn’t need to lie to me about couples’ costumes.”

Calum has no idea what Niall is talking about, so he shakes his head and asks, “What are you talking about?”

Niall cackles, and Harry turns to look at him adoringly before going back to talking to Michael, and Calum is more confused than ever. Niall grabs his shoulder and spins him around and points in the direction of a clump of people. “You’re salt and he’s pepper, right? That’s such an obvious couples’ costume, although you two do seem to have a bit of a disconnect on how much effort you put in. That guy really went all out. And dude, why haven’t you told us that you have a boyfriend? You know we’d want to know about that, give him the Sig Pi seal of approval and all that. Wait. Unless he’s a Sig Nu, in which case, I don’t want to know because I’d probably have to kick you out. That’s a joke, by the way.”

Calum barely has the presence of mind to mumble, “He’s not my boyfriend,” before crossing the room to get to the guy in the hyper-realistic pepper grinder costume.

The guy smiles as Calum approaches, and despite the costume covering most of his body, Calum can tell that he’s cute. “Why so salty?” Pepper Guy greets, the sunshiney smile still on his face.

Calum smirks and replies, “Maybe I just need some more spice in my life.” Pepper Guy laughs, and just like everything else about him, it’s cute, and Calum wants to hear it again. “I’m Calum, by the way.”

“Ashton. Nice to meet you, man.”

Calum leans a little closer so that it’s easier to hold a conversation over the loud music and asks, “What’s the deal with the super realistic pepper grinder costume?”

Ashton makes a strange noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and says, “I got it off some random sketchy website, but it was supposed to be a chess piece. Something clearly went wrong somewhere in production, and my friend Luke said that I might as well sharpie a “P” onto it and just go with it.”

Calum makes a noise of agreement, mind stuck on a dumb idea. Before he can reconsider, he sends Michael a quick text that says if u’ve already taken over as dj, can u play that come grind w me song? and a few seconds later, he hears the opening notes and grins.

“Hey, Ashton?”

“Yeah?” Ashton replies, as realization slips across his face.

Right in time with the singer’s voice, Calum says, “Come grind with me,” and he laughingly pulls Ashton towards the makeshift dance floor. Neither of them can really dance, so it’s a mess of laughter and limbs flopping around, but Calum feels an unmistakable electricity between them too, and once the song is over, they stay for the next few, enraptured by each other. When they finally exhaust themselves with all the laughing and mock-twerking, Ashton asks Calum if he wants a refill, and when Calum nods, he grabs his hand and starts pulling him towards the kitchen.

Once they’re there, Calum goes for another serving of the glow in the dark punch, which is steadily dimming as the glow sticks run out of light. Since that’s really the only light source in the kitchen, Calum doesn’t see Ashton until he’s turning around and Ashton is right in front of him, reaching around him for a cup. Calum’s kind of trapped with his back against the counter, Ashton’s pepper grinder costume tall enough to really block out the view of the rest of the party, and the world narrows, all of it contained in where their eyes connect, and then, after Calum has safely set his drink back on the counter, that narrow point expands just a bit to where their mouths land on each other’s. The colander gets knocked off Calum’s head as he lifts himself up to sit on the counter, wrapping his legs around Ashton’s waist to pull him closer, as close as he can possibly get him.

Ashton’s sucking a mark into Calum’s neck when Calum has his first coherent thought of the past few minutes and pulls back, breathlessly asking “Wait, wait, you’re not a Sig Nu, are you?” fully expecting the answer to be no.

Ashton steps back a little too, and it takes him a second to register the question before he groans, “Of course you’re a fucking Sig Pi, that’s the only explanation that makes sense for me never seeing you anywhere before. You’re too hot for me to not notice otherwise.”

Calum flushes and mentally curses out whatever idiots had started the rivalry between Sig Nu and Sig Pi before he grabs his stupid colander off the ground and gives Ashton an awkward wave goodbye.

Once he’s out of the kitchen, he quickly glances around in search of Michael, and when he can’t immediately find him, he just gives up and leaves entirely. Fuck Sig Nu.

He spends most of the next day bitching about his hangover, and then, a few hours later, bitching about his hangover while helping to set up the house for that night’s party.

He doesn’t really have much more of a costume for tonight, throwing on a gray shirt and sharpie-ing some whiskers on his face. Michael takes pity on him and makes him a headband with an approximation of what they both think mouse ears are, and Calum is mildly entertained by going up to everyone and saying, “I’m a mouse, duh.”

His heart’s really not in the right place to party tonight, which is probably breaking the cardinal rule of being in a frat, so he sticks close to Michael, who has taken over the role of DJ, once again. Zayn from Alpha Sig strolls over after about half an hour, devil horns askew, and quietly says to Calum, “Cat and mouse, huh? Didn’t think you had it in you, Hood, that’s proper cute. Not as cute as me and Lou, mind you, but still, I respect the effort.”

Calum is reluctant to look up and see who he’s accidentally matching with today, because, with his luck, it’s probably another guy from Sig Nu. When he does eventually look up, he immediately makes eye contact with Ashton, who happens to be walking by, dressed in all black and with whiskers sharpie’d onto his face too. Calum wants to bang his head into a wall because the universe clearly hates him if it’s having him match with Ashton again. Even beyond that, Ashton looks so good out of the stupid pepper grinder and in all black that Calum wants to make out with him again.

Ashton is clearly having similar thoughts when he gestures Calum over and leads them towards a little pocket of quiet space in one of the lesser used hallways.

Calum really wants to hook his thumb into one of Ashton’s belt loops, so he does, as Ashton looks him up and down a few times. “Is the mouse costume your way of telling me you want me to chase you?”

Calum murmurs, “Shut up,” before leaning in to kiss him, frat rivalry be damned. It’s just as good as it was the night before, maybe even more so, now that the pepper costume isn’t in their way. At this point, there’s no denying the chemistry. It can’t be blamed on being drunk since Calum’s been nursing the same beer all night, and the part of his brain that’s protesting against being this close to a Sig Nu is getting smaller and smaller as he and Ashton continue to kiss.

They stay in that hallway for the rest of the night, eventually sliding down to sit on the ground, legs pressed together, sharing stupid stories about their respective frats. Calum’s surprised when the music shuts off because it feels like it’s only been an hour at most, that’s how easy it is to talk to Ashton. Ashton heaves himself up and reaches both hands down to help Calum up, too.

“I don’t think there’s any way you can match your costume to mine tomorrow, but I’ll come find you anyways,” Ashton says, as he leaves Calum with a kiss on the cheek.

Calum’s too wired to sleep much, so he opts to help clean up the house instead, and that takes up enough of his day that when nighttime rolls around, he’s stood staring at his closet without a costume idea for the third time in as many days. After ten minutes of consideration, he digs through one of his drawers to pull out the fake vampire fangs that he had somehow remembered to bring with him, and he goes down the hall to ask Jack to put some fake blood on his mouth and neck. Jack always goes all out for Halloween.

Once he’s at the party, he doesn’t have to wait long to find Ashton, who looks incredibly good in his werewolf costume. There’s fake blood on him too, which is really the only way their costumes could be understood to be matching, or so Calum thinks. Tonight, Jack and Alex are the ones to tease him, “You know what, I agree. Jacob and Edward should have ended up together, Bella was boring as shit.”

Calum’s really not bothered by the comments at all, so much so that he’s already thinking of couples’ costumes ideas for next year when he finds his way over to Ashton and whispers, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Are you trying to make a move on me? I’m a respectable Sigma Nu, I don’t know if I can allow that.”

Calum laughs and tugs him out the door, “Told you I wanted some more spice in my life.”

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wendibird · 4 years ago

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SPN 15X14 Observations

So, for whatever dumbass reason, when trying to use my actual television, the cable refuses to work properly 8 times out of 10. BUT I was able to stream tonight’s episode on my computer with my cable network’s app. So, there’s that. Because of that, and since it’s easier for me to type on my keyboard than on my phone, I actually took quick notes and observations during commercial breaks. Here are those, then some more of my thoughts following. (And I’m sorry if any of these seem a bit incoherent. They were more my observations to myself. *LOL*

(everything else under the keep reading line since I got a bit rambly, and just in case anyone wants to avoid spoilers)

- Brothers being written a bit like characters of themselves rather than just themselves. (trying too hard?)

- Love Mrs. Butters. Actress really good. And the minor ret-con works with what we've seen.

- Sam more concerned about Jack. I think he understands him better, even though he hasn't seen much of him.

- "Ignoring your trauma doesn't make you healthy." (or something like that.) Good quote!

- Waiting for the catch.

- "Enjoy the world you're fighting for." (compare with Kevin's similar line: "I can't enjoy a world I need to save.")

- Mrs. Butters knows Jack isn't human.

- BOY did the shoe drop! But it was Sinclaire involved. Not surprised he took advantage of her natural protective nature.

- Wanted more plot for WHY exactly they still have Thor's Hammer. Have they had it this whole time? Last we saw Sam dropped it in 8X2. Or did Mrs. Butters conjure it up because they might need it? Was cool though that Sam was using it. Because we already know he can.

- Jack figured out on his own how to use the projector. (love that boy!)

- liked hearing him talk about what happened with Mary and how he feels.

- Mrs. Butters knows from experience about needing "second chances" I think.

- Why were they ALWAYS wearing the same clothes during the "We got one!" montages? Assuming it was supposed to have taken place over several days at least if not longer. (I highly doubt they went out on THAT many hunts in one day.)

- Yeeeah... So I get she's protective, but JACK IS BABY! She can clearly see his power levels but she has to have seen how he he actually IS? But she gave him the smoothies from the start, so she's been planning it from almost the start. Hrm.

- idk what anyone else says, I'm thrilled that Sam and Eileen had a date. Also, THIS is where that sweater-vest comes from. Bet we'll see him going for his gun too. (That clip was hotly debated in one of the discord servers I’m on)

- Dean is obviously still having some issues with Jack, but he also seems to know that they're his personal issues and he knows that Jack is good. (Expanding on this thought post episode, I was seeing this as Dean recognizing the difference between what he knows and what he’s feeling. So, yey! Personal growth!)

- DEAN JACK IS NOT A BATTERING RAM!!!

- Dean sees Jack as a weapon. He used him as a battering ram. He'll use him as a grenade to throw at Chuck. (More on this after the notes.)

- Sam sees him as a person. His argument was that Jack was someone he cared about. That killing him would HURT him.

- Also, did they HAVE to go for the fingernails again?!

- Poor Sam, getting tortured. And being the "favorite" of something bad.

- Also, SAM WAS RIGHT! To be cautious of her at first. Too many times he's had things/people seem good and turn out opposite.

- And because Dean had decided it was all okay, they both stopped looking up on her.

- Maybe Sam will realize that he doesn't always have to follow Dean's lead. He can pursue his own paths. (Not talking about them separating. Just, if he wants to look into something, he should do it. If he wants to follow a different lead, he should check it out.)

- I know he lost a lot of confidence last season but I hope he realizes that he doesn't by default make bad decisions.

- Okay, that was a good resolution. I'm glad she's going back to her people.

- Interdimensional geoscope: Dean saw nothing. Because ALL the other universes are gone. *sad-face*

- Love Sam and Jack. Wish we got a bit more. But it was something.

- Also love that Dean tried. That felt real to me. (the birthday cake)

More thoughts!

So. Overall I liked this episode. It was lighthearted mostly, but touched on some serious topics and wasn’t completely disconnected with what is going on with everyone, despite the random holiday montage. *LOL* (Yes, I know she wasn’t bending time or anything, she was just choosing to celebrate some holidays with her boys regardless of when this is all taking place exactly.) It did feel a bit to me, at the start anyway, like the writing at least was trying too hard to “Sound like Sam and Dean” instead of just them being them. I mentioned that at the start but what I mean is, in this season especially (but not exclusively) I’ve noticed a lot of times where it feels to me like the writing/directing/whatever leads to the sum total of what we see is trying too hard to present this idea of who the characters are, like caricatures of them. The things associated with them get emphasized, sometimes out of proportion. Though in this episode, it only felt like that during the opening scene and maybe a few places elsewhere. Overall I thought the writing and especially the acting on the parts of the main 3 guys and the guest actor were well done and had a lot of nuance when needed. Like, as an example, when Sam and Dean sussed out that this being that they didn’t even know was a bit behind the times, they were actually pretty gentle with bringing her up to speed. And her reaction to realizing that everyone she knew before was dead felt very real.

I liked what we saw of where each of the characters were emotionally this episode. It was the first one after Jack has been re-souled and it had definitely been weighing on my mind how everyone was doing. (Though I REALLY wish we could have actually seen Sam and Dean’s reactions to Jack tearfully begging their forgiveness last episode. But lacking any other input, I’m headcannoning that Sam gave him a very long, warm hug.)

I also agree with Sam, I think there’s something more that Jack hasn’t told them yet, probably some details about Billy’s plan that he or her are sure the brothers won’t like. (Now, what exactly that could be is very much up in the air. I can think of quite a few options, but the details aren’t really important to me just now. Just the fact that something about it is weighing on Jack. More than just Mary’s death and the prospect of having to kill God. Which, in and of themselves would be more than enough.)

Speaking of Sam, I liked that we saw all those little nods to how he feels about Jack, how he’s still worried about him, and seems to understand him.

I also get where Dean’s coming from. And I thought it was well-portrayed. And let me just say, I am GLAD that he just outright told Jack where he was at. He didn’t sugarcoat it, but he also didn’t blow up at him, or reply with sarcasm or bring up other, unrelated stuff. Dean knows that Jack is trying, but he himself has some emotional stuff he needs to deal with. That he is dealing with. And it’s going to take him some time.

I do however stand by my observation made during the episode that at least at that point in it, Dean considered Jack a weapon. An asset. He literally used him as a battering ram, and in a more meta way, he’s planning on using him as a grenade to throw at God. Even when arguing with Mrs. B about it, his response was in reference to Jack’s usefulness. Whereas Sam was arguing that Jack meant something to him, that he cared about him, and hurting Jack would hurt him. Now, I do think that Dean’s POV had shifted a bit by the very end. Dean’s love language has almost always been shown by doing things for people, and taking care of them. So him making that birthday cake for Jack really felt to me like him trying to tell him that he does actually care about him. And I think Jack got it. And true, the cake might not have been as neat and pretty as Mrs. B would have made it, but I thought it was beautiful because of all the thought that went into it. (Dean’s more of a cook than a baker too.)

As a side note, something I thought about after the episode: when Mrs. B stepped in, she kind of took over that care-taker role. AND the research role. She made them lunches, cooked them dinners, decorated for holidays, and overall made them feel comfortable and safe. And she also pin-pointed where monsters were and made sure they were all stocked-up and ready to go. All they had to do was show up and get it done. And yeah, it must have been a nice break from the norm. But I also think about how much Dean finds his identity beyond hunting in taking care of people. And how much Sam finds his identity in researching and figuring things out. And with her doing that, they both took it easy on those ends. Dean didn’t have to make burgers for everyone since Mrs. B made a roast. Sam didn’t have to research since she could tell them where the monsters were and what kind. I almost wonder if both of them were starting to feel like those parts of themselves were all of a sudden unnecessary. (Which makes me a little sad, because it reminds me a bit of the “two cakes” concept in fandom. Who cares if someone else can “do it better”? If you do it, then there’ll be even more of the good thing!) And as I observed above, Sam also stopped looking into HER. I mean, he didn’t even know what would kill a wood nymph. And I do think part of that also goes back to him having recently fallen back on letting Dean make the big decisions. Because last season so many of his blew up in his face. (Though I don’t think most of that was his fault. But Sam tends to blame himself for a lot.) And I do hope that maybe he’ll remember that he does have good instincts when he listens to them. And he can keep looking into something even if Dean thinks it’s fine. It’s not a betrayal to be prepared.

ALSO! Being the absolute Saileen hoe that I am, even though we didn’t Eileen in this episode, I was thrilled that Sam went out on a date with her because she was in town! And true, we don’t know what all went down, but regardless, I see it as good that they’re at the very least still friends, and that hopefully Eileen is sorting out her own feelings vs whatever she might think could be Chuck’s manipulations. Even if Saileen isn’t Engame (and honestly, as much as I love it, I don’t think it will be) I would still like for them to be on good terms with each other. (And for her to NOT get fridged again!)

Another thing I was pondering afterwards and a bit during: I wasn’t surprised that Sam held up to the torture fairly well. I mean, it still obviously hurt! (And again, WHY with the fingernails again?! As someone in one of my discord servers mentioned, we didn’t need THAT particular call-back to the Christmas Episode of Season 3!) But he was listening to what she was saying. And he understood the implications that she had been tortured into acting how they wanted her to act. And Sam understands torture, and how it can mess someone up. And despite what she had done to him, and was trying to still do, he validated what she had been through. He empathized with her. And that.... it’s just SO Sam!

I will say that the resolution felt a little... abrupt. Like, her expression had changed a little during the fight/argument. Then back from the commercial break and she’s all packed-up and ready to leave and they’re all saying goodbye and wishing her well. I feel like there might have been some more scenes or parts of scenes that were originally there connecting things up more, but were cut for time.

I wouldn’t say this was a groundbreaking episode, but it WAS fun, and it did have some seriousness at it’s core, and I think it did what it needed to do.

(And I apologize if this is just a big rambling mess. I’m not used to doing structured episode reviews. *LOL* Feedback and opinions are welcome though!)

#spn 15x14 spoilers #spn season 15 spoilers #episode review #my thoughts #ignoring your trauma doesn't make you healthy #sam winchester #dean winchester #jack kline #mrs butters #i still need more sam and jack

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shinadog · 4 years ago

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Oh, hey, forgot to post this here - Mob Part 3 is up (and part 4 is on its way).

Summary : Something happened after Haruka’s concert. (PART 2) (AO3 Link)

3 - BLAME

Eventually, people left him alone.

They had tried their best, but since he had refused their help, they decided to give him some space. He was more than alright with that. Not that "alright" could ever be a word he would use to describe himself. Not anymore.

He felt numb. Disconnected from it all.

All the events of the past few days - the concert, the crowd, the call he received in the middle of that fateful night, the sleepless nights where he almost choked because he couldn't stop crying, the funeral... He remembered living those things, but when he thought about them, he felt like a spectator watching them from afar. Not an actor, but a powerless observer, a blurry silhouette who was barely floating above those horrible scenes.

On his good days, the days where he was more or less aware of his surroundings, the awful numbness of loss was replaced by a burning anger. On those days, he started to think about the people he blamed.

He had managed to get his hands on an impressive number of newspapers and magazines. The hyenas who worked for those rags must have had a field day with this disaster - a lot of ink has been spilled over this, and it didn't look like it was going to stop anytime soon. Good. Every new article fueled his anger, made something warm shake his numb, freezing body.

Sometimes, he would see her name in those papers. His own name, too. The sight of it made him sick, and he usually skimmed past it. He didn't want to know what the idiots writing them thought about him and his pain. More often than not, her name was replaced by a number. Lumped together with the rest of the poor souls who lost everything that night. He wasn't sure he liked that better.

The journalists who were feeling exceptionally bold sometimes talked about the yakuza. He kept those articles close. In one of them, he had seen the face of that man for the first time. The buff, scary looking guy in a bad suit. The "Dragon", a big name in the yakuza world, who had apparently moved away from it all years ago. The fucker whose stupid daughter's speech ruined everything. Kazuma Kiryu.

It was so much easier to hate someone when you knew what they looked like.

**********************************

Kiryu had fought many formidable foes in all his years in (and out) the business. Deadly, dangerous men who were out to get him, monsters who wanted to hurt his family. Yet, none of them hit him as hard as the shitty little TV in his hospital room.

Whenever he was back in his room, when very tired nurses managed to drag him away from Haruka so that he'd try to rest for once, he would turn the bloody thing on. No matter what time it was then, it felt like he always managed to find a channel that talked about the concert.

Even though his various babysitters always tried to turn the TV off, to distract him from it somehow, Kiryu seemed to always come back to it. That thing was hypnotizing. He only stopped when he left the room. Or when a particularly pissed Majima threatened to explode the screen with his baseball bat.

Still, Kiryu watched those programs diligently, listening to all the people who had something to say about this whole mess with all the focus he could muster.

Seeing some of the people who were in the crowd that night talk and listening to their retelling of it left him weirdly numb.

The enemies he had faced before were, well, people. They had names, stories, reasons to act the way they did. They were tangible, something Kiryu could punch. Defeat. Forgive. He could do no such thing with a mob. There was no big guy who had orchestrated the whole disaster, no mastermind who ran things in the shadows. No one he could easily blame, fight, and move on from.

For some reason, this lack of a proper target made him resent everyone else.

Kiryu thought himself to be a pretty forgiving person. Those feelings rearing their ugly heads were definitely new, and he didn't really know what to do with them. He mostly kept them bottled up, though, because that's what he usually did with unknown feelings, but it was starting to get tiring. Blaming everyone only made it clearer than no one was to blame, and that made him somehow angrier.

Still, that's what he did.

He blamed himself, first and foremost, as it was the easiest thing to do. He shouldn't have let Haruka go, shouldn't have left the orphanage, shouldn't have left that Park woman come into their home... Oh, he wanted to blame Park herself, of course, but being dead shielded her from his rage. Mostly.

Thinking about their last discussion, before she chased him from his home, was somehow too much for him to process anyway, so he mostly tried to banish her from his thoughts. Which was not exactly easy because every time he saw Majima, he was reminded of the fact that he didn't find it necessary to warn him about her and her history with him. So, naturally, he blamed Majima for that. Among other things, including faking his own death, forcing Kiryu to come out of hiding.

He blamed Saejima and Akiyama, for pulling their annoying "let's fight together" bullshit again and making him believe this would work. It didn't. So he blamed them and their stupid plan, he blamed-

Kiryu took a deep breath, focusing once more on the TV screen. All this anger was exhausting, and he was feeling dizzy already. Oh, that was another one - he blamed his stupid body for being messed up and forcing him to lay still, when all he wanted was to do something, anything, to get his mind out of it.

The TV, showing no mercy, was still going with various interviews when he saw the crying man.

A big guy, with shaking shoulders and his head down, mumbling something as he shook.

Kiryu felt a bit too ill to really listen to what he said, which didn't matter because he couldn't take his eyes off that man. A small text at the bottom of the screen finally managed to catch his attention, and he felt a heavy lump in his throat as he realized what he was looking at.

That guy's daughter was among the four people who died that night. She was fourteen.

As if he knew Kiryu was watching, the man suddenly looked straight into the camera, and the pain in those eyes hit him hard. As if he had been stung, Kiryu immediately stood up, ignoring his stiff body's complaints and bolted out of the room.

He slammed the door behind him, and, taking the time to appreciate that no one was standing guard to see him completely freak out, decided he would not go to Haruka’s room. On his worst days, Kiryu would blame her, too, looking at her sleeping form with uncontrollable anger. He didn't want to go there when he was already this agitated, so he started limping through the corridors.

He had been allowed recently to use crutches to move around, which were replacing the wheelchair. He was shaking, though, so perhaps that it wasn't such an improvement. Collapsing in the middle of the hospital didn't exactly sound like a good idea. Walking at random in the corridors to escape his TV screen was also not a good idea, but Kiryu was already too deep in thoughts to decide to turn away.

As he kept moving blindly, trying to calm down while not losing his already fragile balance, he was startled by a man inexplicably bowing down as he passed. Kiryu found himself blinking at the guy, dumbfounded, before he noticed the Tojo pin on his lapel, and the small, almost inaudible “Fourth Chairman” he had whispered. Right. Just your average Tojo clan goon, lost in a random hospital hallway.

Well, maybe not that random. There was another man standing at the other end of the corridor, staring at him with wide eyes, and a third in the middle, his arms crossed as he stood near the closed door. Before Kiryu could ask himself why that particular hallway was packed with yakuza, the guy had hurriedly knocked on the door and opened it just as fast, getting inside in an instant.

The man who had bowed down to him straightened up, his voice hesitant as he asked, “Have you come to talk with the Sixth Chairman, Sir?”

Not really, no. In fact, if Kiryu could not speak with anyone for the next 24 hours, that would be great. Still, he frowned. “I thought Daigo’s room was a few floors up.”

“It is, but the chairman is visiting his friend.”

Friend.

Kiryu had a vague memory of Akiyama introducing Shinada as “a friend of Daigo”, something that felt like it had happened in another lifetime. And, now that he was thinking about it, someone (Akiyama again, or Saejima, he wasn’t sure) had told him the man had been admitted here after the mob roughed him up. Having been pretty much trampled by the angry crowd, he had been lucky to make it out with, to Kiryu’s knowledge, only a few broken bones and a ton of bruises. Beaten up, but still alive. Conscious, even.

Unlike Haruka.

Kiryu felt something flick in his mind, and suddenly talking didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all. He had been eating up footage of the incident for days now, listening to all the people who wanted to share what they had lived, and while it surely left an impression on him, the last example having been enough to send him running for the hills, it was not enough anymore.

He started moving again, careful not to fall, feeling heavy already after only having been using the crutches for a couple minutes. Not that he cared what the bodyguards would think if he collapsed in front of them. That would give them something fun to share with their fellow Tojo buddies.

Annoyingly enough, Kiryu had barely made two steps when he was stopped in his tracks again.

“Fourth Chairman.”

It wasn’t like he was surprised to see Daigo come out of the door, greeting him with an uncharacteristic anxious edge to his voice. His bodyguard had more or less already said he was in there, but Kiryu still couldn’t help but think there was something odd about this encounter. Maybe it was the fact that Daigo was still using a wheelchair, making Kiryu tower above him. Maybe it was the way he was looking at him now, his whole body tense as if he was expecting some kind of confrontation. Kiryu hadn’t seen this kind of hostility in Daigo’s eyes in years, but mostly, the man looked tired. Worried, too. Kiryu felt his own anger fade away slightly, as he got closer, wincing when a sharp pain on his left side reminded him not to move so quickly.

“Looks like things aren’t going so well for either of us, Sixth Chairman.” he said, realizing they were not exactly the two yakuza big names they usually were, but just two wounded idiots staring at each other in a hospital hallway. The bodyguards were following the scene, looking nervous. Kiryu wondered if they were worried a fight was going to break out. He didn’t really think that was a possibility. Apart from throwing one of his crutches like a spear, which would certainly make him fall, he didn’t see how he could be a threat, right now.

Kiryu cleared his throat, remembering what he was doing here in the first place. “I came to talk with Shinada.” This wasn’t a question or a request. Maybe he was threatening, after all.

“I don’t think that would be wise.” Daigo’s voice was low, his eyes drifting back to the door. “He’s still pretty shaken up by this whole mess. It’s still too soon.”

“Akiyama told me he was doing better.”

“He is, but… I’m afraid talking about this would be too much. For him… Or for you.”

That was new. Talking to him like that was not like Daigo at all, and Kiryu had to admit he would have been impressed, if he hadn’t been instantly annoyed by this. He resisted the urge to get closer, and instead stayed where he was as he asked, “Are you going to stop me, Daigo?”

“ I’m not sure I can. I guess I could roll on your foot if you take one more step, though.”

Kiryu was about to reply that he would definitely hit him with his crutch if that happened, when a voice he failed to recognize came from inside the room. “Let him in already, will you?”

With a heavy sigh, Daigo turned his chair around, letting just enough space so that Kiryu could get in.

Once he was inside, Kiryu realized something. This room was nearly identical to the one Haruka was in. Which wasn’t so surprising - hospital rooms tended to look alike. What made him tick was the silence in this room. No machines or respirator in here, and somehow, this angered him. He didn’t like the ferocity with which this thought had imposed itself on him, but as he looked at Shinada, able to breathe on his own and even having the gall to be conscious, staring back at him with wide eyes, Kiryu felt furious.

So that’s what he was doing, now. Blaming someone he barely knew for having the audacity to be in a better shape than his daughter. Kiryu supposed his sudden surge of animosity must have been noticeable, because all the certainty Shinada had when he asked him to come inside seemed to have vanished.

Now that he was really looking at the man laying in the bed in front of him, Kiryu had to admit he wasn’t exactly looking his best. He didn’t know Shinada enough to really tell the difference, having only met him once before the concert, but he didn’t remember him looking this exhausted. His face was covered in bruises, and part of it was still slightly swollen. Of course the simple fact that he was awake at all made him look healthier than Haruka, but he had clearly been through a lot. Feeling the anger quiet down for a bit, Kiryu greeted the man with a small nod of his head, unsure of what to say, suddenly.

“Well, let’s get on with it.” Daigo’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “It’s late, already. You should both be getting some rest.”

And you’re not? Kiryu wanted to say, glaring at the corner of the room Daigo had retreated in. Kiryu had barely noticed he had gotten inside the room as well. Part of him wished he could have talked with Shinada alone, but he was somehow grateful that it wasn’t the case. He still felt agitated, ready to snap back at the smallest thing, so having some kind of onlooker in there was mildly reassuring. Still, Kiryu did not care much for his tone.

He was at least right on one thing. It was time to talk.

“Can you tell me what happened that night?” No preamble, no “hey how are you?”. Kiryu was not in the mood for small talk.

Shinada blinked, dumbstruck. “Haven’t… Haven’t they told you, already?”

“I want to hear it from someone who was actually there. I want to know how it could have come to this.”

He wasn’t wrong. Kiryu already knew more or less how it went. He had been filled in, and had seen enough from the news to fill in the blanks. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt like hearing it from Shinada’s mouth would be different, but he still felt a weird apprehension as he waited for the other man to answer.

It took him a couple of seconds, exchanging a worried look with Daigo from across the room, before he finally started. “I don’t… I don’t actually know how it began. The fight against that Baba guy had been harsh and since everything had gone well so far, I… I stayed behind for a minute. Caught my breath.”

Catching his breath. Losing precious minutes he could have used to grab Haruka before everything went downhill. Kiryu tried to be reasonable, reminding himself that he had never asked Shinada to actually get to Haruka after the concert. He was just supposed to stop the shooter. And he did. There was no real reason to blame him, as he had told himself countless times.

“When I left the Dome that’s when I realized something was up. It had already started then, and I heard the noises. The screams. People don’t make that kind of noise when they’re just leaving a concert, so I ran and-”

Though footage of the stampede no doubt existed, people having probably filmed it with their phones, the TV seemed to only show what happened after or before the mob was formed. Kiryu could only imagine the kind of racket thousands of people panicking and running everywhere would make. He frowned, feeling something boil inside him as he realized somewhere in all that noise, there might have been the voice of the child he swore he would protect.

He missed a sentence, and only came back to himself when Shinada started the next one. “It was crazy. It was like a sea of people, and they were everywhere, screaming and pushing and-”

With a nervous twitch in his eye, Shinada suddenly stopped talking. While he hadn’t talked that much yet, Kiryu noticed he seemed to be really agitated ever since he had started. He was breathing heavily now, eyes lost in some corner of the room.

He waited a few seconds for Shinada to catch his breath before he asked, “If you arrived after it had started, how did you end up caught in it?”

“Oh, uh. I heard some staff member guy yell something about one of their idols being lost in the crowd on his walkie-talkie. So I ran into the crowd.”

Somehow, Kiryu had never thought about all the people who were working there that night. Too busy focusing on Mirei Park and the fact that blaming her now was pointless, he had forgotten to add all the other folks who had worked with her to his now long list of people to blame. It was infuriating to think that between the staff members, the people of Dyna Chair who weren’t gruesomely murdered, the other idols and Shinada, all charged to keep her safe, Haruka had still been caught up in the mob.

“I thought “I’m a big tough guy, I can probably push my way into this” but that was really fucking stupid. There were hundreds of them, and everyone was panicking and running all over the place, I don’t-”

Kiryu knew that, had he been there that night, he would have ran into the angry crowd too, with no hesitation, no matter how stupid jumping right into a angry wave of people was. He wanted to believe he would have been able to fight it, too, to punch his way until he got to Haruka, but hearing the panic weaving its way into Shinada’s voice, his breath getting faster, he wasn’t so sure of it anymore. “I got knocked down pretty fast, and then I-”

There was another pause, and when Shinada talked again, it was with such a low voice Kiryu almost didn’t catch it. “It felt like drowning.”

“Enough.”

Having more or less forgotten that Daigo was in the room, Kiryu almost jumped as his hand landed on his shoulder. Apparently, while Kiryu had been busy focusing on Shinada’s retelling of the events, he had managed to drag himself from his chair, standing on his own though he was slightly hunched over, a hand pressed on his side. Kiryu would have yelled at him to sit back down, knowing that he had already messed up with his stitches at least once, but found that he couldn’t talk.

He was still stuck on Shinada’s last sentence.

It felt like drowning.

Maybe it was the word “drowning”. It was visceral. Unpleasant. Kiryu felt sick as he wondered if that was how it had felt for Haruka, too.

Shinada had managed to find some of his composure back in the few tense seconds he took for Kiryu’s brain to finally start focusing on the scene again. Daigo’s hand was still on his shoulder, though he wasn’t sure if that was to get him to acknowledge him or if he was just leaning on him. Kiryu wanted to tell him to back off and sit down again before he hurt himself, but Shinada was faster, his breathing still somewhat erratic as he said, “It’s okay, Dojima, I can-”

“Kiryu.” Daigo ignored his friend’s attempt to stop him as he tried to straighten up, locking his eyes with Kiryu’s. “What’s the point of this? You’re both still too tired to get upset about this. Let’s give it a rest.”

Upset.

The word sounded ridiculous when Kiryu could feel his anger threatening to overtake him at any moment. He was not “upset”, he was furious.

“You’re right.” He managed to blurt out, feeling somewhat nauseous all of a sudden. Maybe that he too could use some rest, that was the longest he had ever been standing up in days. He took a step back, careful not to lose his balance or make Daigo topple by removing himself from his grip too abruptly, giving Shinada one last look. “Thank you. I’ll let you rest.”

“Wait-” Shinada straightened up in his bed, trying to catch his eye. He was still talking too fast and breathing too hard, his voice cracking slightly as he said, “I’m- I’m so sorry. I wish I could have done something to stop this.”

Kiryu had become something of an expert of empty, reassuring phrases after being fed so many of them in the past few days. He didn’t even look back as he walked out of the room, his voice probably harsher than he intended. “You did what you could. I can’t blame you.”

That was a lie, too. No matter how bad he felt seeing the man almost break down over the mere memory of the events, no matter how much he wanted to sympathize with him, Kiryu still blamed him. Like he blamed everyone. Like he blamed himself.

Feeling utterly sick with himself, he retreated to his room. The TV that he had left on when he ran away seemed to be taunting him, the bleak light it was projecting in the dark giving the room a ominous ambiance.

He punched the screen with such force that he almost broke his hand.

**********************************

Shinada had never been good at holding back his tears.

He had always cried easily, and never thought it useful to try to hide it.

Back in the day, he would cry when his baseball team won. Or when they lost. When he was banned after his first real game, he had wept for days. Some of these tears were also for his family, who had swore they would never talk to him again, but mostly, he was grieving the dream he was sure he had lost forever.

While he found many occasions to cry after that (being homeless for a while, being all alone, having no food for days, those kinds of things), Shinada had managed to more or less hold on for the past decades, and only cried every now and then.

The Dream Line concert had to be some kind of personal record. Shinada cried right after his fight against the shooter, overwhelmed by the adrenaline of it all, seeing the group perform from so far away while he was sitting in the stands, away from the spotlight. He also cried a few minutes later, when Takasugi’s call reminded him some people cared for him back in Nagoya. And, obviously, he cried after the incident, too. Because he was in pain, because he felt stupid and weak and useless. Because he blamed himself for what he was certain he could have prevented, had he been stronger.

Not crying while Kiryu, that man he had only just met and that he had still managed to disappoint, was standing in front of him, though? That was something. He could be proud.

Unfortunately, as soon as the door was closed behind Kiryu, he couldn’t hold it in anymore, and slumped back in his bed, and let out a small sob, knowing fully well he would be bawling his eyes out in a couple of seconds. Trying to delay the inevitable tears, he looked around, and was suddenly all too aware of Dojima still being in the room with him, standing awkwardly in the middle of it, looking at him with his usual stern expression.

It was not like Shinada minded him being here, really. If anything, he was grateful that he stuck around while Kiryu was there, a friendly face in a sea of hostility. As “friendly” as a scowling yakuza could get, at least. He supposed he should also be grateful for the way Dojima had insisted on bringing his interview with Kiryu to an early end. He couldn’t help but wish he could have said more, though. Apologized better. Still, he got him to leave the room right before Shinada hit his limit, so that was pretty great.

“Tatsuo…?”

Not expecting to hear his name hushed with such an hesitant tone, he took a second to wonder why Dojima was now looking at him with a slightly panicked expression.

Oh, right.

He was crying. He had barely noticed he had started to.

The room got more blurry now than actual tears were in his eyes, so much so that he almost missed Dojima dragging himself to his bed, gritting his teeth with each step. It only clicked in his mind that he had moved closer when he spoke again:

“Do you mind if I sit on your bed?”

Shinada shook his head. Sure, why not. The man should be sitting down, anyway, if his shaky steps were anything to go by. He still managed to get on the bed fairly quickly, making it creak under their combined weight.

A few seconds passed, the silence of the room disturbed by Shinada sniffing softly as he kept crying. Dojima said nothing, shifting awkwardly on the bed so that he was facing him, bending his body in a way that was probably not doing any good to his still healing bullet wound.

Shinada wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt overwhelmed by an urgent need for some kind of contact, but next thing he knew he had more or less collapsed in the other man’s arms. He felt Dojima stiffen against him, making him aware that perhaps entering the guy’s personal space like that without warning was a bit uncalled for. The man remained silent, though Shinada heard a very small gasp escape his lips.

Alright, so maybe he was out of line. No matter how shaken up he was, in pain and in tears, Shinada knew he wasn’t supposed to just throw himself at someone he hardly knew. Sure, technically Dojima and him had known each other for years, but they were not exactly friends back in high school. And their reunion had been so sudden that he barely had the time to process it. Vowing to protect each other’s dream meant they had something , that much was certain, but Shinada wasn’t sure that would be the kind of relationship that involved offering a shoulder to cry on. Literally.

He could always stop, put some distance between them again. Apologize and blame it on the perfect blend of morphine and anguish in his body right now, making him a tad emotional. Dojima didn’t give him any time to back off though, wrapping his arms around him slowly. “Eh… Can I- I mean, do you…?”

Shinada wasn’t sure what he was asking. He wasn’t sure Dojima knew, either, with the way he was stammering. Still, he soon felt a hand stroking his back slowly, and that gesture was as soothing as it was unexpected. It was weird to think that last time those hands were on his body, they were in the middle of a full on brawl. The vicious punches he had received on that day suddenly felt very far away, replaced by a softness he would have never thought he’d see from his old classmate. He did look way less intimidating in his hospital gown, he had to admit. Maybe being shot just did that to people. Made them a bit more approachable. Or maybe he looked so pathetic right now that even the most cold-hearted criminal couldn’t resist him. Who knew. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he simply appreciated the fact he was offering some kind of comforting presence.

He allowed himself a few heartbeats to reposition himself, burying his face in the man’s chest before he returned to the task at hand.

Crying.

He cried because Kiryu blamed him, despite what he told him, he was certain of it. Because he blamed himself, too, obviously. Because he was exhausted, not having had a good night of sleep since the incident, waking up in a cold sweat every time he dozed off, his nightmare haunted by an angry crowd.

“I’m sorry,” Dojima’s voice interrupted his pity party, making him flinch. “I’m so sorry.” He kept repeating that, and Shinada had no idea why he was apologizing all of a sudden. He wanted to say that he was sorry too, sorry to have disappointed anyone who had believed in him when he left for the concert with the mission to protect that girl, but couldn’t make the words come out. So he kept on weeping, while Dojima kept whispering small apologies, pulling him closer.

Between two sobs, Shinada noticed there was something oddly familiar about this situation. It was not like it was a habit of his to break down and grab on to the nearest person to seek solace. Sure, he cried a lot, but he usually did it behind closed doors, alone. He had some dignity left, surely. But being held like this as he wept brought him back to his first night in Nagoya, when he had felt a semblance of reassurance in Milky’s soft embrace. Well, sort of. Dojima was no Milky, he was still pretty stiff and the motion of his hand on Shinada’s back felt a bit awkward, he was clearly not used to this kind of gesture. Still, it felt nice.

It went on for a while, and Shinada felt like he was calming down when- “I need to move.” Just like that, Dojima released him, straightening up a bit too abruptly, shoving Shinada away. “Sorry. Bullet wound.”

Shinada watched him struggle to find a position that wasn’t putting any strain on his wound, before he settled for sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet planted on the floor. Dojima grimaced as he pressed a hand to his side, giving him a look that Shinada assumed was meant to be apologetic, but ended up looking like his usual tired scowl. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rush you like that, but if I open up those stitches again, I’m afraid my doctor’s going to give up on me.” And, because he clearly hadn’t said that enough in the last five minutes, “Sorry.”

Rubbing his eyes with his hands to chase any surviving tears, and feeling pretty confident he had calmed down enough to attempt to talk, Shinada came to join him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Why do you keep saying you’re sorry?”

Apparently, Dojima hadn’t expected his question (that he had managed to ask with a not-so-shaky-voice, not bad for a guy who had been crying for the last ten minutes), looking at him with wide eyes. Turned out the guy could somewhat emote, when he wanted to. Shinada would have found it funny if his answer hadn’t come with such a sad, almost choked tone. “You’re only here because of me. I dragged you into this. Had I left you alone, you wouldn’t be…”

“A fucking mess.”

“In pain.” His voice was low, sounding more like the man he had fought on his roof again. “I knew of the dangers and I still let you come here. And now you’re…” He trailed off, frowning even more. “I’m so sorry, Tatsuo.”

Shinada hadn’t really thought of it that way. Dojima waltzing back into his life was what had led to him being stuck here, with nightmares in his head and regrets in his heart, that was true. But when he thought of his home, where he was basically starving and where everyone had been hiding things from him, where he was basically rotting away while clinging on dreams that would never happen… Would he really have been better off if the yakuza never came to find him?

He sighed, realizing he would probably never find a satisfying answer to this question. Instead he settled for shuffling closer to his friend (he had decided that “friend” was an alright word to use, now that the guy had seen him cry and had tried his best to comfort him), resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Well, that’s silly.” Shinada’s voice was still a little hoarse, but he tried his best to sound cheerful. Well, more cheerful than he was a few moments ago, at least. “Remember how you tried to stop me from coming with you? And look, you’re nice enough not to go 'I told you so' about it, too.”

“I should have stopped you.”

“You wish. We fought for it, remember? And I won.”

“You won because I agreed to back down. I shouldn’t have. Should have kept fighting. Better have you stuck at home with a broken leg than here and in anguish.”

Shinada never thought he would hear someone say “I wish I had broken your leg” in a nice way, but here he was. He chuckled, and noticing Dojima looked still rather glum, avoiding to look at him as he stared at one corner of the room, took a deep sigh.

“Well, I don’t blame you, okay?”

He really meant it, too. Dojima remained silent, but Shinada noticed his lip twitching slightly. He wasn’t sure if it was because his wound was still acting up, or because his words had touched him somehow, but hoped it was the latter.

He knew what blaming himself felt like, and wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

#in this part MORE CRYING #i know crazy #mob #yakuza #rgg #rgg5 #yakuza 5 #yakuza fanfiction #stories #fics #weird art of mine

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sunriseintropicisle · 3 years ago

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Things that makes me happier

I gave up posting number in front of my post title, initially it was to mark whether I reach the goal of posting a writing every week, which made me had to post 52 writings for the year of 2021, and by this point I am pretty sure I am not gonna reach that number so yes, we can forget it.

So I personally feel like recently I am in a better state of being, and have lots of idea coming up in my head. While I still religiously write on my handwritten journal, I feel like writing, in case my nonexistent reader would like to know, or give some inspirations. Lol, like who you are.

No, really, I am just really believe in sharing, and I would love to know if my mundane knowledge or experience be insightful even to only one other person. Because I myself found multiple times that a knowledge/sharing that someone posted online impacted me greatly - hence I am just thinking about the other me who may be seeking the things I am about to say/share.

Things that makes me happier are:

Intermittent Fasting

I have been doing IF for 2 weeks now, and yeah, it makes me feel good. I started initially because, duh, like everyone else, I wanted to lose weight. Some might want to kick me in the ass for saying such thing, and assure me that I have normal body and yada yada. And, as straight forward as it is - I just want to be as skinny as possible. Hahaha. Maybe it is something to do with me very sold into the standard beauty, or maybe it’s got to do with something in the past - I was quite cheeky.

However, even though I always say that I want to lose weight, over the years I have never really made the effort. Some days I took it hard some days it just a normal day, me eating this and that and whatnot. But then I have noted the intention of me wanting to be so skinny, on top of those beauty standard I believe have huge impact in me and a quite hard time in the past for being cheeky is because it simply makes me feel lighter, not holding anything within my body. Because for the context and some TMI, I have a not so good digestion, so yeah. There was a period of the time that I often I feel stuffed and bloated - which felt so uncomfortable, that I can’t stand working while sitting because I felt my stomach is getting on my way.

I tried IF a while back, and it worked for me, so now I decided to try it again now. Intention achieved. I believe it was because the time window for eating that pool all the food I eat in a day to be only consumed for certain times (I do 7 hours, my best convenience). I used to eat on times where, looking back, I was not really hungry, you know. Like breakfast - turned out (I don’t know why I forget about this) that I am not a breakfast person. All through high school I don’t remember myself sitting, eating breakfast in my uniform.

But then I just picked up a habit of eating breakfast while my stomach is actually not really ready for it, which end up making me feel bloated that last long all through lunch and pretty much for the day - and then without me knowing the new day has begin, and the cycle starts all over.

So yeah, IF had helped me to be to schedule my eating time which made my digestion works better I guess, and no more me having a bloated stomach constantly.

Quitting Social Media

Finally I succeed in cutting myself with social media. This, I also had tried in the beginning of the pandemic I guess - went on without social media for weeks and at that time I really felt the benefit and all, until I came back to social media and can not disconnect ever since. Even though I have been wanting to detox myself, but at the same time I felt really dependent on it.

It took me one lows moment of life to finally be able to went cold turkey about disconnecting. It was when I felt frustrated on Twitter news where every day it seems like there were a bad news - people died, people lost jobs, people complaining, the news about our incompetent and corrupt government and so on. Without me realizing, it took a toll on myself. Other than that was me who checking in Linkedin constantly at the time and seeing my friends’ profile whose climbing up the corporate ladder, while I was unsure and questioning whether I am in the right place (sounds like the problem of these days youth who lives in their own bubble, yeah?).

So one Friday where I had one of my breakdown, I went MIA for the weekend to the people who are close to me, as well as to my social media. It’s only been 2 weeks now, but it is safe to say that I can reclaim myself within these times, suddenly lots of thinking came up to me, as if all these times the bad news maybe somewhat oppress it or something. And, I also feel more certain about what is going on my mind/heart.

I believe quitting social media has its downside as well, as like I really am not having an update on the news (90% of my news source is Twitter - how sad yet could not be truer for most of us), I completely blind on our Covid update I even think that Covid is slowing down in the territory. Yeah, as expected you lose win some as well as you lose some, but for now at leas, I decided to win for myself.

Olympic 2020

I have never watched Olympic before, as far as I remember. Nor that I care about it. But this time is different. I believe the fact that we are on privilege to be in the safety of home have a huge part in me having the opportunity to watch the Olympic - thanks for that. For almost two weeks I was hooked to my TV, even one time I was on my TV from 6am to 10pm and watched all the games they aired.

To have the company to watch was a big advantage as well. As now I have my sibling in the house, I teamed up with my sister to watch the Olympic, we both did not know that we enjoyed it so much that we invested in each game we watched. We cheered for athletics, we scream for badminton, we gasped for weightlifting. It was a very fun experience. For almost two weeks I change my work station in front of the TV and so did my sister.

On top of that, what made Olympic special and very intrigued me was the diversity of the athletes. I guess I just did not exposed to such diversity as it was presented in the Olympic. I was presented with some very foreign countries whose name I hardly heard, or the people whose features were different one another.

Questions like why some sports dominated my a certain race while other sports dominated by others also popped out in my head. And not to mention my awed to each of these Olympian athletes when they perform their sports, I always wonder what it takes for them to be there right now - how many years of training, how much tears were sacrificed and relationships had to be let go. There were just so many elements of the Olympics that made me really drawn and invested in it.

Youtube

Surprise, surprise.

Well, my attraction to Youtube recently was different because of the previous para - Olympic. Because of getting really drawn into the Olympic athlete, I was searching lots of reference videos. And as we all know how we are being spied and we are mere a number for these big tech companies, they get to know me better know and present me with more content that I love (or else I had never discovered).

I am not sure what I searched previously, but Youtube chose that I now an avid cultural researcher, jk. Yeah, I watched a lot about something culture-related on Youtube because it is funny, looking back, I was once really attracted to be a global citizen and what not (what a flavor of youth!!), traveling the world, meeting people from other countries, make impact in the NGO (before long I know the NGOs are mostly funded by big corporations as well, heart breaking reality for me).

What I am saying is that the savvy man-made tech of Youtube has made me rediscover my old interest about culture! And I just actually learn that you can learn a lot from Youtube’s comment section, which debates often open up you to things which are (1) people can comment based on data and have every intention to educate other people; and (2) people more often be ignorant, and how much you are on the right stance, with the wrong people, you can still be, yeah wrong.

Somehow the lesson I gained in the Youtube’s comment section was really grounding to me to realize these polar of people, and in the end what you can do is only simply be you because after all, people really will hold on to their own opinion and belief.

Jigsaw Puzzle

RECCOMENDED 100/100. Damn, wasn’t it a good choice when one day I decided to try out jigsaw puzzle to entertained myself while waiting my partner to reply my chat message?

On the one of the breakdown moment I mentioned I believe that I had to have distraction and I thought of either a puzzle or a coloring book. I ended up buying both, but I am positive that I am more drawn to jigsaw puzzle. I first ordered a 1500 piece puzzle and when it first came, I kind of secretly afraid that I will give up. Also my mother being my mother and she was pessimist that I would finish the puzzle.

But one time I was just playing by myself, not expecting anything or even asked anyone to help me (afraid that I put too much task on other people), yet my sister helped me out, and a while after my mom helped we out as well. Resulting in the puzzle finished in 3 days. Soon after I order new puzzle, and so did my sister. Her order came first and it was a 1000 pieces puzzle, which we finished in 2 hours (boo, it turned out to be too easy), and now we are opening up our 3rd puzzle and tried to work on it.

I am just really happy that I discovered it, it is really great way to bond and filling time. And every time I successfully put the pieces together - that just very satisfying feelings! I believe I will have more and more puzzle to come in the near future.

I hope one of the thing above will work out for you and make you happier as well as it had affected me. 🤗

#mentariwrites #mentaridaily #happier #puzzle #lockdown

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dennou-translations · 4 years ago

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Kagerou Daze VIII: Chapter 9

Summer Time Record -side No.2 (3)-

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases in Japanese or in English. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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For how long had I wandered around without a destination?

It wasn’t like I had regained my rationality, but when I noticed it, all “voices” had quieted down, and only a faint noise brought by human activity reached my ears. Amidst it, I could hear the distant peals of folk music echoing from far behind me. Immediately, I realized that it was the BGM of the fireworks festival venue. I had apparently ended up coming to a place pretty distant from it.

Without turning back, at last, I lowered my hips onto the bank’s sidewalk. The murmuring of the river stirred up a sense of loneliness within the thin darkness. The dark gray concrete felt cold, and that in turn made me even more disheartened.

“Mary...”

Really, I’d done something stupid. Even though Mary was finally looking forward to it, rather than just the fireworks, everything was ruined.

I had the intention of coming to a clear decision. For Mary’s sake, I had prepared myself to forget about everything completely. Except, when I was before the names of those guys lined-up on the screen, I couldn’t manage to stay calm, no matter what.

I wondered if the arm I grabbed had hurt. I pondered over what kind of feelings Mary had when using the Concealing.

No, I’ve known this since long ago. Whenever I or Kido activated our Abilities, it was always when we were going through anxiety.

Back then... our joined hands had caused Mary to experience anxiety.

A strangled gasp. Tears helplessly overflowed. I had no face to show myself to her.

On that day, after Kagerou Daze swallowed our “enemy” and “comrades”, Mary and I were the only ones left in that place. My memory was fuzzy from the point where I had carried Mary, who wouldn’t open her eyes, until we had arrived to the hideout. I remembered things from the point where Mary had “smiled” at me upon waking up and looking at my face.

It was unthinkable for that girl to be smiling in the aftermath of a gruesome battle where we had lost our companions. I realized at that moment that Mary was suffering of amnesia. I couldn’t place my finger on how much she didn’t remember exactly, but at the very least, it seemed that all of her memories regarding the fight had dissipated.

Having noticed that, I was indecisive about whether or not I should tell her everything. That we had lost irreplaceable friends. That we were living on while sustaining ourselves on said friends’ lives. And that “we had to live on” from this point onward.

There was no way I could tell her.

My indecision lasted for all but an instant. During that instant, her expression of despair that had crossed my mind made me helplessly terrified.

I would throw away everything and protect only her smile. She didn’t have to reminisce to a past that she had forgotten. If she recalled it, she’d collapse. I couldn’t make her go through that by any means.

And so, I had spent my days until today keeping up appearances.

I had watched the animes she liked with her. We had gotten chills in our stomachs at the supernatural feature of a variety show. We also had found out that there was a delicious restaurant nearby and treated ourselves. She had been peeking at my carrots, so I divided them in half and we ate them together.

In order not to grant a single drop of sadness to that innocent girl who didn’t know anything, I had spent my time looking after and thinking about her only.

The city lights were reflected on the river’s surface, twinkling like a starry sky. When I thought that there were people’s daily affairs and lives comprised in each of them, they felt like something terribly realistic and dirty.

Any and everybody put up façades, nourishing darkness inside their hearts. Though they’d say, “I like you” with their mouths, they’d be saying, “I hate you” in their minds. Tough they’d say, “Thank you” with their mouths, they’d be saying, “Drop dead” in their minds.

For me, who had been hearing “voices” since before I became aware of the things around me, this was more common and strange than anything else. Everyone was living contradictorily, and if you turned over one layer of the thin skin of this world, which seemed beautiful at first glance, it would dull out into something similar to hell.

Right. On the day I had first met her, I was also running away from the “voices”, just like today. That day, the trigger for hearing the “voices” of people I was passing by in the city had been a “voice” that resembled Kano’s. This “voice” had said something horribly foul with the exact same tone as Kano’s, so I was instantaneously engulfed in unease at it.

Everybody in my family were good people. Kano, Kido and Nee-chan had treated me so well that it was lamentable. That was exactly why I was so, so scared of the darkness in my family members’ hearts above anything else that I couldn’t help it.

“What if Kano hates me?”

“What if Nee-chan thinks of me as a nuisance?”

The moment I had thought about it, as if a hoop had disconnected, my control of my Ability stopped working. At that instant, I was swallowed by “voices” that were like an avalanche of abusive language. It hadn’t diminished one bit even when I bolted back home, so I ignored the words of concern from my family and blindly flew out of the house.

I believed that was probably the day I had run the biggest distance in my life. I had run, run, run and run, and before I realized it, I became unable to hear anyone’s “voice”.

By the time I noticed that I had gotten far from the city and gone into the mountains, away from human civilization, I couldn’t see anything in my surroundings. I didn’t know the way back, nor could I spot any supplies to rely upon. It was just that the darkness was more comfortable than anything.

Back then was the first time I had heard her “voice”.

It was almost as if everywhere around me had been painted in the colors of light – that was the kind of impact it had. There was no two-facedness to it, and I didn’t sense the slightest bit of stagnation in it whatsoever. Without thinking, I simply had my heart stolen by the “voice” – which was beautiful even – of that girl, who was but in love with the world and had her chest swelling at the happiness that would visit her one day.

Thus, I dashed with my aching feet as if dragging them on, and the person inside the house that I had arrived to was no one other than Mary. The light pink eyes of Mary, whose white hair was swaying, were transparent like gems, reflecting my figure. At that instant, although I was a child, I understood something. That “I was born to protect this girl”.

From that day on, my head had been full of her.

The world, opposing to her fantasies, was brutal. It was a dent of hatred, spinning stale thoughts into a whirlpool. If a girl as innocent as her attempted to go out into it, her pure-white heart would end up dyed black.

I always thought that I’d become strong for her sake. If it was for protecting her, I seriously though about turning into the prince charming from fictional stories that she wouldn’t stop yearning for.

For me, there was no other reason to make me think, “I want to live” in this world, filled to the brim as it was with stale “voices”.

Even when I wound up hearing the “voice” of Clearing, which had been residing inside Dad, and when I learned that my family and I would be murdered, it was Mary that mostly crossed my mind. I couldn’t leave her alone. I didn’t want to let her experience sadness no matter what. The more I thought about that, my heart, which made light of my family and friends, was tainted black in a dark, ugly way.

When I heard Kano’s cries on the night before the decisive battle, too, I had suppressed the emotions that I was about to vomit out and desperately kept myself under control.

Kano was... He was truly a good guy. If anything, I’d wanted to shoulder together the things he had been burdening himself with. He was more kindhearted than anyone, knew my thoughts better than anyone, yet he was also awkward... We siblings really were exactly alike.

I had measured even him on a scale with Mary.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t do anything in the end. I hadn’t fought and hadn’t been able to leave it all behind, just kept running away, thus arriving to this point.

Her smile was everything. It was my only “happiness”. Yes, that was what I had supposedly decided, and yet...

“I was wrong,” my own “voice” echoed in my ears, not letting go of me.

Suddenly, a single sentence was revived inside my head. Having come in contact with helpless seriousness, I let depreciation spill out without thinking, “I’m sorry, Ene-chan. I can’t do anything...”

On the day of the decisive battle, back when Azami attempted to summon Kagerou Daze to swallow Clearing, I had been ready to “throw away my own life”, like Kano and the others. It pained my heart to leave Mary behind and depart by myself, but Ene-chan and the others would definitely come for her aid – I had no choice except to believe in that.

Yet, right after Kagerou Daze appeared, Ene-chan’s tone of determination echoed loud and clear, reaching my ears, “I will be the one to go, so everything is fine. You’re probably the only one who can protect that girl.”

Why hadn’t I realized back then that those words were directed at me? I had only found out that she offered her life in exchange for mine when everything was over and I spotted Kano’s phone cracked on the floor at my feet.

Hit by a memory, I had abruptly taken my phone out. Above a picture of Mary that I had made into wallpaper, only a few numbers displaying the time had appeared. Of course, there had been no display of anyone’s call in the history either.

If I’d had the courage to fight, I wonder if it would’ve made any difference. I wonder if it would’ve changed the plot of this tragedy that one couldn’t even bear to look at.

No, there was no way I could do that. Someone as weak as me, who’d ended up letting go of even Mary’s hand, surely wouldn’t have been able to accomplish anything, no matter what I might’ve done.

Squeezing my phone’s dim screen with a lot of strength, I gritted my teeth.

What was that “I’ll protect Mary” about? What an overambitious thing that I ended up thinking, when I could do nothing but be rescued, be sheltered and run away.

There was no longer anyone left from my family and friends. I could no longer hear anybody’s “voice”.

I wanted to see Mary. I wanted to see my friends. They could hate or disdain me for all I cared. I simply wanted to have just a conversation with everyone together once again...!

“Are you crying?”

A voice.

“You okay? Were you lonely by yourself?”

I certainly heard Mary’s voice. I frantically got up, desperately looking around the area, but couldn’t find Mary’s figure there.

Was it the effect of Concealing...? No, that wasn’t it. Just now, I’d heard the voice from so close that it seemed enough to touch her.

Then just how? What’s going on right now...?

“Se-Seto! I’m here; right here.”

For a second, I doubted my ears. Mary’s voice had definitely come from the phone I was holding. Surprised, I dropped my gaze to the phone’s screen. “Eh?”

In it, just like how Ene-chan used to do before, Mary’s figure was flightily drifting about inside the screen. I stared, my mouth dumbly agape.

“Aah~, you finally noticed! Sorry, did I scare you?”

“Y-You did...”

My head couldn’t catch up with what was happening in front of my eyes, so I couldn’t contain the loud beating of my heart, which seemed like it was about to burst. The phenomenon before me was without a doubt something brought by the Ability that Ene-chan used to have.

Mary currently had four Abilities in addition to the Combining, which she already had. There was no reason for her not to use them, but to think she had become able to use even this power after the Concealing...

“Mary, why’re you doing something like this out of the... Actually, where’s your body? Don’t tell me you left it somewhere.”

“Wah, wah—Calm down, Seto! It’s okay, ‘cause it’s... right here.” Within the screen, Mary’s facial expression clouded over a little.

“Where? I’m coming right away, just tell me the pla... ce...”

The oozing pain that burned my chest interrupted my words.

“I’m coming right away”? Who was saying that and with what mouth? What could someone like me, who had deceived Mary and tried to forget his friends, say to Mary upon “seeing” her after this? Did I seriously think that continuing a daily life painted in fabrications was for Mary’s sake?

I had long realized it already. I couldn’t become a prince charming. I was a half-assed “monster” who could neither stop thinking about Mary nor forget our friends.

It was okay if she thought it was too late for this. If I told her everything, she might cry. Even so, I didn’t want to taint her any more with lies.

“Mary, there’s something I wanna talk about. I want you to hear it,” I said, unable to look at Mary in the face.

She would probably think, “What’s he saying all of a sudden”. I wondered how long it would take me to explain one thing at a time. After I conveyed it all, would she ever accept it?

Mary definitely didn’t know anything. She was someone pure and innocent, who I had to protect. Right. Knowing nothing about Mary, I had been convinced of this to a shocking extent, until she replied to my words.

“I also have something I want to talk about,” Mary said with a voice I didn’t know. “Let’s go, Seto. Everyone’s waiting.”

I climbed the stone stairs one step after another. The flame of the lanterns was out, so my field of vision, reduced by the thicket on both sides, was dyed in the shades of the night.

I could no longer hear Mary’s voice from the phone squeezed in my hand. And I didn’t ask her anything either. Only the quiet sounds of me stepping onto the gravel scattered about the stone stairs repeated itself. I also couldn’t hear the commotion at the far-off fireworks venue anymore. The cries of summer bugs was remiss, and not even the presence of living creatures could be felt. The tranquility surrounding the house that Mary used to live in the past existed here.

Were people being kept out? Or was there another meaning to this? Either way, the only thing I could somehow tell was that this discretion was due to Mary using the Concealing.

Within a silence that made it seem like everything had died out, only Mary’s words kept crossing my mind and disappearing. She said she “had something that she wanted to talk about”. And also that “everyone was waiting”. Did she know something I didn’t? And why did she have to tell me about that?

How awful. Maybe, somewhere in my heart, I had the feeling that she was incapable of analyzing the matter in its entirety, as if I knew everything about her. Honestly, there was a limit to how arrogant I could be, trying to play the “prince charming” who would protect her when I was such a mess.

Surely, everything would end today. Still, in contrast to this definite presentiment, I couldn’t imagine that outcome for the life of me.

And so, I finally reached the top.

The open grounds of the shrine were deserted, as the sounds suggested. I swallowed dryly at the frame of a pure-white back that I spotted on the stone road leading to the main hall.

“How?”

I realized it with just a look. Mary’s figure as she turned around was transformed, just like on that day. Her cheeks bore those scales that had been gone ever since that day, her irises swaying red like fresh blood. As if responding to my words, Mary’s slit, snake-like eyes slightly narrowed.

“Thanks for coming. This place was best for me, no matter what.”

The way she talked was Mary’s, but the usual weak feeling to them was nowhere in sight.

As I was about to ask, “Just what is going on?”, Mary’s words, which seemed to be see-through, came flying at me, “Is the Stealing okay? I’m sorry; I was also surprised, so I couldn’t contain the Concealing...”

I couldn’t hide my shock at each of those words. Was there any moment until now where Mary had said the names of the Abilities?

While I was so confused, as if taking notice of it, Mary cut off with an “I’ll be the one to talk”. “There’s something I have to apologize for. I’ve been thinking all this time that I had to say it, but I couldn’t.” Mary closed her eyes, looking apologetic.

I couldn’t even nod at the unexpected, sudden confession.

“That day... ever since the fight ended, I’d always been lying to you.”

My heart clenched at the word “fight” that came out of Mary. It was a word I had made sure to never utter, from that day until now.

“L... ‘Lying’...? Also, you said ‘fight’, so Mary, your memories...”

“I’d remembered it all along. Nothing was forgotten. I caused a misunderstanding... because I was smiling back then.”

Shades of extremely deep grief resided in Mary’s facial expression. My train of thought mixed up chaotically at those words and that face.

Mary hadn’t forgotten anything? That couldn’t be; it was impossible. That day, at the hideout, after we had come back from the fight, Mary was definitely smiling. Seeing that, I had figured Mary didn’t recall anything.

I mean, why would she have smiled if she remembered it all? There’s no way Mary would laugh immediately after sobbing at the death of our frie...

“Laugh”?

A single surfacing thought began crumbling down the shallow presumption that I had been believing in from the head.

I was wrong. Mary didn’t laugh because she wanted to laugh. The meaning of that smile, it couldn’t be...

“You did that so I wouldn’t worry?”

Mary nodded a little at my words, smiling without any strength. “Yep... I mean, Seto, you were making such a sad face. If I’d cried too, you would’ve gotten even sadder, right?”

A lenient wind silently blew through the shrine grounds. Faced with the truth that pierced into me, my body became flaccid, like a thread that had been cut. As my feet could no longer support me, my knees hit the ground with the momentum just like that. I could sense a dull pain from them, but my head was so clouded that I couldn’t even feel it right.

I was being saved by her all this time.

Mary had been putting up a smile ever since that day so that I would smile. Mary had kept pretending that she had lost her memories so that I wouldn’t be sad. How absurd of me to think that Mary would break down if she found out about the deaths of our friends. Not only had she accepted their deaths, Mary had been protecting me.

Had I been looking properly at her face? Listening properly to her words? Didn’t she go out shopping and said she would “help” with chores because she was desperate to support my “fake daily life”?

As I simply sat dumbfounded without replying, Mary continued, “But I thought this couldn’t go on. You doing your best to forget everyone was all my fault... that’s why I’ve been thinking. Together with him.”

Mary’s finger abruptly pointed at the air. Her index went right over my head, stretched toward behind me. As I turned around with my knees still on the ground, the figure of one of our members, who had probably just climbed up the stone steps, was there. His outfit, consisting of a sky-colored shirt under a vest and shorts, had not changed from the day of that decisive battle.

“Hibiya... kun...”

As I called his name weakly, Hibiya-kun scratched his cheek, looking awkward. “It’s not like we were planning to trick you or anything. She just said that she wanted me to keep quiet.”

“Thanks for coming, Hibiya-kun. I... already told him everything, so it’s okay.”

As the two took turns to speak with each other, I hastily made my head catch up with their conversation.

How had Mary contacted Hibiya-kun? It was obvious – by using the Stirring.

Mary remembered everything about that fight. She had always been thinking about them, who had fought desperately, protected us and tried to accomplish our strategy.

“Don’t ever give up on the future”.

Mary hadn’t forgotten about the goal that we all carried with us back then. This girl was far stronger than I thought. She wasn’t afraid of tainting her pure whiteness.

After that day, Mary definitely had been using the Abilities to keep up with the plan together with Hibiya-kun. Amidst the loneliness of losing our friends and the pressure of being entrusted with the future, she had frantically made sure not to show those feelings to me by any means. And with those same feelings, Hibiya-kun had assisted Mary. Surely, his eyes had kept looking into the unfinished future. That was exactly why he had showed up here like this.

Aah, no good. I can’t muster a single word anymore.

Wasn’t I the only one who had given up everything for Mary’s sake yet didn’t manage to do anything on my own? Even though Mary was fighting wildly against despair...!

As I sat pathetically at the center of the shrine grounds, I let out a sob that I couldn’t repress. Casting aside my shame and dignity, I was seriously helpless simply for not being able to repay them.

Someone please sentence me. Kill my coward self. Please, I’m begging...

“It’s okay; don’t be scared...” A “voice” echoed in the darkness, “Don’t blame yourself, Seto.”

Don’t, Mary. Stop.

“Nobody will hate you, Seto. I know you fought.”

I have no right to be hugged by you. I shouldn’t be forgiven.

“Thank you for always protecting me. Thank you for always cherishing me.”

The “voice” destroyed my world, which hadn’t changed in anything since that day. Yeah, I had devoted my life to that voice. Even so... I...

“Thanks to you, I started liking this world a lot.”

When I opened my eyes, I saw the most beautiful tears in the world. I would certainly never be worthy of those words that expressed such endearment, like light, like flowers and like hope.

I wanted to protect her forever. I wanted us to overcome that endless summer together. If God didn’t have an after-summer in store for us, I wanted to make one with her.

Ever since that time, I had always been helplessly in love with this girl.

“Hey, Seto. I wonder if we’ll get to see the fireworks clearly if it’s from here.”

My unfulfilled wishes dissipated like the summer. In this place, where sounds and light were nowhere to be found, the only thing that definitely existed was warmth.

#kagerou project #kagepro #mekakucity actors #kagerou daze #seto kousuke #kozakura mary #setomary #summer time reload #amamiya hibiya #jin #novel #my translation

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internetandnetwork · 4 years ago

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How to Make the Most Out of Your Landing Pages

The responsibility of a marketer is not limited to the moment a visitor converts on a landing page. Their job is far, far from being done just yet. If truth be told, the landing page itself has plenty of work that needs to be done before we can start celebrating to score a conversion.

Curious about those leads that do not convert?

Well, neglect them at your own risk!

Being data-driven marketers, we are acutely familiar with the fact that the majority of the site visitors won’t ever convert. In fact, in a few industries, conversion rates can be as low as 1-2%. But does that mean the rest of the 98-99% visitors that don’t convert are useless? No. There are numerous ways you can boost your chances of converting more site visitors gradually and extract more value from your landing pages.

In order to do that, you need to track what happens to every site visitor after click-through, page view, form submission, or phone call. Gauging and feeding this data into your campaigns will help boost your overall results as well as your ability to optimize your campaigns for better ROI.

Sounds good, right? Keep on reading to explore more.

WHY YOU SHOULD NOT IGNORE VISITORS WHO DON’T CONVERT INSTANTLY

As we discussed earlier, suppose your landing page has a conversion rate of about 2%, meaning the remaining 98% of visitors do not convert.

Ignoring these non-converting visitors is a grave mistake. Now a lot of them won’t ever convert simply because of a disconnect in the offer, audience, or timing. But that’s the way of the world. When it comes to a landing page, there is no one-size-fits-all. But in the long run, some of these visitors will most probably convert:

Via other channels or websites that might not be traceable to your landing page directly

Offline at a brick-and-mortar store or through phone

After a very long consideration period

Before you can begin cashing in on these long-term converters, you need to understand better where those converting visitors are coming from to your website.

For that, check out the Google Analytics Multi-Channel Funnels Report that displays the various interactions that take place before a conversion does. You can find this report in your Google Analytics by going to “Conversions,” then choosing “Multi-Channel Funnels,” and then “Top Conversion Paths.”

Data from different conversion paths can help you inform your future strategies to reach and convert visitors in the later stage of their journey. Once you get a better idea of where those converting visitors are coming from, you can implement these three tips to utilize this data wisely and squeeze more value from your existing landing pages.

#1 MEASURE YOUR OFFLINE INTERACTIONS TRIGGERED BY LANDING PAGES

Businesses that have physical stores or an offline sales channel can use paid search and social channels to bring in visitors and utilize their landing pages to highlight their products or services.

However, if the end goal is to drive store visits and phone calls, marketers need to get a bit more creative with evaluating performance. Doing this is worthwhile as it will help you get a better idea of how your campaigns generate business.

Store Visit Conversions

Store Visits conversion types are available in Google Ads and Facebook Ads that let marketers view how ad interactions can impact foot traffic in a retail location like a shop. Each ad platform tracks the mobile device location of users who have opted-in to share it to extrapolate the number of people that visited your physical store within a particular time frame after seeing or clicking on your ad.

To put it another way, even if your landing page did not record an immediate online conversion, visitors who visited your physical store can still be included in your campaign performance report.

Let’s look at the three main ways store visits are helpful in PPC campaigns:

Campaign objective: Both Google and Facebook have individual campaign types for local businesses, encouraging people to click to make a call or get driving directions.

Input for bid optimization strategies: Store visits can be used as input by Google’s smart bidding. Facebook optimizes the Store Visit campaigns to display ads to users who are more likely to visit.

Conversion event: Report and audit store visit performance by ad creative or campaign to ascertain which audiences or ads will most probably bring in-store traffic.

You will notice the data show up in your Conversion actions report in the Tools > Conversions menu, given that your Google Ads account fulfills the requirements for store visit conversions. If it does appear in the menu, you can build custom reports or see store visit conversion data at the ad, campaign, keyword, or ad group levels.

In addition to this, Facebook Ads campaigns that have store visits as an objective provide results for ad analysis and campaign as well. To include relevant metrics in your performance reports, choose Columns > Customize Columns from within the reporting interface, and then search for “Store Visits.”

Phone Call Tracking

Typically, lead generation landing pages contain a phone number that serves as a primary or secondary CTA to engage warm leads with personal interaction.

Most home services and healthcare businesses receive the majority of their contacts by phone only. Consumers who have complicated billing or scheduling questions prefer talking to a human mostly instead of waiting for a web form response. In fact, giving trackable phone numbers on landing pages to engage prospects before conversion or sale takes place has proved beneficial for many online retailers and SaaS companies too.

Phone calls present marketers with invaluable data:

Marketers can decide the best-performing layout based on the phone call conversions generated by landing pages and/or test variants.

The campaign or keyword level granularity can help the marketers recognize useful traffic drivers.

Audio and text records are valuable to spot frequently asked questions, sales barriers, and frontline staff training opportunities.

Supplementary conversion data can back up CPA (Cost Per Acquisition) bidding.

Let’s take a look at two effortless ways to incorporate phone call tracking into your landing pages:

To derive maximum advantage, you can use a phone call tracking tool. Just add tracking scripts to all your landing pages using Google Tag Manager or any other third-party software.

If you are not entirely ready to have a dedicated phone call tracking provider, you can go for Google’s built-in phone call conversion tracking tool to track all calls generated by your Google Ads campaigns. However, its implementation is a little tricky, and compared to other dedicated third-party software; it provides lesser call-level data. Nevertheless, it still works wonders for tracking call conversions and integrating the data into conversion-based bidding strategies and reporting.

#2 INCORPORATE LEAD DATA WITH TOOLS TO BOOST SALES RESULTS

When it comes to converting prospective consumers into actual consumers, capturing leads and contact details is only the first step. Sales cycles differ in span, and they can last days, weeks, or even months. How will you determine which landing page or original traffic source generated leads that converted into high-value customers?

This is commonly known as attribution, which is one of the toughest problems today’s marketers face.

Its solution generally requires passing the data in and out between marketing and sales teams to verify the lead quality and recognize the leads that finally closed into sales. Here are a few recommended methods to connect your marketing and sales teams to comprehend landing page performance.

Combine Marketing Automation and CRM Platforms With Landing Pages

Whether your sales team uses a spreadsheet or a CRM platform to track leads, you should save as much marketing campaign data about every contact as possible. All this information will be added to the sales contact and can be examined to ascertain the most productive offers and campaigns. Here are a few examples of data you might want to gather:

Date and time of the first and subsequent visits as well as interactions

Landing page URL and variant that captured the lead

The call-to-action (CTA) and offer the potential customer responded to

The ad creative, campaign, placement, audience list, and keyword that generated each visit

In addition to this, with more data, marketing automation platforms become more powerful. Having attribution data can help personalize or customize your campaigns to increase your conversion and open rates. To accomplish this, it:

Matches your email content and subject lines to the ad creative or copy prospects engaged with originally to strengthen your positioning

Displays the same CTAs and offers in your text/email campaigns, landing pages, and website personalization efforts to bolster your messaging

Connect Your Landing Pages to Other Platforms

Don’t get intimidated by the initial setup.

The majority of the marketing automation and customer relationship management (CRM) software has built-in integrations with the influential ad platforms already. In case yours doesn’t, you can integrate them using a third-party tool. The data above can be registered automatically for all prospective customers allowing you to focus your precious time somewhere else.

#3 UTILIZE LANDING PAGES TO CREATE AUDIENCE LISTS FOR FUTURE AD TARGETING

Simply because a visitor did not convert into a buyer on their first-ever visit to your website does not mean they won’t ever. Maybe the timing was not ideal, or perhaps they are just comparison shopping before making any final purchase decision. So in place of giving up already, use targeted ads based on their past behaviors to give them a reason to return to your website.

Building segmented audience lists for your remarketing ads or search campaigns is the best way to re-engage those non-converting visitors. You can start with the audience types mentioned below and expand them later as you find out what works best for you.

Audience Based on Engagement Triggers: For example, suppose you have a product/service page with an embedded video. Maybe you want to re-engage those visitors who watched it but did not convert. When it comes to remarketing to very particular sets of visitors based on their behaviors or intent, building audiences from Google Analytics events stands as a potent tool. Prepare a list of the significant engagement points on your landing pages and then create audiences with the aim of delivering ads to them afterward.

Audiences for All Stages of Your Customer Journey: Maybe you want to reach the old leads with another offer to help them move further in their customer journey. Wondering how this works? Let’s suppose you are a custom home builder, and a prospective customer downloads a PDF of home plans from your website. You add them to a new audience list and start sending them ads offering free model home tours and testimonials from your existing customers. Not only will this help you stay on top of mind of your prospects but will surely help them move further towards becoming your customer.

Similar or Lookalike Audiences: Make an audience list based on any of the points mentioned above. Google Ads and Facebook Ads will then identify other leads with similar attributes in their networks. That’s an incredible way to grow your reach and discover new prospects.

Creating audiences for remarketing in Google Analytics is comparatively straightforward. All you need to do is go to “Admin,” then select “Property Settings,” then “Audience Definitions,” and then click the “Audiences” menu to start building rules-based audiences from your existing site traffic.

Restrictive Remarketing Policies

A few industries, such as personal finance, have more restrictive remarketing policies, of course, limiting the way marketers can re-engage their past landing page visitors.

Keeping this in mind, it is highly recommended that you adhere to Facebook and Google’s rules strictly if you want to avoid getting your account suspended. Moreover, make sure you check these policies frequently as the ad platforms update them often to keep up with privacy regulations. So stay current with the latest changes, mainly before you build a new remarketing audience for industries with more restrictive remarketing policies.

Nevertheless, it is still possible to overcome these remarketing restrictions by producing engaging content that makes the visitors stay a bit longer on your landing pages.

WRAPPING IT UP

All visitors are equally valuable to your business regardless of whether they convert immediately or not. It all depends on how you handle them – whether you decide to throw your hands up in the air or take considerable measures to stay on top of their mind and drive them back to your website. Do not let those invaluable prospects go away! Unleash the true potential of your landing pages by implementing these three tips. It’s time to start treating your landing pages as a vital part of your marketing strategy instead of just seeing them as a quick stop on your overall customer journey.

Hariom Balhara is an inventive person who has been doing intensive research in particular topics and writing blogs and articles for E Global Soft Solutions. E Global Soft Solutions is a Digital Marketing, SEO, SMO, PPC and Web Development company that comes with massive experiences. We specialize in digital marketing, Web Designing and development, graphic design, and a lot more.

SOURCE : Landing Pages

#Landing Pages #Google Analytics #website #Business #Google Ads #PPC campaigns #crm #marketing #E Global Soft Solutions #digital marketing #SEO #SMO #PPC

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nosunsetsjustsilence · 5 years ago

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The Manics and Gender Identity, Part 1

There is a lot to unpack in Nicky and Richey’s early lyrics pertaining to gender, particularly in terms of identifying with women. Richey approaches the subject — as he is wont to do — with regard to the exploitation and degradation of the female image, while Nicky’s attitude is more inquisitive and casual. Both use lyrics to express their own personal “What if?”

Make no mistake: I’m not claiming that either Nicky or Richey is/was non-cis or trans or anything other than curious. But it’s clear from their personal lyric struggles and hard-won lifestyle choices that this was a different time they were living in. In the 1990s, gender identity was not a topic with any kind of mainstream recognition, at least beyond those who wanted a “sex change” or girls who were considered “one of the boys”. I think it’s fascinating, at least from my perspective, to go back and examine the themes of gender dysphoria, identity, and frustration in lyrics written before any of it was part of popular conversation, and in a way that emphasized the then absolute cultural disconnect between desire and society.

Also, it’s important to note that both Nicky and Richey have presented gender in ways that don’t have anything to do with lyrics. Nicky is comfortable in traditionally female clothing and wears dresses on and off stage; both band members wore makeup and feathers on a regular basis. I’ve tried to write about gender in terms of lyrics only, but at times I do take examples from visual media.

Finally, keep in mind that yours truly is non-binary, and the discussion will hopefully not reek of a cis person watching queer men from behind bars in a zoo.

Special thanks to @sinisterrouge for vetting this before I posted <3

Little Baby Nothing

Although Richey seemed to find comfort in claiming that his lyrics were about the larger world — in the case of Little Baby Nothing, feminism and the way women are perceived in media — a closer look usually reveals a personal stake. When I discussed the meaning of this song previously, I emphasized that the “Little baby nothing” in question is clearly Richey himself, writing in the first person and deconstructing his own image to align with a kind of mindless female groupie used for sex.

My mind is dead, everybody loves me Wants a slice of me Hopelessly passive and compatible Need to belong, oh the roads are scary Hold me in your arms I wanna be your only possession

Richey often refers to himself as a “slut” and a “prostitute” and uses self-referential porn star imagery in his lyrics (So Dead: “You need a fix I’m your prostitute”, Yes: “there’s no lust in this coma even for a fifty”), aligning the industries of pornography and music performance in very vivid ways most often pertaining to exploitation. Appropriately, singing pivotal stanzas on this track is none other than Traci Lords, arguably most famous (especially in the early 90s) for an underage porn scandal.

What’s more, in the lyrics booklet for Generation Terrorists, there is a quotation or excerpt included for each song. The following corresponds to Little Baby Nothing:

“The male chromosome is an incomplete female chromosome. In other words the male is a walking abortion; aborted at the gene stage. To be male is to be deficient, emotionally limited; maleness is a deficiency disease and males are emotional cripples.” -Valerie Solanos.

Ninety percent of what the Manics said and did in their early years was intended to be shocking and/or ironic. Of course they were trying to incite anger and riots, the questioning of institutions, and a teardown of normalcy. But the fact that Richey later used part of this radical statement as the title to one of his songs (“Of Walking Abortion”, natch) proves that he took it somewhat seriously, even if only in the most simple sense — that part of him resented his own maleness.

Life Becoming a Landslide

This is another song I’ve previously discussed, mostly in the arena of Nicky and Richey individualizing their distinctive voices into lines that can clearly be attributed to one or the other. In a song about nature vs nurture and the plastic confines of greater humanity cracking down on who or what someone is really supposed to be, we have:

Life becoming a landslide Ice freezing nature dead Life becoming a landslide I don’t wanna be a man

As far as writing style goes, Nicky was always fairly straightforward. Richey loves to convolute his message with proper nouns and alternating verb cases and a lack of a subject just to throw people off, but here’s Nicky, my boy, just saying, “Dude. Being a man sucks. I don’t like this.”

He could mean that being human in general sucks. But, since his attitude towards women leads me to believe he would not abbreviate humanity in this way, and given his and Richey’s track record with gender and Nicky’s well-documented gender presentation, I think it’s clear the lyric means that he doesn’t want to be male. Because he feels it doesn’t suit him, for whatever reason. And that nature failed by making him a man instead of a woman.

Yes

‘Yes’ is an incredible song. Its major-chord melody juxtaposed against Richey’s raw portrait of degradation is truly a thing to behold. The theme? Being used, prostitution both literal and metaphorical (“For sale? dumb cunt’s same dumb questions”), exploitation in the name of capitalism (“In these plagued streets of pity you can buy anything”), and reaching the lowest possible point of existence (“Purgatory’s circle, drowning here, someone will always say yes”). But the chorus — the chorus boasts one of the rawest images of sexual violence the band has ever used:

He’s a boy, you want a girl so tear off his cock Tie his hair in bunches, fuck him, call him Rita if you want

Wow. Okay. Where to begin? The implication here is that gender, along with everything else, is mutable if you have enough money and power to abuse people. However, it appears the change would be made not to entertain others, but to appeal to a specific person, sexually (“fuck him”). The “you” in question is clearly attracted to women, so the narrator offering to mutilate himself to please them can be seen as a last-ditch act of desperation. (“It feels like this massive defeat,” said a friend. “You can make him a woman to pleasure someone, but what’s left to change after that?”)

Richey wrote most of the song; “Rita”, obviously, is the name used for an alternative female identity. But who would Rita be? Richey seems to be wondering. Would she still be me? And would the change even be worth the affections of whomever he’s speaking to? If the means are so drastic (and difficult to picture without experiencing secondhand pain), that answer would usually be “no”. But the song is called “Yes”. I would say yes to anything at this point, Richey is saying, even the most extreme sexual violence imaginable, if that’s what you wanted.

4st 7lb

This is an extreme example of Richey using world issues to examine his own nature. Although anorexic himself, Richey writes “4st 7lb” from the point of view of an obsessive young girl admiring thin models. There could be multiple reasons for this, not the least of which is that when a person fails to fit the “classic” case of an eating disorder, they are often ignored. So, Richey says, you need me to be a teenage girl? I can do that.

(Note that in 1994, when this song was written, any eating disorder demographic outside the “white girl who loves fashion too much” model did not exist by medical standards and was usually subject to ridicule.)

Karen says I’ve reached my target weight Kate and Emma and Kristin know it’s fake Problem is diet’s not a big enough word I wanna be so skinny that I rot from view

Embodying the anorexic female stereotype allows Richey to criticize both the world and himself; by creating a parody of a young girl with an eating disorder, he creates commentary on how ridiculous and counter-intuitive her thought process actually is. The song is brutal and often focuses on nudity and sexual imagery, as it has been suggested in studies that eating disorders occur in those who are trying to annihilate their own puberty. Though Richey was well into his 20s when he wrote this, he often expressed a loathing of aging and the entire concept of adulthood.

Stomach collapsed at five Lift up my skirt my sex is gone Naked and lovely and 5 stone 2 May I bud and never flower My vision’s getting blurred But I can see my ribs and I feel fine My hands are trembling stalks And I can feel my breasts are sinking

Ultimately, “4st 7lb” hits hard as both an experiment in identity and a vicious satire of the rich white girl eating disorder cliché. Although the lyrics do not express a desire to become female, they do indicate that Richey feels everything might be easier and fit more neatly into a box if he were a girl.

[Coming in Part 2: The Girl Who Wanted to be God, Tsunami, Born a Girl, and Pretention/Repulsion.]

#gender identity #gender fuckery #manic street preachers #manics #nicky wire #richey james #richey edwards #lyrics #yes #little baby nothing #generation terroris #the holy bible #life becoming a landslide #4st 7lb #eating disorders #gender

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neshabeingchildish · 5 years ago

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League of Extraordinary Geniuses || Chapter 3

I’m very sorry if I’m pushing these out too soon. I can’t undo them as they come out. Whenever I’m off this week, I hope to work on other projects. This one kind of establishes something pretty important to me, even though a lot of it is perspectives from the characters and it shows some of Chase’s less flattering traits, but don’t worry. I’m not gonna do him dirty in the long run. I’ve already began on the next chapter and that one they’ll begin getting into more of the work. @kiddangers @sunbeameyes @just-a-j-reallly

The P Word

"This is like that scene in Romeo and Juliet," Chase said. Charlotte knew that he'd been there, so he didn't startle her, and she didn't pretend to not know he was there.

"I sure do hope not," she told him, "They had a bad time."

"I've honestly always wondered why it's considered a love story and not a horrific one," he said and levitated himself up to the terrace.

"Because of the people in charge," she said with a slight smirk.

"Is that your answer for anything, now?"

"Anything wrong with the world," she told him, shrugged her shoulders and looked at the moon again. "And it isn't my answer so much as THE answer." She turned to look at him again. "If you're concerned about your capsule, I promise you it's fully functional. We just made sure to program it to keep you in slumber mode until your body reached optimal equilibrium." She poked him playfully on the chest and told him, "You don't get enough sleep."

"So, you're making me?"

"The capsule is making you, but yeah…" she looked bothered suddenly. "If you want to undo it, you can override stasis mode."

"No. It's fine."

"It's just… important to me that you don't feel like I'm trying to force my will on you, be it this, or anything else. I just want you to make the best decisions for you, yourself."

"I get it… and I appreciate it, more than you know."

She smiled and glanced at her bedroom. She had enough of the moon, for now. She picked up a basin of water that he hadn't previously noticed from on the rail and headed inside. Chase followed, unsure of how to broach the subject… She poured some of the water into a tall, transparent and smooth glass on her nightstand and the rest into a canister that had "Moon Water" on the label, with drawings of the moon and stars stickers decorating it. She gave him a curious look as she put the canister away in an armoire. "What's on your mind?

He thought for a moment while she also put the empty basin away. "I came to apologize, but there's no good way to do it. I feel extremely silly for what I said earlier." She paused in front of the armoire, closed the doors and smiled at him.

"I've had people that I care about much less say much worse things to me."

"I don't want to be a person who says bad things to you," he told her. "I don't want to be a person who says ignorant things or intolerant things. I misspoke and I wasn't fully thinking. I should never open my mouth unless I've processed things. I hope you can forgive me."

Her eyes were glazed over and she nodded her head, "I've forgiven terrible stuff to people I didn't love. Don't worry about it." He smiled at the insinuation that she loves him, even if she only meant as a friend. "I'm used to being misunderstood, and I knew that it didn't come from a place of malcontent."

He reached out for her hand, allowing her the chance to take it, which she did and he stared at her. "You can always tell me what's on your mind, even when I hurt you. Especially when I hurt you. I hated not knowing what I said or how it was affecting you. Just seeing you look at me that way… you're one of the few people that I don't disappoint. I don't ever want to do that unchecked."

"I didn't respond because I didn't want to put words between us that I couldn't retract. Then, I'd be feeling like I guess you must be." She laughed a little and strummed his hand with her thumb. He was always impressed by how smooth her skin was. How perfect it felt to his heightened senses. He didn't frequently use or need that one. Mostly, it was for precise science in special conditions. But, whenever he had the opportunity to touch Charlotte, he naturally used it. She had the least amount of dead cells on her than anyone he knew, a fact that she told him was because she exfoliated religously. Praise whoever was responsible for that! Her… he guessed, now that he thought about it.

"I'm feeling better now. I like it when you let me hold your hand."

"I'm not "letting you hold my hand." WE are holding hands. This isn't some favor that I'm handing you. It's a mutually beneficial show of affection between friends." She noticed the flicker of something in his eyes. It was brief, but they'd been gazing at each other, so she couldn't have not noticed. It was because of her use of the word "friends," but that's what they were. And he was one of her most valued ones. He loved that, he did. But, he wanted more. She knew he wanted more, but she didn't know if he was ready for everything that came along with somebody like her. She could be… a lot, and he still had so much social disconnect.

Changing the subject, he wondered, "Will you tell me? What you were thinking?"

She sighed. "Just that it was unpleasant to have to hear something like that from you. I have a lot of things that people have tried to get me to shove down. Everything that I do has been policed my entire life, same for my ancestors. I.. have so many things that I've had to learn to love about myself, to accept about myself and to work through for myself because of the fact that for as long as I could remember, somebody, anybody, sometimes everybody wanted me in a box. My race, gender, sexuality, romantic affiliation, relationship culture, spirituality, practices, ethics, culture, upbringing… every facet. So, to hear that you felt like I couldn't understand having that happen and processed for me was… hurtful."

He moved his free hand to cup her face and they stared at each other. She whispered, "How else did you figure I seem to understand you so well?"

"I'm sorry," he said. He placed his forehead against hers and confessed, "I think I was so frightened by the mission that I panicked and forgot my senses. Of course, I don't actually think that about you. I just… I don't like to admit when something seems impossible to me. Changing the world, in the way that you described… the probability of success…"

"Will rise more and more with each assignment and each recruit," she finished his statement to try to help appease his fears. "I can guarantee that." He nodded his head, but didn't move it from hers. "I promise," she reiterated.

"Even if I knew that I would die trying, I would still say yes to you," he told her, as his other hand moved to cup the other side of her face.

"Why is that?" She asked, curiously, not teasingly.

"I can't say no to you…" he said and leaned forward a little bit.

"I can say no to you… when it's for your own good." She backed her face from his lips and his hands, but took them into hers, "I'm asking you as a qualified and trusted partner in the effort. Not as a woman that you care about, abusing that knowledge. I wouldn't lead you on to get what I want from you, Chase. I also wouldn't pretend that we want the same things."

He gently pulled his hands out of hers and nodded, "I understand. You.. don't want me. That doesn't change anything. I'm still here for you." She smiled, sadly. It wasn't that she didn't want him… "Is it because of Max?" His jaw clenched when he said this name.

"Not.. really. It's because of you. You're very committed and pure. Very sweet and loyal."

"Aren't you those things, as well?"

"Yes, but… not necessarily to one person at a time…" she bit her lip and tilted her head, "I'm… polyamourus, Chase. I am comfortable being involved romantically with more than one person. I prefer it, and I'm used to it. It's not something that I ask of other people, and I've never gotten the feeling that it's something that you would be comfortable with."

"You… have multiple partners…" he said.

She nodded, "I am most comfortable with multiple partners, and I have to warn others when they show serious interest in me, or make a move… I'm not going to suddenly just want to be with one person monogamously, just because I have strong feelings for them. I have enough passion to have strong feelings for everyone that I have them for."

"And do you have them for Max?"

She laughed and covered her forehead, "Chase, it isn't about Max. It's about ME."

"I know, but do you?"

"Yes. I love Max, very much and I have for years," she said, nodding her head.

"And is he okay with.. your… relationship desires?"

She covered her mouth as she answered, "I feel like you're still focused on the wrong thing. The question you need to ask yourself before ever getting as close to me as you almost did is if you are okay with it." She reached for a book of matches and tucked her hands in between her legs. "I'm patient and rarely lonely. You don't have to answer it for me. You have to answer it for you. And if it turns out that you still… want to say yes to me, we can talk about it at that time."

Chase was not the first person who she had to break this news to, and because she was in high demand and full of qualities, she knew that he wouldn’t be the last. She hated seeing him look so crestfallen, but he was not someone that she would ever lie to. She loved and respected him too much to do that.

She saw him out and went to light her handmade incense, and a white candle. She laid down to rest, trying to release the energy of having to sort of let him down gently. She wished that hadn’t happened, but also… Chase was the type who was very territorial and jealous - she had seen it for herself from almost the instant that he had met Max, and to pretend like she could believe he would be fine with sharing her wouldn’t be fair to her or to him. She tried to focus on the positive things in her life and gave thanks for those. Confident that she would find peace in her dreams, she fell to sleep for the night.

In the morning, Charlotte got up, took the water from the nightstand and threw it off of the terrace. It splashed against the ground and she took the glass back inside, grabbed the basin from her armoire, and she washed the glass in it. When it was clean, she put it away, dumped the basin over the terrace, as well, cleaned it out and put it up. She cleared her nightstand of her sleeping spell and replaced it with an orange candle with flowers and crystals in it. That, she lit, now for her morning ritual.

Silence. Affirmations. Visualization. Exercise. Reading. Scribing (Journaling). The entire process took about an hour and when she was done, she would always cover the candle with a see through snuffer. It was big enough to cover the entire candle and she would pick up the candle dish, step outside and open the lid to let the smoke out into the air.

Once back inside, a shower, moisturizing, styling her hair and getting dressed were up next, and she topped it off with a few spritzes of her custom fragrance blend of ylang ylang, jasmine, vetiver, and sandalwood in rosewater from a fancy, old fashioned perfume bottle with a squeeze pump through a nozzle.

Charlotte practically pranced through the courtyard to get back to the guys. She came through the doors, the sunshine blaring through when they opened, and saw Max and Chase, standing awfully close to each other’s faces. They would’ve almost looked like they were ready to kiss, except their expressions were the opposite of that sentiment. “Good morning?” She said. Chase continued to glare Max down, but Max scoffed, took a step back and looked at Charlotte. His own glare melted away and his eyes brightened. She was all glowy… Beaming and shit. Her skin was radiant, her eyes were twinkling, her jewelry sparkling, and her hair gleaming. But, her expression was bothered. He didn’t want to be a part of dulling this image.

“Good morning!” He cheered, with a smile. “Ready for breakfast?” He asked, pointing finger guns at her and shaking them.

She looked at Chase and Chase avoided looking at her at all. Then, she remembered the last time that they spoke. What had happened, and she wasn’t sure if him avoiding looking at her was because of that or because of whatever TF she had just interrupted. “So… Is no one really going to tell me what the heck is going on?” Chase and Max both looked at each other…

Max got up pretty early. For some reason, his brain was usually a go anywhere from 4 am to sunrise (he just would wake up and have to record multiple ideas, or realize that he figured out an equation for a gadget while he dreamt, or just be filled with the energy to have to think of something new that he could tackle next.

If he had it his way, he’d never wake up early, but his mental processing and creative juices had other plans. He always woke up before the world did and he was always filled with urgency to do things when he did. Some of his best brainstorms occurred upon waking up with a start. Today was no different. He got up, began recording notes for several of his experiments in progress, checked his website and answered some questions from science heads that followed his gadget series, and sketched some designs for new ideas in his project sketchbook, and when the sun began to come up, his mind began to settle down enough for him to not lose excitement, but to focus on getting ready for the day. (This usually happened much later in the day, but anytime that he was spending at Charlotte’s, his body knew to chill out sooner, so that he could see more of her). He couldn’t really explain it, but maybe it was desire based. She was the only thing that he wanted more than to create and invent, so he was able to taper that passion whenever he knew that he would be able to see her sooner, if he did.

She usually arose either with the sun, or after it peeked into her windows and warmed her back to consciousness, so he tossed the sketchbook aside and grabbed some clothes into his fist to wash up.

Max generally liked to soak in a bath, then wash off in the shower. It was kind of a waste of water, but it was what he enjoyed doing. Plus, Charlotte being the super nerd that she was, she had her bathrooms set up like those prefect ones in the books, and he just felt like a little kid having a blast in a huge bathtub with these ridiculous soaps faucets. The scents would fill the entire room and he knew this was the height of luxury and that he needed to memorize every single sensation for whenever he was back in his lesser bathtub.

After the shower, his hair was pretty much just wet and tousled. He heated his hands with his heat breath and ran them through the coif, flirted with himself in the mirror, summoned his phone to himself and strutted out of his guest chambers towards the lab. He was singing to himself and scrolling through, liking Charlotte’s morning posts, which were usually something inspirational for her fanbase and sometimes something artsy like a burning candle or a bird that landed on her terrace or something. She usually posted 3 things, and it was generally right before she left her quarters, because she tended to leave the phone behind whenever she was on a break. He was liking those and bumped right into something, lost his balance and dropped his phone when he almost fell. He groaned as he caught his footing and looked up to see Chase. “Are you drunk?” Chase asked him.

“What? I was looking at my phone. What’s your excuse? You have super freakin’ senses. None of the five let you know that I was right in front of you?” Max snatched his phone from the floor and checked it for damage.

“Maybe you’re just so insignificant that you didn’t register to any of my senses!” Chase snarled at him.

Max furrowed his eyebrows and slipped his phone into his back pocket. The last time he’d seen him, they’d been fine. What the hell was this moody shit in front of him? “Excuse you?” Max asked. “Can you repeat it with your big boy voice? I’m afraid my hearing isn’t as good as yours is supposed to be.”

Chase wanted to escalate this. He wanted a reason to fight with Max, but also… That wouldn’t prove anything but that he was childish, and also that he was exactly what Charlotte thought he was when she rejected him last night. “Look. I didn’t notice you, okay? That's that.”

Max stepped closer and shook his head, “No. Not okay. You could’ve said that in the first place and I wouldn’t have had anything to say, but you called me insignificant? Because I bumped into you in the hallway? I don’t feel like that was called for.”

“I’m sorry,” Chase said.

Max folded his arms and just sized him up. “What’s your problem this morning?”

“No problem. Simple mistake. My fault,” Chase said.

Max was still studying him. His body language was all messed up. He looked tense and a little fidgety, and he was clenching and unclenching his fists. “What happened last night when you went to apologize to Charlotte?” Max asked, actually concerned, but Chase got super defensive.

“None of your business!” he snapped.

Max laughed and that just pissed Chase off more. He knew he was being childish and he knew that Max was more than likely laughing at the discomfort of the situation and the absurdity of his behavior, but still… he had not enjoyed his morning and the last thing he wanted to do was even look at Max, much less to bump into him, and now he felt scrutinized by him. Max rolled his eyes, stepped aside and muttered, “Whatever she did, you deserved it. Freakin’ weirdo…” He was going to walk away, when Chase turned him around and both of them were on the ready to attack.

Max wasn’t sure how or why they got to this place, but if Chase was going to attack him, he certainly was about to defend himself. “Walk. Away. I swear to god…” Max said through his teeth. Their noses were practically touching. Neither flinched. Chase wasn’t sure what he planned on doing… The smart thing would be to just walk away. What was he gonna do? Fight, in this brand new castle? Over like… school type stuff?

“Good morning?” he heard, off to the side. He flinched at the sound of her voice. He forced himself not to look at her, though he could imagine her face and he felt like she probably knew that he was just here, in a bad mood trying to bring down Max’s day, as well. And… she probably would lose so much respect for him. Max was right. He did deserve for her to turn him down. He was unsure of why he had even let himself for a moment think that she might not.

“So… Is no one really going to tell me what the heck is going on?”

He looked at Max to gauge if he looked like he might say exactly what was on his mind. Max was the type to just tell the truth, even if it sucked. Chase felt panicked. He had been messing up this entire time and today was avoidable. He chose to make today this way. Max lifted his nose and looked down towards Chase. “A misunderstanding that you interrupted in time,” Max said. He rolled his eyes at Chase, put his hand in the small of Charlotte’s back and led her towards her kitchen, “I am craving quiche! Quiche good for you, Bionic Boy?” Max asked over his shoulder.

“Sure,” Chase said, in a low voice, trailing behind them. Charlotte turned to look at him. She really wanted to know what had just happened. He couldn’t even think of a way to ever explain that. Maybe she would leave it alone? Because, he’d embarrassed himself enough for one trip.

Chase left Charlotte’s quarters frazzled. He couldn’t believe he’d made such an ass of himself and he just wanted to vanish at the moment. He should probably go home. He looked at the missions. Skylar seemed to be doing just fine getting things done while he was “away on business.” He shot her a quick text asking if they needed anything.

“Good to go!” She texted back almost immediately. He checked the reports, and everything looked good, as she had already stated. He couldn’t chill himself out. He was worried about what Charlotte might say tomorrow. Did he mess up something? Did he make it weird? Wouldn’t it be even harder to watch her around Max? Max… She loved him. She said that she did. She didn’t say that he was one of her… prospects, but she did love him and that much was clear, just from seeing them together. And, it was mutual. And… they knew each other for like… seven years, or less, but, still… More than twice as long as Chase had known her. What kind of love did she have for him? Was it the same as the “love” she had for Chase?

He should get into his capsule and rest. The stasis mode would put him to sleep. He couldn’t SLEEP though… He needed more information about polyamory. He turned off stasis mode, climbed into the capsule, washed up, dressed for bed and then began reading every single article, ebook, script to movies and storylines in shows - every single thing that he could find on polyamory. He wound up more confused and more frustrated than whenever she gave him a soft, short definition. He had collected too much information. Some of this was unreliable, and some simply not the way that she was, some of it was ill-conceived or poorly executed and now, ALL of it was in his head and he wouldn’t be able to fact check each of these details against her life, nor would he be able to forget what he had read. He was upset with himself by the time he fell to sleep and as upset by the time his alarm woke him up, because he had not put the capsule back into stasis mode.

Grumpy and tortured by the information, he got out of the capsule and decided to exercise, maybe blow off some of the steam that he had nobody to thank for but himself. He heard an alert on his phone, but ignored it, in lieu of a morning workout routine. Afterwards, he looked at the phone and saw that Charlotte had posted something whenever she got up. Max had liked it. He put his phone away and got ready for the day, making yet another masochistic decision to scan through the two’s social media pages for each other. There were less than seven years, but close to it. Many adorable and cozy photos, a few of them very very close. Some kisses shared that could be casual, could be something else… Basically, a ton of fuel for his jealousy.

He continued going through each account and saw flirting in comments, suggestive replies to posts and other stuff that let him know… Nope… He certainly couldn’t share her with somebody else. She was right to point that out.

For crying out loud, he couldn’t even handle reading through past exchanges that he couldn’t even confirm were anything other than the flirtatious banter of two great friends.

But, sometimes, Chase would let his thoughts get away with him and make him paranoid and completely irrational. THIS was one of those times.

He thought about how comfortable Max made himself, not just in Charlotte’s home, but her personal space. He thought about the fact that he was regarded as a rebel and a bad boy of herodom, but all he had seen was an obedient puppy dog with heart eyes and uncontrollable smiling. That wasn’t the demeanor of a friend one loves. That was the demeanor of a friend with benefits, and while Charlotte was well within her rights to do whatever she wanted with whomever, Chase hated the thought of her wanting that with Max and not even so much as a kiss with him! As though the gods hated him in this moment, right as he was simmering in thoughts he fabricated for himself, storming down the hallway, reading when he should just close it all out, he ran headfirst into Max.

The latter had just been strolling around like he owned the place and got all pissy about this accident. It wasn’t like either of them were paying attention, so who did he think he was that this had to be Chase’s fault? Who do you think he is? He’s the king of this fucking castle. He’s loved. He’s comfortable. This is his domain. He belongs here. She wants him. You’re an imposter and you’re in his space…

But, Chase had to defend himself. Even if it wasn’t Max who was telling him these things, it was Max who was causing him to tell himself these things and he couldn’t take it right now. By the time Max told him he deserved it… Deserved her rejection? Deserved to be in this state of confusion and mental chaos? Deserved to fall in love with someone who told him that she couldn’t let him? He felt like FINALLY. Finally, he could turn the anger he was feeling into something justified and he reached out to grab Max and turn him back around, surprising even himself when he did and making Max’s anger match his. Yes. Yes, now BOTH of us can be super mad. It was slightly a relief whenever Charlotte appeared, because she cut through Max’s tension, at least. The obedient puppy dog with the heart eyes was back and… Chase didn’t know where the hell he was. On the crazy train, apparently. It wasn’t even like he could blame Spike or even either of the two people here. Neither of them did anything to him. He did this to him, and he was disappointed in himself for doing it all.

“So… Is no one really going to tell me what the heck is going on?”

Max’s deflection was great for him. He wouldn’t keep pushing. He would have breakfast, let them know he wasn’t feeling well, return to the capsule on stasis and get the proper rest that his body needed for equilibrium. It was a wonder that he wasn’t glitching!

Because of his super hearing, he heard her ask, “What was that Max, be honest?”

“I wish I knew. Dude flipped out on me over basically nothing. I don’t think it was about me, honestly. I think it was about you. Last night, he said he was gonna apologize. Last I saw him, I thought we were gonna be cool and this morning, completely different story.”

Charlotte sighed and said, “I had to have the talk with him last night… The P word talk.”

Max blew a gust of wind out and nodded his head, “Okay, that is a rough one. I’ll give him THIS once, because of that, but… I don't know, Char. I don’t know.”

Charlotte turned to look at him and he avoided eye contact. “Chase,” she said softly. He looked up to see the two of them waiting for him. Now that he knew that they knew what was wrong with him, at least to an extent, he felt a little better, a little bit more ashamed.

But, he fell into step between the two of them and Max started asking about what ingredients they would be okay with for the quiche. Chase owed him an apology, too, but he was fine with just saying, here and now, “Hey… Sorry that I was acting that way. I don’t know what came over me this morning. I was just jaded and wanted to bring somebody into my misery.”

Max laughed and said, “You’ll find that it’s pretty tough to do that to me, but don’t worry about it. You seem like you had a rough night. I assure you, my breakfast quiche will fix that.”

“Okay,” Chase said, smiling, in spite of himself and everything else. Max threw an arm around his shoulder as they walked and at first, it made Chase jump a little, but he didn’t toss it off of him. Instead, he decided to finally act like he had some good sense and just listen to Max go on about this perfect quiche of his that nobody else can make quite like him.

Max was right. Chase felt a thousand times better after eating and fell to sleep on a fuzzy couch in the lounge. “Can he hear in his sleep?” Max wondered.

“No. He’s inside of his mind when he sleeps. Sometimes, he has a dream, but mostly, it’s numbers and coding,” she said and strummed Chase’s hair.

“Do you think he’ll be able to put his feelings aside for the sake of the work?”

“Yeah. You did,” she said.

Max raised his eyebrows, “ I did? I don’t recall that. I recall powering through, because you were back in Dystopia with your boys and that was that. I didn’t have a choice. I was there to do work that I believed in. Chase doesn’t believe in your work.”

“Not yet. We’ve gotta show him some results. I can keep him occupied with something less hard to swallow, in the meantime.”

Okay… So, what’s our first assignment, to prove to him that he belongs in this thing, with us?”

“It’s gonna sound a lot like a horrible thing, but in the long run will be a great thing,” she said.

He winced, “Tell me.” She smiled...

#Henry Danger #Lab Rats #The Thundermans #Chasing Thunderbolts Fic #League of Extraordinary Geniuses #LOEG Update #Nesha Fics #Multiverse Fics

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oforamuse · 5 years ago

Text

alone without you (by my side)

five times mickey milkovich misses ian gallagher + the one time he doesn’t have to

read on ao3 // tw slurs

juvie

Mickey is horny. Mickey is really fucking horny. Out of his mind, he doesn't know which way is up, teenage freak kind of horny. Getting laid in juvie is a difficult job if he wants to keep his status of ‘not to be fucked with’, plus recovering from a taking a bullet in his leg means he can’t exactly approach anyone subtly (fuck you, Kash). He’s still got a few months to go before he’s released back into the world and he can’t fucking wait, practically counting down the days. Mickey didn’t think there would ever be a day that he would actually miss the shithole South Side, but he does. He misses the loud streets and the broken windows, the L and even the fucking Kash and Grab. He misses…

No, no he doesn’t. He just wants, needs, to get laid.

Laid by Ian Gallagher.

Fuck, Mickey thinks, being betrayed by your own subconscious fucking sucks. He needs to be laid by that freckly ginger fuck soon or he may actually lose his mind (what he has left of it, anyway). Besides, he doesn’t actually miss the kid he just misses his dick. That’s it. He couldn’t give a shit about that Gallagher fuck. He really couldn’t. Not. A. Shit.

Really.

He runs his hand through his hair out of frustration, stop being so fucking dramatic Milkovich, since when did he get this fucking ridiculous?

He rolls his eyes at himself, 2 months to go.

Until then though, it’s him and his trustly right hand alone. Resigning with a sigh, Mickey swings his legs over his bunk and jumps down deftly from the top.

‘Fuck you going?’ Jay, his roommate, asks absentmindedly from where he’s been throwing a ball against the wall and catching it on the other side of the room. Jay’s not one for useful recreational activities.

‘None of your fucking business that’s where’ Mickey snaps, grabbing his towel off the hook and swaggering out into the hall. He walks the short distance to the communal bathroom, it’s midday he should be alright, and locks the door behind him.

His trusty right hand indeed.

married life

His knuckles sting as he runs them under cool water in the kitchen, he’s pretty certain he’s got some glass in there somewhere.

Fucking stupid.

‘The fuck happened to your hand?’ Iggy grunts from where he sits at the table, nursing a beer in one hand and a wad of cash in the other. Who the fuck is giving Iggy cash? Ignoring him, Mickey watches the blood mix in with the water as it gets sucked down the drain and into the sewers. He wishes he could go down with it, down below his house, below the sidewalk, below every single person who knows his name and get sucked into the drain of the fucking earth. Anything to stop the dull ache in his stomach, the ache that feels like someone has force fed him stones, weighing down his every step. The ache that constantly reminds him, no matter where he is or what he’s doing, of Ian fucking Gallagher. Ian, who he hasn’t seen or heard from in over a week, not since he stood in his doorway and told him he was fucking off to the army. Not since Mickey’s eyes stung with tears and ‘please don’t go, please don’t leave me, stay, stay, stay, stay’ threatened to fall out of his mouth and onto the floor between them.

‘Don’t what?’ Ian had asked, but Mickey knew what he really had been saying.

You know what the fuck I mean to you, Milkovich. Are you man enough to admit it? To make me stay?

No, he wasn’t, Mickey thinks darkly. The ache getting heavier at the recalled memory. Mandy had called him a pussy, she was right. He is a pussy, a pussy who allowed himself to get this fucked up over a boy, a boy he tells himself every single day that he doesn’t give a shit about.

He doesn’t know where the shift happened, where the thing with Ian went from banging to…to this emotional shit. Sometimes he feels so much he thinks he’ll drown in it, drown in what he feels for Ian, for men, for what he doesn’t feel towards women. What he should and shouldn’t feel. He doesn’t know when the shift happened but he knows there definitely was one. A moment of clarity, of something clicking into place between the two of them and the entire world changing. Was it the hot summer evenings they spent at the dugout? The hours in the Kash and Grab, between working and fucking? Was it those last few moments of ignorant bliss before his dad came crashing in and their false sense of security fell to the ground? He remembers every single fucking moment of that morning and it makes his skin crawl.

Get the fuck off him get the fuck off him get the fuck off-

‘Asshole, you’re running up our water bill’

Mickey’s snapped back to the kitchen, the water still flowing out of the tap, though there’s no trace of blood left. His other hand grips tightly to the counter top, almost painfully. Lord fucking knows how long he’s been standing there lost, Iggy’s now gone and Mandy stands with a disgusted look on her face, leaning against the fridge.

‘Fuck off’ He grunts, turning off the running water and walking straight past her to his room, not looking back once.

prison

6 months, 3 days, 2 hours and a handful of minutes, give or take a few, according to the scratches on Mickey’s bed post.

Over 6 fucking months since he last saw…Ian.

Mickey’s heart jumps right up into his throat at the realisation and he feels like he’s going to be sick. There’s a pain in his gut like someone has taken a knife to a vital organ and won’t stop slowly twisting it.

6 months, twist. 3 days, twist. 2 hours, twist.

And no fucking Ian.

He knew he’d been kidding himself when he asked Ian to visit him, but this is just cruel. There was a part of him during the first few months that he’d hoped he’d be wrong, that little flicker of hope that perhaps Ian would come to his senses. Maybe his meds would level out, the mania controlled and he’d be on the next bus over to visit. But he hasn’t heard from him, not even a call. It’s humiliating to think about the amount of time Mickey just spent waiting, like a fucking dog for his owner or a 1950s housewife. He’s not a fucking housewife. He’s seen more of his estranged wife and his kid - if it even is his kid - than he has Ian. Mandy hasn’t even been by more than once to check in on him, he hasn’t heard from anyone else either. Not Fiona, not Debbie and sure as hell not Lip, but fuck, who can blame him for being disappointed? He’d clearly managed to kid himself into a false sense of…something, at least. Family? Friends? Fuck knows what, but he’s never doing it again. Love and it’s bullshit.

Lying there on his shitty prison mattress, all he can think of is Ian’s face behind that glass, reserved and disconnected, having to be paid to even come and see him. As if Mickey hadn’t dropped absolutely everything certain in his life to be by his side, to be with him, to be allowed to love him. And the worst fucking thing? He’d do it again, a thousand times over. He knows that if Ian turned up today, smiling and flirting like he always used to, all of that would be water under the bridge. He had always been told that love makes you crazy, but no one ever told Mickey that it makes you fucking stupid too.

Fuck, he misses him. He loves him and he always will with every single fibre of his being, every bone and every atom.

I love you. The hell does that even mean?

Twist, twist, twist.

mexico

He’s been working closely with a few guys the last couple of weeks, dealing and selling, working the streets here and there. Mickey tries not to stay in one place for too long, doesn’t make friends, doesn’t own much shit. It works for him. He’s safe here, but only if he keeps it that way.

‘You ready?’ Emiliano asks from the front seat, a lit cigarette hanging from his bottom lip. Jose is passed out in the passenger seat, feet up high on the dashboard and lightly snoring.

‘Yeah’ Mickey grunts in reply, adjusting the sunglasses on his face, carefully minding the bruising under his left eye. He’d managed to get into a shit faced drunk bar fight last night and gained himself a punch to the face and a kick in the groin before he was pulled off the guy. This American guy a table over had been shit talking for hours, Mickey doesn’t even remember (or give a fuck) what it was mostly about. He does remember, however, him spitting out ‘fags’ at these two other guys who’d been standing innocently next to each other at the bar. Mickey didn’t even know if they were together, or if they had just happened to be standing there at the same moment. That was what sealed the deal for Mickey, leaping over the table and going straight for the fucker’s nose.

He reaches into his pockets for a cigarette and lights it as it balances between his lips. They’re driving further South to another city where their boss has some connections he wants to solidify, apparently they’ve not done business in a while so he’s sending Mickey down there to start off some talks. It makes Mickey feel like an important part of the operation, as if he was needed, but, he also knows it’s because if he ended up dead in a basement with a bullet in his skull, they wouldn’t feel like they lost one of their own. He gets it, whatever.

‘You miss America?’

His stomach jolts and the car suddenly feels too hot. The sun is powerful, it burns directly through the window and onto Mickey’s skin.

‘What stupid fucking question is that?’

Does he miss America? Does he miss being on the run? Prison? Having absolutely no one?

Well, not no one.

‘Your home, do you miss it?’ Emiliano catches Mickey’s eyes in the mirror, and even though he’s wearing sunglasses Mickey shifts his gaze uncomfortably to the moving road out of the window. Fuck feeling like he’s under a microscope.

‘No I don’t fucking miss America, ain’t got no home there’ He mutters, taking a drag and blowing the smoke out into the air.

‘You ain’t got a girl there?’

Mickey barks out an exasperated laugh which leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

‘No girl’ He spits bitterly, hoping Emiliano gets bored of this game of 21 questions he seems to be playing and move the fuck on.

‘No girl, dawg? So coming here was pretty easy for you then, yeah? You wanted that Mexican sunshine!’

He snorts. Easy isn’t exactly how Mickey would put it. Ripping your heart out of your chest with your bare hands and stomping on it a few hundred times before feeding it to a pack of wild dogs is probably how Mickey would put it.

There is nothing easy about thinking you’d finally fucking make it across the finish line and having it taken away from you almost instantly. There is nothing easy about the man you have loved since you were a kid telling you that he loves you but he can’t come with you. There is nothing easy about kissing him desperately at the border, begging with every touch that he’d change his mind but he doesn’t. Driving across the border alone, leaving the only person you’ve ever actually loved behind isn’t fucking easy.

Loving Ian Gallagher is easy, though. Once he let himself given in, once he finally faced those feelings head on and gave himself permission, it was easy. Deep down, it’s always been easy. It was the rest of the shit in their lives that wasn’t. Mexico was supposed to be their paradise, their freedom together but instead Mickey is here, alone. Forever.

He doesn’t know when he’ll see Ian again, but fuck, he knows that he loves him.

prison (again)

Mickey keeps his eyes on Ian until he sees him disappear around the corner and out of sight. Out into the world a free man, back to Chicago and his fucked up family. That’s where he belongs, that’s where he’s always belonged. Not in here, not locked up like an animal surrounded by criminals. Mickey’s heart pounds, it feels like it’s threatening to pump itself right out of his chest and spill directly out onto the floor. He knows he’ll be getting his new roommate assignment soon, some new guy will be sleeping in Ian’s bed, ruining the little world they created for themselves here. He knows missing their prison life is ridiculous, because who the fuck has a good time in prison? But it was the first time in their sorry lives that they could just be together. No homophobic dads, no out of control mental illnesses, no need to run to run away - if they could run away.

Mickey knew rolling on the cartel for Ian was a big decision, he knew that Ian’s crime was a lesser one that his and there was a possibility for him to get out earlier than him. He knew it deep down all along, except he really thought that perhaps the universe would be kind to him, just this once, and let them have longer together. Apparently not. Everyone else is allowed to be with the people they love but not Mickey Milkovich, not at all. It feels all they fucking do is say goodbye to one another.

His hands start to shake, and fuck, he misses him already. It’s ridiculous, they’ve gone months and months without contact, they’ve been in different countries and states without hearing a word from one another and yet this is hurting his chest like no other goodbye before. Was it the false sense of safety they’d created for themselves? Was it kidding themselves that they finally had this, after all their literal years of waiting.

Mickey hangs onto their goodbye from a few moments before, or had it already been hours? He doesn’t know, he’s not taken his eyes off the last spot he saw Ian before he left, left Mickey, left them behind.

Shut the fuck up, he begs himself, this time is going to be different. He knows that, he knows that they are still them, even if Ian is out there and Mickey is in here. Ian isn’t about to go find some other guy to shack up with whilst Mickey does his time, he knows that. Or at least he thinks he does. He hopes he does. Still, he can’t help but be reminded of every other time he’s been lulled into a false sense of hope by Ian Gallagher. Mickey loves him regardless but boy, does he have a talent for breaking Mickey’s heart.

This time will be different, he repeats, finally pulling himself away from the glass window. He turns reluctantly to look at their beds, Ian’s one looking hauntingly empty whilst it awaits its new owner. The thought of climbing into his empty bed tonight without Ian on top of him is depressing, and though they rarely actually slept alone, it was nice to always know he wasn’t far away. He’d been far away for too long.

Last night they lay tangled in Ian’s sheets, sweaty and spent but momentarily content in each other’s arms. The moment passed and the next morning’s event dawned on them both quite quickly. Mickey failed to hold back the threatening tears as he whispered his love against Ian’s neck in the dark.

‘I love you, I never want to be apart from you’

‘I know Mick, I know. I love you too’ Ian tightened his grip around Mickey as he kissed the top of his head, bringing him in as close as he could. ‘It won’t be long’.

Mickey sighs and climbs up onto Ian’s empty bed, fuck it, if Ian isn’t the one sleeping here then definitely no stranger will be. He hates top bunks but he knows he’ll lose his mind if he stays down below. He’s only ever been on the bottom for Ian, so why change that now?

He sniggers quietly at his own stupid joke, before rolling over solomly to face away from the door. His chest hurts, his heart hurts, his fucking everything hurts. He closes his eyes and imagines Ian is still next to him, like he used to when he was here the first time or when he was down in Mexico. He’s used to loving Ian from afar.

It won’t be long.

+ the honeymoon

Fucking Terry.

They really should’ve let Mickey murder that fucker when he wanted to because he’s getting real tired of his relentless shit. They’re covered in feathers, lying naked on the floor of their honeymoon suite, hearts racing from almost being shot rather than the sex they were about to have.

‘Your fucking Dad’ Ian laughs at the ridiculousness of it all, rolling over to give Mickey a hand getting up.

‘Ay, you should’ve let me shoot him like I wanted, at least we would’ve been able to bang on our honeymoon in peace’ Mickey snips back, attempting and failing to shake off as many of the feathers as he can.

‘We’ve definitely had the chance to bang in peace’

‘Then why aren’t we banging right now?’

‘Fair point’ Ian grabs Mickey by the hips and pulls him closer, man handling him in the way he knows his husband likes it. Ian cups the back of his head and brings Mickey’s lips to his, softly then with more pressure. They kiss slowly before Mickey pulls back, clearly still distracted by his father being a homicidal maniac.

‘Fuck, I want him dead.’ Mickey searches Ian’s eyes in hopes of meeting him halfway and knowing that this is the only way that they will be able to be together like they’ve always wanted. Christ, they’re fucking married for fucksake and it’s still not enough for the universe to let them be.

‘I know you do, Mick. If there’s any fucker that deserves to be murdered it’s him but-’

‘But what?’ Mickey snaps,

‘We’re married, you’re my husband and I can’t let you be thrown in prison when I just got you back’ Ian says, brushing his fingers softly through Mickey’s hair to get the remaining few feathers out. ‘We’ve been apart for so fucking long, so let’s just have this. Now. We’ll figure out a way to deal with Terry, I promise we will.’

Mickey softens, his heart stuttering in his chest as the urgency to carry out Terry’s immediate death ebbs away. He takes a deep breath and rests his forehead against Ian’s, pulling him in.

‘I love you.’ He whispers, and fuck he will never get used to the freedom he feels every single time he gets to say that to him without fear. Fear for his life, fear he wouldn’t hear it back, fear he would never get the chance to hear it back.

‘I’ve loved you since I was 15 years old, Mickey Milkovich, your father isn’t going to change that’ Ian softly replies, pressing a kiss lightly to Mickey’s lips.

‘Ay, that’s Gallagher to you’ Mickey mumbles, pulling back. They haven’t had that particular conversation about the name thing yet so it’s mainly supposed to come off as a joke.

‘Mickey Gallagher’ Ian laughs, testing the feeling of the new name out in his mouth. ‘I think I like the sound of that’

‘Ian Milkovich?’ Mickey suggests, giving Ian a knowing look, ‘Dad would love that’.

Both boys laugh softly, they know that Terry would probably burn down the entire South Side if that ever happened. Perhaps that’s all the more reason to do the name change, in hopes that it gives the old bastard a heart attack or some shit. Mickey could only dream.

‘Come’ Ian says, grabbing Mickey by the arm and leading him back to the bed in the centre of the room. It’s covered in all sorts of crap from the bullets but with a quick swipe Ian manages to send most of it to the floor. He flops straight down on the bed and pulls Mickey down on top of him.

This is it. This is what Mickey has been craving for years, the chance to lie in Ian’s arms without a timer on his back or anything else looming horribly over them. He knows they’ll have to deal with Terry soon, because Milkovichs don’t give up, but right now, he’s allowed to have this. He doesn’t know what his new name will be or whether or not they’re gonna move back into the Gallagher house or if Terry’s going to drive by in 2 minutes with another round of ammo. What he does know, and he knows this for a fact, is he is never fucking letting go of the man beside him. It’s also nice to know that Ian isn’t planning on letting him go any time soon either, which sadly shouldn’t come as much as a relief as it does. It’s hard to not think about everything as temporary when it’s felt like most of his life has been stuck on pause.

Mickey shuffles around slightly so he can lie comfortably on Ian’s chest, his hand resting softly on his rib cage. He can feel Ian breathing in and out, rhythmically up and down. He’s safe. They’re safe. They’re together. They can just be.

‘What’re you thinking so hard about?’ Ian asks, his hand coming up to rest gently on the top of Mickey’s, their rings aligning perfectly.

‘You’ Mickey replies, ‘Always you’.

#shameless #shameless us #shameless fic #gallavich fic #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey

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