#highlights the good without reliving the bad

[dewedup]

scars inside you (swiss ghoul)

His body would feel exhausted, unable to manage the strength to make it out of bed. He would feign an illness, though ghouls rarely get sick, let alone to the extent of being immobile.

It was a process with an unknown duration. There were times when he was down for a week, and other times he would bounce back within a day. It didn’t matter what anyone did, though he appreciated each and every single one of his ghouls with his entire being for trying.

or

I am having a rough day and I headcanon Swiss as being slightly bipolar, he gives off such high energy I just picture the lows being extremely rough. This is one of those times.

words: 1,089

under the cut but can also be read on AO3 HERE

everyone gets low sometimes, but it gets better

if you're struggling, this might not be the thing for you, mentions of feeling unwanted, like a burden or inconvenience and a depressive episode

TW: DEPRESSION

It wasn't often that Swiss felt off, like a black cloud of doubt was hovering over him. He usually overcompensated for those nagging feelings by being more boisterous than usual, grinning hard enough it hurt, blurting out the most ridiculous things he could off the top of his head to make his pack laugh. Faking his way through the day, he would wake up feeling normal.

Some days, though, it was hard to even do that.

His body would feel exhausted, unable to manage the strength to make it out of bed. He would feign an illness, though ghouls rarely get sick, let alone to the extent of being immobile. His pack would check on him, popping in throughout the day, seeing if he needed anything or just wanted someone around. He’d deny it all, wanting desperately to take the worry out of their expressions, but couldn’t even try to hold himself together enough to be in the presence of another person.

Sometimes he’d cry, full-body sobs into his pillow, or just tears streaming down his face as he silently stared at the ceiling.

His mind would fall into a spiral, a highlight reel of every moment he’d ever felt sad, worthless, unwanted or like a burden. He’d relive every terrible moment, punishing himself for being so weak. His room would fill with a rotten smell, like milk gone bad, sour, a foul scent clogging his nostrils.

He’d finally exhaust himself of feelings, mentally, physically, and emotionally drained, falling into a restless slumber.

He’d wake up feeling exponentially worse. Like he was stuck in a time loop that just got progressively more depressed. Days he’d wallow, stuck in the same clothes, his skin starting to stink with sweat and sadness. The concern of the pack would get almost tangible. He could taste it in the air, it only served to make him feel like more of an inconvenience.

He wishes he knew what he needed to break the cycle, when Dew would kneel beside his bed and beg him for a solution. He’d stare blankly in return, seeing the expression crumble from Dew’s face and his entire body slump like he was the one disappointing him.

Cumulus would knock lightly on his door, quietly announcing her presence without waiting for an invitation. She’d leave the door open for a minute, using her air magick to pull some fresh air into the dark room. She’d even bring in a candle of his favourite scent from her secret stash, placing it on the dresser and lighting it. She’d stop by his bed, sit beside his head and pet his hair for a while, softly running her fingers through the greasy strands. She’d whisper words of affirmation, that he was good, he was loved, and to take all the time he needed. She would then place a soft kiss between his horns and leave him to his thoughts.

What felt like hours of watching the flame from the candle flicker, Mountain would come to visit, a plant from his greenhouse in hand. He’d make it a nice home on his bedside table, replacing the one from the last episode without scolding Swiss for its poor condition. He’d crack the blinds slightly, just enough to shine a tiny bit of sunlight on the new life. He’d crouch near Swiss and relay some of the drama he’d been privy to. For such a tall ghoul, people seemed to overlook his presence frequently, making Mountain the best source of news within the abbey. He wishes he had the strength to laugh at the mishap of a new sibling of sin, involving some inappropriate usage of the confessional, but Mountain doesn’t take offence to the lack of reaction. He’d finish his story and grab Swiss by the hand, placing a kiss along his knuckles and letting him know he’d fill him in on any updates before taking his leave.

It was only a matter of time before the sun Mountain let in went down, leaving the room in its darkened state. Rain and Dew would enter together, Dew relighting the candle Mount had extinguished on his way out of the room. Dew had the hardest time of them all when Swiss got like this, feeling helpless against his friend’s own head. Nevertheless, he still came over, lifting the blanket to blow some hot air into Swiss' cocoon, running his fingers over Swiss' grown-out stubble, before resolutely walking out of the room. Rain would stay longer, depositing some easy-to-eat food on his bedside table and curling up beside him. He’d hum softly in Ghoulish as he held him close, dusting kisses over his cheeks and forehead as he was just there. And if Swiss let out a tear or two, he’d say nothing, kissing them away and humming a little louder so that his chest would send vibrations through the multi ghoul.

Swiss would wake up to an empty bed, the water ghoul’s warmth still lingering along with his scent. If he looked over, he would see the plant beside his bed freshly watered.

Phantom would come in the early morning hours, sleep still heavy in his face as he dropped into the bed beside Swiss. He’d worm his way under the covers and attach himself to Swiss’ back, letting off soft waves of quintessence magick until he was fast asleep, soft snores falling against Swiss’ neck.

It was a process with an unknown duration. There were times when he was down for a week, and other times he would bounce back within a day. It didn’t matter what anyone did, though he appreciated each and every single one of his ghouls with his entire being for trying.

He’d wake up one morning, the feeling of dread still lingering slightly but he could breathe.

A shower would have him feeling cleaner, like he was washing off the depressive episode with water and soap, watching it all swirl down the drain. Everyone would look up from their breakfast, eyes shining happily as he took a seat at the table.

No words needed to be said. 

Aurora would place a bowl of his favourite cereal before him with a kind smile, her hand squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. Cirrus would inhale her breakfast like a wild animal, quickly taking her leave and flying down the hallway to the dorms. She’d disappear for quite some time, but when Swiss retired for the night his entire room would be clean, curtains pulled wide open and fresh sheets for him to fall into.

#tw depression #tw depressive episode #swiss ghoul #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost ficlet #swiss #gloom writes

[puffpasstea]

A/N: hi friends! Just posting this requested one-shot. Please read the warnings before you check it out. Also, apologies for the weird formatting. Posting from mobile. Please let me know what you think!

Warnings: mentions of mental illness, self-harm, depression. If you are triggered by any of this, please exercise care and caution; it’s okay if you need to skip this one. I love you and please be good to yourself.

Request: So like imagine yn being addicted to self harm like small cuts on the palm so that they don't really get to be show that much and like harry doesn't know about this. One day harry got a cramp on his hand, so yn was applying the ointment on his hand and massaging it without realizing that the ointment will sting on her palms. After applying she was wincing and wincing, which h noticed and like you can think from here.

——

“Honey, I’m home!” Harry called out in a sing-song greeting, letting his gym bag drop to the floor in a dramatic thud. He set his keys back on the key hanger and followed the candle scent into the bedroom to find his girlfriend.

Her ears perked up at the sound of his voice coming from the entryway. He’d been gone all day and she’d missed him.

“Hello, darlin’” Harry smiled as their eyes locked in the bedroom mirror. She was in front of it, going through her skincare and getting ready for bed. She’d changed the bedsheets, lit candles, turned off most of the lights, she looked cozy and it made Harry’s heart melt.

She turned around, reaching her head upwards as he bent down, meeting her halfway to get a quick kiss. “Missed you.” He mumbled into her lips.

“How was your day?” She asked as she returned her attention to her serums and lotions, smiling at Harry through the mirror.

“Oh it was great! I had a lot of fun and it was good seeing everyone. Did you have a good day too?” He was a sweaty mess after a long day of playing soccer - or as he liked to correct her: football- with his friends. His curls, still damp with sweat, were clipped back, he wore two layers of Nike gym shirts, and soccer shorts, his knee-high socks, once white, were now muddy and stained grey. But even in his post-workout mess, she thought he looked perfect, especially the way he was smiling. The activity had clearly done him good.

“So, who won?” She asked, rubbing her moisturizer in circular motions onto her face.

“We did, of course!" Harry was rambling on about how it was a close call by halftime and they almost tied with the other guys a couple of times. Reliving the highlights as he recounted them, he looked like an excited little kid, but she couldn’t help but notice something as she watched his hand gestures in the reflective glass. Everything he’d said after she caught the cut on his hand meant nothing to her.

“What’s that?” She said, frowning at his moving hand.

“What’s what? Oh! That? Well, I, uhm, kind of fell when we were playing. Landed on top of my own hand. It’s nothing serious though! Just a couple of bruises, some superficial scrapes. Doesn’t even hurt that bad.”

“Oh my god, Harry!” She shook her head, immediately leaping to her feet and abandoning her skin products. “Let me see that!” She took his hand in hers, turning it over and examining his injury.

Harry was no stranger to these kinds of injuries. The occasional overzealous gym session, cramps from getting back into playing the guitar after a long break, acrobatics onstage gone slightly wrong, he was accustomed to it by now, but he loved watching her fuss over him. The care and attention she always gave him made him feel loved and spoiled, so he wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity for her to look after him.

“Don’t worry, baby. It’ll be good as new in a few days.” He reassured her when he noticed her running her fingers over the injury and clicking her tongue in disapproval.

“Gotta be more careful, Harry.” She mumbled under her breath. “Don’t want you getting hurt….let’s get it cleaned up.”

Harry tried to protest but she had already made up her mind. She dragged him into their main bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit and his muscle sprain cream. Harry made a suggestive joke about “playing doctor” and wink at her. She pretended to be over it, rolling her eyes and warning him not to get any ideas, but she secretly loved his silly jokes.

She’d managed to successfully clean his scraped skin to prevent it from getting irritated or infected, now, she just needed to apply some antiseptic before bandaging it up and massaging his hand. Unfortunately, she got too caught up in being his nurse that, for a moment, she unthinkingly forgot to watch out for her own secret scars. The antiseptic from Harry’s hand was quickly revealing them. The contact with her skin sending a burning feeling throughout her arm. She kept a straight face at first, determined not to flinch, move her hand away, or let her face show any signs of pain so that Harry might remain in the dark. But the longer she fiddled with Harry’s hand, the more of the sterilizing fluid clung to her palm and the harder it was to hide her pain.

“B-baby? You alright?” Harry’s eyes watched her carefully.

Shit. He’d caught on to her wincing.

“Mhm.” She pretended to be clueless, keeping her eyes on his hand to avoid having to face him.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” Harry persisted.

The closer he watched her, the faultier her act was. Finally, she withdrew her hand hissing in pain. “I-it’s nothing. Guess my skin’s cracked or something.” She bluffed, hoping he’d drop the subject.

Harry wasn’t buying it, though. Not when he literally just walked in on her lathering herself from head to toe with all kinds of skin products. He knew she took good care of herself. “Well, lemme see…” gently, it was his hand that was examining hers now. His face went white as a ghost when he saw the inside of her palm.

They stood there, in silence, for what felt like an eternity. She watched him look down at the scars, speechless. Eventually, she began to shake in his hands, knowing that the hiding was over. He knows now. Harry could obviously see and feel the trembling of her fingers, but he said nothing.

“B-baby? W-what’s, um, what’s all this?” She could tell from his voice that his question was just a courtesy he was giving her. He already knew the answer.

Even though she knew this is the moment that she’d been caught, some still desperate part of her persisted in her lies. She figured maybe his question was a way out of this conversation. He pretends not to know what he’s looking at, so she could pretend it’s not what he thinks, and this whole thing could be over. She said she’d just cut herself making dinner the other day, but Harry had more follow up questions. When was this? What was she doing? Where was he? Why didn’t she say anything? Those scars look deep. They look intentional. There’s more than one of them. The more holes he poked in her sorry excuse of a story, the harder it was to escape the inevitable. Finally, she broke down.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I’m so sorry….” She murmured through tears, her knees buckling underneath her, she dropped to the floor.

Without thinking, Harry immediately joined her on the bathroom floor, a hand on her shoulder.

He did his best to remain calm, but the truth is, a fire was burning in his chest. Even as he held her close, he couldn’t help but feel like they were oceans apart. How could he have been oblivious this whole time?! This had happened right under his nose. He had no idea how she was feeling, let alone what her feelings had led her to do to herself. This had had happened all the while they’d been going out with friends; she’d been visiting him at work; they’d been road-tripping across the country. Things were supposed to be fine. She was supposed to be okay. How come he couldn’t see it?!!

Harry knew his girlfriend had struggled. He knew her battle with depression was something that she’d dealt with all her life. Long before they’d ever met. She would occasionally even express not feeling great about herself, but, for the most part, whenever she confided in him, she spoke as if the worst of it had happened in the past. Like she was out of the woods now, things were better, more tolerable, manageable. She’d been evasive about the details, and he never pushed her to say more than she was comfortable with, not wanting her to relive those memories. He never imagined her feeling so in pain and so alone that she had to resort to hurting herself. Should he have pushed her to talk to him? Should he have said more? It was now dawning on him that, maybe in not asking her about it, he’d made himself unreachable. Given her the impression that she couldn’t talk to him. That, above all else, broke his heart. The idea that his girl could be laying right next to him every night, carrying such pain inside of her, while he slept soundly through the night.

He felt his own tears begin to spill, but he didn’t want to make this about HIS feelings. So he squeezed them tightly a few times and cleared his throat before finally speaking up.

“H-how long?”

She hated that question. It felt like he was interrogating her. Establishing a timeline of her crimes. Piecing together the details of her lies. She worried that if he knew, he’d be angry with her. Doubt her trust. “Does it matter?”

“Jus’ umm…not trying to make this about me, but..why- why? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Say what? ‘Hey, honey, just a heads up, I’ve been feeling so out of control and miserable that I’ve cut myself a few times, no worries though, should be good soon?’”

“No, why? Why let yourself feel so awful to the point where you had to do that without telling me how you feel? I-“ he paused, realizing that his tone was more accusatory than comforting. That’s not how he ever thought he would speak to her. He took several deep breaths, running through his mind for things to say. For what he would like to hear his partner say if he were in her shoes. For something meaningful. Something other than platitudes like “I’m here for you” and “you’re so brave” and “talk to me.” But he came up short.

“Why, y/n?” He was openly crying now. “You’re so beautiful. And kind. And smart. And you work so hard, and so many people love you.”

She was shaking her head with every word he spoke.

“No. No, I’m not. That’s the thing, Harry!” Her voice broke. “I- this- it isn’t me! This person you’re describing! That’s not who I am. I don’t know who she is, but she isn’t me. I feel like I’ve lied to you! To everyone! Everyone thinks I’m this great person. I’m not! I desperately want to be. I want to be normal. I want to be good. I try. I try so hard to be the kind of person that everyone thinks I am, and I hate that I am not. I’m just not. Everyday that I’m not, I feel like I’ve let everyone down. That I’m gonna be caught. Found out. And once people realize what a mess I am, they’ll be afraid of me. YOU’LL be afraid of me.”

“Is- is that why you never said anything?” Harry was incredulous. The words coming out of her mouth seemed so outrageous. He sniffled, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand.

“I- I don’t wanna be a burden to anyone. Don’t wanna add to anyone’s problems.” She exhaled loudly, mustering up whatever remains of courage she had left to make it through this conversation. “Everyone has problems, Harry! Fuck, I know that more than anyone. I want to make people’s lives better, not worse.”

Harry turned to look at her through tearful eyes. This was the first time that they’d looked one another in the eyes since sitting on the floor. He could see, clearly, that she believed the words that she was uttering. Just when he thought his heart couldn’t possibly shatter anymore, he felt it break again. She looked so small, helpless, lost in her thoughts. He knew that this was bigger than him. He wasn’t going to be able to fix it. And he certainly wasn’t going to make it all go away with one conversation. But he needed to at least try.

“Baby, I- the fact that you would ever think your pain would be a burden to me breaks my heart.” He finally said, shaking his head and pulling her in for a hug. Kissing the top of her head, he whispered in her ear “I love you, y/n, so much.”

Hearing him confess his affection should’ve been comforting. Who doesn’t want to hear their partner tell them that they love them? To her, it felt like a stab in the heart. “But, I’m no good for you. Im so broken, it’s-“

“Don’t you dare say that! Don’t ever say that, okay? Those scars don’t change anything. You’re still you. Your pain doesn’t make you any less beautiful, any less smart, any less kind…you’re perfect.”

She broke down, sobbing into his chest, his clothes muffling her cries. She heard him, listened to his heart beating as he spoke the words, but she’d been so alone and so in pain for long enough to feel like this kind of love didn’t apply to her. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the acceptance that Harry was offering. She couldn’t even come up with an adequate response.

“I don’t know what to say.” She finally spoke when her cries had let up.

“You don’t have to say anything, baby. Just promise me you’ll talk to me.”

“Harry- you can’t-“

“I’m not trying to. I’m not trying to fix it. I just want you to know that you can come to me. You can tell me how you feel. You don’t have to pretend to be okay when you’re not. Not for my sake.”

“You…really want that? You won’t be disappointed?”

“Never. Never ever. Promise me? Please, y/n, promise you’ll talk to me.”

“Promise.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #fic #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x y/n

[dzpenumbra]

11/14/22

I'm breaking tradition tonight by writing this journal before my sleep rituals. I just kinda want to get it over with. Not that this is a chore, but because today is something I don't want to relive. And because of that, I'm really not going to go into detail, but to put it briefly... it was over 5 cumulative hours of fighting.

Today's positive highlights. I was able to walk away from a fight and trust that the other person would come back. I was able to walk away without resolution to take care of my basic human needs - food and caffeine (okay, caffeine is not basic, but it was a needed comfort). I didn't sacrifice my values even when the cost felt too high, and I stood up for my rights. I was very nice to my cat and she was very nice to me in return. I took the day off working and nothing bad happened as a result of it. I immediately messaged my therapist and gave him a detailed rundown of what happened while it was still fresh in my mind, because I usually space out, get anxious or some other way of "forgetting" details in a session; probably repression to a certain degree. I am deeply grateful for my therapist's offer to send him messages on Betterhelp whenever I need it, and grateful to Betterhelp for facilitating this. I do understand that some people may abuse or misuse this feature, but for someone like myself who has very complex thought-chains that can consume a large amount of time... and who really has a hard time reaching out for help because I feel like I'm inconveniencing people and have a lot of trauma surrounding having reached out and the other person treating me in ways I previously thought were things of fiction... it's an absolute blessing to be able to even just send a message when needed.

See, even on a complete shit day that might have set me back a week of moving plans... I can still find some good, some accomplishment. I survived. And tomorrow I'm going at life with both barrels blazing. Hopefully... I'm writing this now so I can just power through my sleep routine and just collapse in bed and get up early to figure out car inspection stuff. Fingers crossed.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of consciousness #stream of thoughts

[burningdarkfire]

books i read in july 2022

[these are all short + casual reviews - feel free to msg me and ask about individual ones if u want a full review or ask for my goodreads!!] 

not gonna lie rereading gideon & harrow put me into a reading slump because simply nothing else could live up!! we are deep in august and i am STILL thinking about them 🤠

comfort me with apples - catherynne m. valente ★★★★☆ (horror)

this is just a short novella so it’s kind of hard to talk about without spoilers but i do think that valente is my fave author in the fairytale/storybook style and this was no exception! an interesting little mash-up of ideas that was right up my alley personally

harrow the ninth - tamsyn muir ★★★★★ (scifi)

the gideon reread was mostly fun for me but the harrow reread destroyed my soul 💀 it’s so different reading it and actually understanding it and i just literally have not stopped thinking about it. i can’t recommend enough just reading it again if you didn’t “get” it the first time!!

more than this - patrick ness ★★★★☆ (YA scifi)

patrick ness has got to be one of my fave YA authors. very classic YA emotional core, which is very nice to read sometimes when it’s pulled off well (as this was). slow at times but the scifi concepts really push you to think, and i love how he never gives us easy answers

the angel of the crows - katherine addison ★★★★☆ (historical fantasy mystery)

this is literally published sherlock wingfic. the added supernatural elements are interesting but not the focus, so it really is about reliving the ACD sherlock mysteries - extremely fun for me but i suspect this is not a book for everyone. this “watson” was interesting as both a standalone and an adaptation

the deeper the water the uglier the fish - katya apekina ★★★★☆ (contemporary)

i don’t want to be the guy in my friend group who’s always the only person excited by the fucked up contemporary litfic but like .. yeah this is that and i liked it 🤷‍♂️ fucked up families where you get multiple POVs and learn how their shared family history leads to their individual personal struggles are my jam

the mysterious study of doctor sex & as yet unsent - tamsyn muir ★★★★☆ (scifi)

read (dr sex) and reread (ays) of the two locked tomb short stories. i liked as yet unsent quite a lot more but I’d never complain about more sixth house

delilah green doesn’t care - ashley herring blake ★★★★☆ (romance)

the romance was fine for me but this book does have a very uptight perfectionist bitchy side character whose name is astrid and i LOVED her. i am actually excited to read the second book in a romance series because she is the protag for the next one!!

a master of djinn - p. djèlí clark ★★★☆☆ (historical fantasy)

a book that was truly The Most 3 stars. so completely fine that i kind of wish i’d DNF’d it. the actual plot/mystery was poorly constructed but the world-building was beautiful and generally made up for it

night sky with exit wounds - ocean vuong ★★★☆☆ (poetry)

ehh, i just didn’t connect much with this one personally. some good wordplay and i highlighted a few lines but it was just alright

the vegetarian - han kang ★★★☆☆ (horror)

this book was so hard for me to a) finish and b) meaningfully review. there are three segments that are pretty distinct from each other and i found the first two brutally miserable to read for different reasons, but the book definitely does cohere, so i’m sure other people would get a lot from it

the flatshare - beth o’leary ★★★☆☆ (romance)

i’m a bad romance reader and i’m sorry to all of my friends who thought this was the cutest shit ever. the female main character had no genuine personality traits and the male main character didn’t grow a single bit and i have no clue why they even like each other beyond each of them being an upgrade from their exes. but i do see the concept and understand why romance likers would have fun with this book. it’s just not me tho!

wider than the sky - katherine field Rothschild ★★☆☆☆ (contemporary)

the blurb lured me in with promises that it was about an adult polyam relationship and how that relationship changed the family but instead i just read a terrible YA contemporary with a super unlikable main character who was just dealing with “normal” high school shit the entire time and for some reason even though her dad was polyamorous i still had to deal with an awfully written love triangle

unprecedented: canada’s top ceos on leadership during covid-19 ★★★☆☆ (non-fiction)

i got this book for work and read a couple of sections before donating it. mostly it was just similar to internal messaging but it was more political than i was expecting at points. ehhh

#my posts #liveblogging books #reading wrap up

[gardenofyv]

Blog Assignment #1

(づ ◕‿◕ )づ It’s Jordan Peele Week!!! ٩꒰ʘʚʘ๑꒱۶

Since finding out Jordan Peele’s works were going to be a huge component of this class, I was ecstatic. I grew up watching his skits on Key and Peele, loved the premiere of his horror films, and to be able to analyze it in such a unique space that is Professor Due’s “The Sunken Place” virtual classroom has easily made it my favorite course this quarter. 

This week we watched and discussed both Get Out (2017) and Us (2019). In the following short blog post, I’ll share my highlights from both films along with the themes and concepts addressed in class.

Now, I watched both movies when they first came out. But rewatching them a second time around (and being able to grasp much more complex concepts than when I was a teenager) I noticed right off the bat how vastly different both films are despite being released within two years of each other. 

Get Out stays playing in my head like a broken record and it was almost nostalgic watching it again. I got to relive my favorite creepy and suspenseful moments like the first time all over again (like that one scene where Chris goes upstairs and the whole party stops talking- LITERAL CHILLS). It’s also overall much more blunt in its message and holds your hand through its many symbols. This approach I think is vital for two main reasons:

It featured a black protagonist that is quite literally fighting the monster of racism in the form of this body-snatching cult. Such a concept had not been made available to both black and non-black audiences before making it almost revolutionary.

This was Peele’s debut horror film. In comparison to what was released in Us, I think it was necessary for Peele to come out with an initial film that walked audiences through the vision Peele is laying out in both the moment and also for a new generation of black filmmakers and screenwriters.

For this discussion, I want to focus on the character of Rose Armitage and her role as a destruction of the white savior trope and the complicity of white women in white supremacy. Starting off, we are far too over saturated with the white savior trope in Hollywood. I liked The Blind Side just as much as the next person but taking a deeper look, such a trope completely robs the agency and desires of the person being “saved” and instead highlights the “benevolent goodness” of the white savior. In a Q&A with Peele in Professor Due’s class, he talks about how there’s always white character that is the saving grace of all the other bad white villains; “not all white people”. But he creates Rose to literally be like “sometimes it is all white people”. *chef’s kiss*

Yet we see that Rose is not so two-dimensional to just be a good or bad white character. In Get Out specifically, the complicity of white women in white supremacy goes beyond complicity- they are the masterminds of this kidnapping ring. Yes, the grandfather perfected the method. Yes, Dean Armitage is the figurehead of the operation. But it’s Missy and Rose who are the procurers and most vital preparers. Without Rose’s seduction and Missy’s hypnosis, this operation would most definitely never have lasted as long with Jeremy’s brutal abduction techniques. Their importance to this whole thing points out one main idea for me that I remembered from a Gender Studies course I took two quarters ago: white women essentially draw their social status, power, and relevancy from the success of their men. Therefore, these women are further raised to carry out the agendas of white male supremacy for the benefit of their group and themselves. Such is seen in Rose’s warped meticulousness and creepy precision which I’m sure we can assume has been instilled in her from childhood. That seen with her eating cereal and milk separately while searching for her next victim? Creepy and disturbing for so many reasons. All that being said, I would also like to point out the consequent self control and compartmentalization these women must have after going through years of brainwashing and mental gymnastics. I know we’re talking about a fictional movie but how much of it is fiction, really? 

It honestly feels a little “anti-ally” of me to focus on a white character for my discussion of Get Out, I get it. Is it because I’m also a young woman who somewhat understands the pressure and molding to fit the agenda of my family rather than my own agency? Maybe a little. Could it be because I tend to hyperfocus on the tropes of white characters in modern media compared to their historical traumatic afflictions? Could be that too. Overall I just find her character to be really fascinating for reasons that I don’t think are delved into that much.

Moving on, we have the absolute mind trip of a thriller/ horror film that is Us. Unlike Get Out which I personally felt was more suspenseful and thriller-ish than anything else, Us quite literally had me watching some scenes between the gaps of my fingers (both times). Since Us doesn’t necessarily walk us through what’s going on and what the relevant symbols and references are, it requires (for me at least) a heightened attention to detail and memory of what was shown from the beginning to the end. For example, in the opening carnival scene, I noticed the camera panned to the attendees a lot- couples eating ice cream together or going on rides. I didn’t think much of it until Addy’s doppelganger (which spoiler alert: is the real Addy the entire time) talks about how they lived above versus below and they show the same carnival scene but everyone’s doppelgangers in a much morbid and kind of grotesque way. Also the Hands Across America intro and that not only being “doppelganger” Addy’s plan to make a statement with the Tethered… it was the shirt she was wearing the night she was switched; something I did not notice until rewatching it and then rewinding and watching it again. So crazy amount of detail and complexity going on here.

Two themes I want to write about that Professor Due lectures to us are the themes of intentional blackness and privilege. Whereas Get Out was revolutionary in the sense that it was reviving and reimagining the genre of black horror as a whole, Us found its form of revolutionary strength in centering an intentionally black family. By “intentional blackness” I mean that Peele explicitly stated he wanted to cast a black family consisting of a dark wife and husband whose children look like a real product of the parents’ marriage, absent of the “light skin” or mixed black actors of Hollywood. He goes on to present this family, not hyper fixating on a conflict of struggle and oppression, but as a regular family just going on vacation. I mean the fact that they had a family vacation house in and of itself was a subtle yet radical thing to see in media since the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It wasn’t about pointing out that this family was black and that there are inherent obstacles in their existence in white heteronormative society- which was thoroughly commentated on in Get Out- they were simply a family doing as other middle class families do: going on a getaway vacation, going to the beach, hanging out with friends. Their blackness isn’t forcefully put as the focal point of view and conversation but there are elements still prevalent throughout the movie (ex. the aerial view of them walking on the beach). 

Alongside this is the theme of privilege. If the family vacation house wasn’t an indicator of some kind of generational wealth we don’t see in black families in other films, especially horror, then their relationship with the Tylers, another affluent white middle class family, should. I find it incredibly funny the way both Gabe and Josh have this polite interplay with each other but behind closed doors, Gabe can’t stop talking about the material gap or competition between them. This kind of material or wealth rivalry isn’t something I’ve seen before in this context but on a deeper level, it grapples with the question of privilege and and gentrification as not just something white people do to people of color, but something people of color can contribute to and inflict on themselves or others. I thought that was a really interesting point Professor Due brought up. Lastly, just as a fun side note in this already very long blog post, the profound preparedness and survival mindset or instinct present in the Wilsons was so incredibly satisfying. It just scratched an itch that is so irritating when watching horror because too often we are sitting and watching these movies, rolling our eyes at another white girl falling to the ground while running and watching others make horrible decision after horrible decision in survival settings. Sincerest gratitude to Jordan Peele for giving us a cast that moved when it was time to move.

If you got to the end of this blog post, congratulations! And thank you! I hope to anyone reading this, or maybe to future me, we can look back on the genius that is Jordan Peele and be able to compare again his evolutionary works.

[f1]

Haas drivers disappointed after pair of crashes leaves team point-less in France

Haas had been on a mega run of form heading into the French Grand Prix. But that run came to a grinding halt at the Circuit Paul Ricard, courtesy of a pair of crashes for Kevin Magnussen and Mick Schumacher, which left Magnussen with a DNF as Schumacher finished just P15. With Haas having scored points with both cars in consecutive races for the first time since 2018 in Great Britain and Austria, hopes of continuing that run were ignited by Kevin Magnussen’s P8 finish in Free Practice 2 on Friday. READ MORE: Sainz defends Ferrari strategy after late pit stop sees him finish fifth in French GP recovery drive But a change of power unit elements saw Magnussen start Sunday’s race P20. And although he jumped to P13 on Lap 1 after a searing start, the going was tougher from there – while late contact with the Williams of Nicholas Latifi saw the Dane forced into retirement. But despite the disappointment of that incident, Magnussen didn’t feel the DNF had cost him a shot at a top-10 finish. “No, I don’t really think they were,” replied Magnussen, when asked if points had been on the cards without the crash, “because we had more degradation than our competitors basically. The pace in the beginning of the stints was great but we dropped off massively so yes, onto the next one.” Magnussen had an electric start but, after an early pit stop, his race unravelled Asked for his view on the incident – which the stewards deemed didn’t merit a penalty for either driver – Magnussen said: “I mean, [Latifi] attacked, ran me out of road and then on the right-hand we made contact. From how I see it, there was nowhere I could really go except off-track and through the bollards, and at that point it was too late. “I think he should have given me more space; tough to say now, I need to go see it on television and judge just from there. A shame. We tried our best, started last today, had a good car in one-lap pace but not as good in long runs. So we struggled a little bit, but gave it our best.” HIGHLIGHTS: Relive the action from a dramatic French Grand Prix, as Verstappen capitalises on Leclerc's misfortune Schumacher’s weekend took a bad turn when a rapid Q1 lap was deleted for a track limits infringement, with the German driver similarly having struggled to make headway from P17 on the grid when he collided with Zhou Guanyu’s hamstrung Alfa Romeo – Schumacher giving his view of the crash after the race. 2022 French Grand Prix: Zhou and Schumacher make contact “Well, I think he had an issue, and it was unnecessary for him to stick to that inside,” said Schumacher after finishing P15. “I haven’t seen it from the outside, I’ll probably come back to it later.” Asked to reflect on his race as a whole, Schumacher said: “We had a difficult start on the medium, the tyre didn’t really work as well as we imagined. We knew it was going to be tough, but not as tough, so we came in early. Unfortunately there was a Safety Car, so it meant for the following people it was a free stop essentially. READ MORE: What the teams said – Race day in France “The pit lane is such here, the difference is quite big, so we were quite far back and then we had contact with Zhou. Overall quite tough, but nonetheless we learned some stuff and hopefully we’ll have a better weekend in Budapest.” Haas head to the Hungaroring for this weekend’s action P7 in the standings – their P6 rivals Alfa Romeo, and P8 rivals AlphaTauri, having similarly failed to score at the Circuit Paul Ricard. via Formula 1 News https://www.formula1.com

#F1 #Haas drivers disappointed after pair of crashes leaves team point-less in France #Formula 1

[prose-for-hire]

I perfer the characters when you write them because there is less misogyny. Its the core of the charaters without j/w's biases which is more enjoyable. One of my favorites fics (because the concept was hilarious) was Buffy sans slut shaming. I dont remember the name and, sadly, cant find it again. It was literally just the show with the slut shaming removed which was a more accessible escape for me. Sometimes I perfer fics to the show because the fans will sometines have an air of kindness when they write it whereas the shows writers often had an air of "I hate teenage girls". You're fics allow me to appreciate the show a bit more because it higlights the good points without making me relive the bad.

Oh my god this is like the ultimate compliment !! That fic sounds good lol !!

I hate how often young women get shit so much of the time and so I’m more than glad I’m not adding to that !! 💖💖💖

#I try to keep it fitting #but still a little less with some of the negative stuff #so thank you !!!! #highlights the good without reliving the bad #🥰🥰🥰 #ask #anon

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

What do you think of JM’s updated Spotify? I don’t normally read into things, but his song choices makes me sad. “At my worst” “I can’t be myself (excuse me while I cry) & “When was it over?” With the lyrics “was it that fight we didn’t have when I came in? Was it the first time you saw me drunk? Second time I said I’m sorry?” It sounds like a replay of Vmins dumpling incident and it worries me. JM looked off in the recent live, almost sad and pouty lately. Do you think I’m over analyzing it?

Admin 1: The short answer to this would be: yes, you are over analyzing things.

The longer one would be that, for example, Pink Sweat$'s At My Worst isn't a sad song, it's actually the exact opposite. It's a very cute and romantic song. Just look at the first verse:

Can I call you baby? Can you be my friend? Can you be my lover up until the very end? Let me show you love, oh, no pretend Stick by my side even when the world is caving in, yeah

I'd actually argue this kinda sounds like a mixture between Sweet Night and Friends when it comes to the sentiment of those words. I’ve seen some people even claim that this will replace Ed Sheeran’s romantic songs that have so far been used at every wedding ever because of how sweet it is.

Then we have Justin Bieber’s I can’t be myself which I believe you probably only looked at the title and jumped to conclusions because, again, this isn’t a sad song either. The lyrics are more about how Justin (or whoever) cannot be himself when you (I’d guess he likely means his wife) isn’t by his side, thus wanting to say that he is happiest and most himself when they are together. It’s sweet and lovely, not sad.

I could travel any place But without you, it's just runnin' around (Girl, I'm just runnin' around) They could open Heaven's gates But without you, I'm just stuck in the clouds (Yeah, yeah)

Lastly, from the songs you specifically highlighted, is Sasha Sloan’s when was it over? which yes, I’ll admit this one is a sad song about not being able to let go even though you know there is nothing left. The song though has a very calm sound, something you’d listen to in the evening, and something I could see both him and Tae like listening to, not because Jimin relates to the lyrics but because it’s simply a pretty song.

On my current playlist I have Stromae’s Formidable, a song about a heartbroken man getting wasted after a breakup. I’ve neither gotten my heart broken nor am I sad and yet I still love this song because it’s just a really good song. Sometimes that’s the only reason we need to listen to a song. Nothing more to it.

All that to say that I don’t believe there is any correlation whatsoever to be made here, especially since Tae and Jimin look more than happy in recent months (did you notice Jimin happily smiling at Tae during their most recent performance of Butter for Colbert at the beginning of their subunit dance?) and there is nothing that could indicate to us that something went wrong between them, or that Jimin could be sad or something bad going on with him. I mean, look at JKs playlist and the fact that he has Billie Eilish’s Your Power on it, applying your thought process, does that mean that JK is trying to tell us he went through something similar to Billie? That he is sad? Or do you think he simply recommended that song because he likes Billie’s music? The last one seems the most likely, doesn’t it?

So, to sum it all up, there is absolutely no need to worry, seriously.

Admin 2: In the evenings, when it's very quiet and my big city has fallen asleep, I really enjoy listening to Sweet Night. I also like to go back to 4 O'Clock from time to time (although I know I will cry). Does that mean I missed my chance in life to be with my beloved? No and no again! I've never been in a situation like this, I wasn't unhappy or "fragily" in love, no one abandoned me or cheated on me. I listen to these songs because I love them. They match the mood of the evening and calm me down despite the sad lyrics and let me fall asleep peacefully.

I am a person who listens to a lot of songs from the past; Songs that remind me of situations, remind me of years of studying, enable me to relive certain situations.

Dear Anon, thank you very much for your question (confession), but I admit that I see it as "looking for some kind of backdoor" so to speak, a way to create a loophole and deny everything after all.

I don't know who you are, I don't know if you really are a Vminnie, but I think you are clinging to any possibility of a situation to undermine the reality or existence of Vmin. That's how I see it, if I offend you, I apologize. The more we get new materials about Tae and Jimin every day, like them being cute in the McDonald's behind the scenes, the more such "sad thoughts" we get sent to us through asks every day.

Firstly, I'm not sure if Jimin (and Taehyung) is fluent enough in English to capture the accuracy of the lyrics and understand its message. Of course, you can translate it, but for that to happen first the song has to catch your attention, and usually it's the melody and the overall feeling of a song that does it, and not the lyrics. And that is the point!

I think Jimin picked these tracks because he simply likes them. Perhaps he first paid attention to the melodies and the mood and only then understood the lyrics sometime later.

A lot of people (including me) hear some kind of song instead of another because they are intrigued by the melody or the association with a particular situation. The mood that fits the moment, the weather, the time of day or many other things which lead us to choose this song and not another.

Maybe Jimin and Taehyung were driving at night and listening to the song on the radio, maybe they were in a romantic mood back then, just having dinner together or taking a half bath together. Ha ha, I know I am deceiving and romanticizing what I am saying to reflect the vast possibilities and reasons why you listen to music like this and no other. Jimin putting together this list of songs for his spotify playlist doesn't mean he listens to it all the time, every day, but that he has the songs he likes on his list and chose the ones he wants to hear right now, or that he thought ARMY could like.

Of course, I'm sure he listens to very different songs during exercising than the one lying in bed before falling asleep. Maybe he's listening to this list, just like we hear the songs from BTS? We know individual words after repeating them several times, and we generally know (as we decide to read translations) what is going on in a particular song, but we don't understand all the words accurately. Not all of us are in the same situation as described in a particular song, but still we listen to it because we like it, because BTS sings it, because we are waiting for a solo from Suga etc. etc. etc.

For some time now we have been seeing (I see) Vmin happy, even very happy, as if "after the night the day came and after the storm came peace" (by the way, these are the words of one of my favorite songs), I have the impression that Vmin have finished fighting all their fights and they are just happy now, finally. Taehyung looks like a million dollars, he's literally glowing and far more lively than he was a year ago.

To him, Jimin is like smooch like butter and someone he likes the most. Taehyung is a handsome and hot chingu for Jimin who he also likes him the most as well. Tell me dear Anon, where is there room for fear and doubt in the love they share? Why and on what basis do you suspect that Vmin has broken up, or is having problems, or that either of them is unhappy? Besides, if one of them has an off day or is simply tired after a packet schedule and thus doesn't look as animated, why is that immediately read as "Jimin and Tae aren't together anymore" or "they are drifting apart" when chances are far more likely that it has nothing to do with their bond? Based on the playlist, or based on Vlive, or maybe based on both of these events, what is the correlation?

I've seen the Vlive. To tell the truth, I didn't see a sad and pouty Jimin there. Instead, I saw Taehyung smiling and content, and Jimin smiled and admired Tae's new hairstyle. I watched the latest BTS interviews. Vmin stared at each other, Jimin stared at Tae with a big smile that only grew in size and the two communicated with their eyes.

Jimin caressed Taehyung's back/butt in the Butter MV making Episode and said there’s butter here (though it wasn’t translated in the subs).

In the McD ad they were together and standing next to each other, even with Jimin resting his head on Tae's shoulder and then Jimin eating Tae's chicken nugget from his hand.

Honestly, I don't know what else Vmin would have to do to keep people from doubting their bond and happiness. They have shown us so much, I think they have reached the limit of what can be said without saying it bluntly.

Most importantly, this is a very interesting situation as we have never had as much "dubious news/content" (not meant negatively at all) as we have now after Taehyung's interview with his ‘confession’/clarification about Sweet Night. To me it smells a bit like someone wants to cause fear or plant the seed of doubt, or be like a trojan horse with the underlying idea of course being that "well...we must be wrong" even though there’s no reason for us to believe/think that.

#Jimin #Taehyung #vmin #song analysis #answered ask

[scandeniall]

story of us

pairing: suna x reader

the story of ur relationship <3; alternatively (more) dating sunarin headcanons but this time is somewhat of an order and talks good and bad 2K+ worth lol

a/n: i had more planned but half of these have been sitting in my notes for months and its kinda fucking long already bc he lives rent free!!!

warnings: uh the usual aged up (in ur 20s time skip type beat), language, yeah

Meeting

Now when y’all met suna was not looking to love at all. That man was just living his life and so where you. The two of you pretty much meet through komori. You’re a friend and it’s his birthday so him and a few of his friends go out for drinks bc why not. Young hot pretty financially stable v-ball players. Nah no ones there for any type of hookups literally just there celebrating a great guy.

They rent out a section at a relatively nice bar tbh. Not the cheapest and you can actually hear conversation. But also not a super expensive one where the patrons are middle aged with jazz music and the occasional track to relive “youth.” Komori’s a sweetie and will come outside to get you when you text that you’re there. You’ve met washio and ofc sakusa Before so you greet them casually then you turn and there’s Suna and a few others you haven’t met.

That greeting isn’t anything special I promise. Just “hey I’m so and so” and vice versa. It’s one of those meetings where you just think “he’s cute” but it’s such a fleeting thought. Y’all don’t even really talk that first night tbh. At the next practice Suna mentions offhandedly that he didn’t know komori was dating someone and komori is like: huh? Yeah sorry. I love (Y/N) and all but were just friends. Suna just shrugs not really caring to be honest until Komori just asks what did he think of you.

“Don’t really remember much man. Seemed cool though” he didn’t think he’d really see you again. Yeah you were close enough to have been at Komori’s birthday but if that was his first time ever meeting you, he figured you weren’t from around there are present very much. Yeah he was wrong.

Suddenly you were on Komori’s snap story more often, or maybe he’d just been noticing more. Too bad he couldn’t even remember your name 💀. Then it turned into you occasionally popping up where he was. He’d been told your name at least 5 times already but wouldn’t remember it the next day. Whenever he’d see you again he’d get a strained look like: “what is this mf name again” just laugh and tell him again bby.

That changed at some random house party by another mutual friend you two apparently had? You two were the only people just around the fire pit trying to catch some warmth in the chilly night. He’s probably just on his phone head bobbing his head to the muffled music from inside. And you’re just like “remember my name yet?” All jokingly. This sparks the tiniest bit of interest in him and he lets out a low chuckle and just admits “not at all.” I also feel like this is the first time he really looks at you and he’s like 🤨, wait you’re actually kinda cute.

That night y’all just kinda talk and vibe. The conversation comes easy as you two jump back and forth from talking about the music playing to sneakers which he brings up to stuff that you like. He’s actually really easy to talk to. So easy that u can forget about him not remembering your name despite meeting several times. You mention that you’d hung around komori before while they were gaming and that he seemed pretty cool. That leads him to asking “how do you know him anyways?”

“I used to date Sakusa”

Mentally he’s just like— ‘yeah I’m not getting involved in this. Time to go.’ Until you just start laughing.

“I’m kidding. He’s not really my type. We met after being paired together for a project in school.”

The two of you spend quite a bit of time just talking that night until you are joined again by some friends and it’s deadass like y’all weren’t just talking for almost an hour straight.

Getting Together

The process of getting together is like a cat and mouse game. You two start getting closer than friends and then something happens and you’re not talking for weeks. Whether it be life just getting busy, and then someone ending up on some random tinder date or so be it. Definitely one of those things were somehow someway y’all end up just hanging on one of your couches watching a movie. At some point there’s definitely a hint of sexual tension but neither of y’all act on it (later on you find on his finsta that he used to post several “i wont you 😔” memes  Folks can’t tell if hes joking or not (hes not))

You probably gotta tell that man you like him so if that ain’t you I’m sorry. Y’all not dating 😹. It’s something casual, y’all going to pick up some snacks for a movie night and why this mf keep looking at you out the side of his eyes instead of the road. You def texting the groupchat asking if you should confess. They tell you to boss up and just do it baby.

You literally end up confessing in that parking lot. Like right when he shuts the car off and starts swinging his keys on his finger and you kinda just blurt “I like you. Like like you.” He just kinda nods before his eyes widen. “Wait are you fr?” Like no you’re joking tf. It gets a lil awkward so you just go to get out the car and he’s like “I like like you too.”

I definitely don’t think either of you ever officially asked the other out it’s just at some point the understanding that you two are a couple. Like when you’re hanging out just you two hes more touchy, and then y’all start kissing and holding hands at some point. Then when you’re with friends he almost exclusively sits next to you and your friends notice the whispers in one another’s ears at the loud bar that seem just a hint too intimate for ppl who are just friends. Then y’all start arriving and leaving places together and people just at some point get the message (it’s later confirmed by you tweeting some shit like: I hate Rin why is that mf my boyfriend)

As far as anniversaries y’all draw straws to pick a day in the ballpark of the time y’all both think you became official. That’s the day you stick with even if it’s not true.

Relationship Flaws

A fault in the relationship is sunas kinda poor communication when it comes to things that matter. How he feels. Arguments. Love sure as hell don’t come east with anyone but when your partner won’t let you in? Yeah that’s like hell. That’s something you struggle with. And then on your end, it’s the impatience with him not letting you in. You try to wrongfully rush it.

 There’s definitely been arguments that stem from him just being upset about something unrelated to the relationship then coming to you for comfort without actually telling you what’s wrong. He kinda just wants to lay with his head on his chest but at some point that’s not enough. Y’all are in a relationship and should be able to talk about your bad days too.

You’re not innocent in this issue either because sometimes it comes off too pushy. Yes it’s from a place of care but sometimes that silent comfort is necessary. The walls will break in due time and y’all both know that deep in the back of your minds But then there’s a part that’s like— yeah we can’t let this become the norm

“Rin, can you please talk to me”

He will have literally told you “whatever” and that he “can’t deal with this rn” several times as he just shrugs and is like yeah “I’m gonna just go home. I’ll text you later” with an awkward ass pat on your shoulder if it really ruined his mood. If he’s leaving before he gets super upset and uncomfortable just some half assed kiss in your cheek

Another thing is I feel like he could be passive aggressive and let’s be real other folks doing it causes you to do it to. Y’all probably drag eachother on your finstas where you can both see it lol

But when it comes to making up he cracks first and apologizes when he started it. Or as y’all get more comfy with communication. If it’s not anything major he’ll just hit you with a text like “I’m bored come hang”

More Relationship Things

I feel like he love/hates driving. Likes the ride not always driving though. So if you ever proposed a late night drive he’d be down (if you offer to drive). He does let y’all take his car though. He reclines the seat pretty far back. Alternates between just closing his eyes vibing w/ the music or kinda just looking at you (he the type of bf that makes u nervous no matter how long y’all been together)The way he looks at you makes you nervous cause that man is fine as hell and you can just feel his eyes on you.

He films you on Snapchat and sends the video to you like “you look hot”

If he’s not ‘resting his eyes’ he’s mumbling along to the music because he has the aux. if y’all music tastes are different he occasionally throws in something you really like bc he likes how you perk up at one of your fav songs

Moving on. Y’all dap eachother up after s3x because it’s “modern romance” (boy stfu). You two came up with a sex playlist together and it’s on both of your phones. Sometimes one of you will add a troll song that the other doesn’t know and put it in the lineup. (Stole my heart by 1D has definitely played before and you were practically in tears laughing at his reaction. That was one of those songs he was like ‘yeah alright i think we’re done).

At some point you two develop your own handshake and it’s cute. Whenever either of you have to travel without the other that’s always the last thing you do before you leave eachother. There’s vids of your friends daring y’all to do your elaborate ass handshake drunk and doesn’t matter what’s in your system, you both know it like the back of your hand.

I think he values quality time a lot so there’s so many nights where you’re both just chilling in his room just doing your own things. He could just be at his desk watching some game highlights and you’re just doing hw on his bed with your own earbuds in work all spread out and he’s content. He’s also attentive so if he calculates that you’ve been working too long he’ll just take ur earbud like “hey let’s go get something to eat.”

People definitely think he’s the lazy one in the relationship but it’s 100% not true. Like stated above, he’s very attentive and can pretty much gauge how you’re feeling in the blink of an eye. He knows when you need alone time but won’t go without reassuring you that he’s here whenever you’re ready. When you do just need him he’s there without a second thought. If you’re more touchy he’ll have your head in his lap his arm running up and down your as you tell him what’s wrong. He knows when to joke about a minor inconvenience and over the course of your relationship knows when to cut the jokes and be serious with you.

He’d never admit it but he knows your coffee order by heart (he keeps up his image my asking wtf do you get everytime. Just let him LOL). He the type to peek at what you plan on wearing and ‘accidentally’ color coordinate then pull some shit like “why are you copying me”

Y’all def shit talk together. See someone doing something completely out of pocket in public— straight to ur phones you go (pack it up shade room). To the public it just looks like you aren’t paying any attention to one another on your dates but y’all are. Just over the phone so u don’t piss off ur target 😌

Y’all are very comfy in your relationship that you just say stuff. Y’all don’t even think.

“Rin, what if i crashed us in this car rn 😹”

“Do it. Might be fun”

When you two finally move in together it’s almost like how your relationship starts. Slowly more and more spares of stuff for you end up at his. He does sorta make the move near the end of your lease and is just like “you’re here more than me anyways.” (hes nervous but swears he’s not. Bby you’re literally shaking). Him moving you in is like hell. This mf takes sooooo long to help with boxes. Picks up 1 then sits for like 15 minutes. You ask for help the first few times and he’s just like “I got you” while continuing to scroll his phone.

Sleepy Shoulder kisses in the mornings. Only form a greeting you get but it’s ok

this is like my 100th dating suna hc and im still going this is SICK. it was so hard to not drop old refs bc i still believe in them 100% yes i do!!!!

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #haikyuu imagine #suna imagines #hq imagines #haikyuu headcanons

[mxchellesworld]

𝟑 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; 𝐀 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex 

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

***

You woke up in the warm embrace of your two favorite people. They took their promise of not going anywhere literally which made you giggle. You tried your best to wiggle out of their arms without waking them up. Looking back you admired the way the sun was trying to shine through the curtains. The little slivers that made it through highlighted the golden aspect of their hair. After a few minutes of observing you made your way to their kitchen. 

Looking in their fridge and cabinets you saw there were all the right ingredients to make a full breakfast. Without making too much noise you ended up making plates full of pancakes with eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. You made sure to bring out the pot of sugar so that Spencer could drink his liquid sweetener. 

Once everything was done you skipped back to their room and crawled back into the empty center space you left. Getting on your hands and knees you leaned forward to pepper both their faces with little kisses. Spencer stirred awake first and pulled your lips to meet his properly. 

You let out a laugh as you were pulled away by Cat to do the same. Pulling away you sat back on your knees, “There is a full breakfast waiting on you guys on the table.” 

They both perked up at the thought of food which made you smile. You scooted of the bed and made your way back to the kitchen taking your seat at the table. They joined you in a few minutes and dug right into the stack of pancakes. 

“How’d you sleep princess? Are you feeling alright?” Spencer asked between chews of a strip of bacon. 

“It was good, I feel a lot better than I have been which is weird because of,” you trailed off not trying to relive the memory, “um yeah.. how did you guys sleep?”

“Very good until the kissing fairy decided to make herself known,” Cat responded hiding her smile behind her coffee mug. 

“Hey!” you said pointing your fork at her, “I’ll make sure neither of you touch these lips again,” you threatened.

“Woah woah woah don’t add me into this, I don’t deserve such a cruel punishment,” Spencer said holding his hands up. 

“You guys can just kiss each other.” A thought popped up in your head, “Wait I’ve never seen you guys kiss. Is it because of me?” you asked, “I mean I wouldn’t mind it. Thats kinda hot.” 

You looked up to see them blushing and you laughed, “Don’t tell me a little kissing makes you nervous.”

“What no. Jeez are we in middle school or something playing truth or dare,” Spencer said. 

“Ok, then kiss,” you egged them on. 

“I didn’t realize you were in charge here angel,” Cat said squinting her eyes at you. 

You tried not to let the shivers she gave you become transparent, “Well I am. So both of you get up.” 

They both shared a look then burst out laughing. You pouted as they dismissed your efforts to take charge. Yeah maybe you weren’t the most intimidating. And maybe they brought out the needy little submissive in you. But you had plans and you were going to see them through if it was the last thing you did. 

You stood up and put your hands on your hips, “Up.”

“What,” they said in unison. 

“Get the fuck up. I’m in charge today,” you left them with their mouths gaping open as you walked into their room. You settled on the center of the bed with your head on the pillows. 

“I’m waiting,” you yelled loud enough for them to hear. Soon enough you heard shuffling and they made their way into the room, standing at the edge of the bed. 

“Strip,” you commanded in your most powerful voice. 

Surprisingly they followed your orders and started taking off their clothes. You watched them with hungry eyes as they got down to nothing. You were starting to understand why they liked being in charge all the time, this was exciting. 

You crooked your fingers in a ‘come here’ motion and they got on the bed. One on either side of your spread legs. 

“You know what I want,” you said looking between each of them. Slowly they leaned forward and their lips connected. You took your bottom lip between your teeth at the sight in front of you. 

You were in awe at the aggressiveness. The way Spencer’s large hands encased Cat’s face as their lips clashed together. Your thighs started to rub together, trying to relief the ache that was starting to grow between your legs. Soon they broke apart and sat there breathing heavily, waiting for your next orders. 

“Cat come here,” you said holding your arms open for her to settle her back to your chest. 

“Spencer I want you to eat her out and make her cum. But Cat,” you said whispering in her ear, “you have to ask me before you do.” 

He quickly got into position, putting her legs over his shoulders. You and Cat moaned at the same time. She moaned from the feeling of Spencer’s wet tongue on her clit and you moaned from seeing the action before you. 

Your hands wrapped around her body and you played with her breasts. Her head fell back as you toyed with her nipples, rolling the peaks in your fingers and pinching them. She let out a symphony of moans from both ends of pleasure she was feeling. 

One of your hands moved to grab her cheeks like she’s done to you many times before, “Open your fucking eyes and look down at Spencer. He’s being so good for us right now. Tell him,” you gritted in her ear. 

“You’re doing so good Spencer fuck,” she whimpered out, “I’m so close.”

“Aw you’re close. Are you gonna cum all over his tongue?” you mocked her. 

She frantically nodded her head and begged you to let her cum. Her legs were squirming over his shoulders and her chest was heaving. You decided to be merciful and let her cum. 

“Let go baby. Let me hear you when you cum.” 

She let out loud moans and curses as she came. Her back arching off your chest. Spencer slowly stopped his motions. He got up and sat back on his knees. You noticed the way his cock was standing at attention. The tip was red and leaking with precum. 

Licking your lips you slowly got out from behind Cat, having her take your spot. You motioned for Spencer to lay down and you went to straddle his hips. Your lack of panties made him groan as you trapped his cock between your folds, sliding back and forth on your mixed slick. You pulled off the big t-shirt and threw it to the side. 

His hands moved to your hips but you quickly moved them and held them above his head, “You don’t get to touch unless I tell you to,” you said leaning down so your face was inches from his. 

His hips bucked up trying to gain more friction. Each time he did you would lift yours so he would grind up against nothing. Your hand moved to grasp his neck. You didn’t have it in you to add pressure but the action alone made him stop. 

“Tell me what you want Spence. I wanna hear you beg this time,” you smirked. 

“I want you to ride my cock. Please,” he whined out. 

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his swollen lips, you moaned being able to taste Cat on his tongue. You teasingly grabbed his cock and rubbed it between your folds before sliding down his length. 

You both let out sighs as you got all the way down. Slowly you started to rock your hips. His pelvis rubbing on your clit nicely. You knew it wasn’t doing much for him but to you it felt amazing. 

“Please go faster Y/n,” he begged. 

“You want me to fuck you Spencie? You wanna see my tits bounce as I ride your cock?” you said in fake sweet voice. 

“Please Y/n I need it so bad,” he pleaded. 

Without responding you started to bounce on his cock. Every time hitting your g-spot perfectly. You let go of his hands and moved them to cup your breasts. You looked over to see Cat pumping her fingers inside her dripping pussy. 

“You like this Cat? Tell me I look pretty riding his cock,” you said between moans. 

“You look so pretty angel,” she said darkly. 

The name and her tone threw you off your rhythm. That was enough time for Spencer to flip you on your back. You yelped as he slammed into you repeatedly. 

“You know you’ll never be in charge princess. You’re to desperate and mouthy,” he said punctuating each word with a thrust. He noticed you were about to speak and covered your mouth with his palm. 

“I don’t wanna hear a single word out of you unless unless it’s my fucking name. Understood?”

You quickly nodded and let out a loud moan that was bubbling in your throat. You looked over to see Cat still fucking herself with her fingers. Two fingers on one hand were plunging into her while the other was quickly rubbing her clit.

“Spencer’s doing so good for you angel, why don’t you tell him,” she said mimicking your words. 

“You fuck me so good Sir. I’m gonna ah cum. Please!” you mewled out. 

His hand dipped down to rub your clit, “Cum on my cock princess,” he said lowly. 

With that the damn broke. You trembled as the pleasure washed over your body. Even with your pounding eardrums you could hear Cat’s moans as she came a second time. Above you Spencer’s thrust grew frantic as he came deep inside you. Your pussy squeezing and milking him for every drop. 

You all laid there catching your breathes, bodies sticky from the post sex glow. 

Getting up on your elbows you looked up at them, “So how’d I do?”

𝐚/𝐧; 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #cat adams x reader #cat adams smut #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #chellewrites

[brinconvenient]

Green Egg and Fam

You know what? I'm just gonna go ahead and do this...

So a few years back, I was talking to another trans woman who is very familiar with the DC Universe and we were trying to figure out who is Actually An Egg, and after a few suggestions back and forth, I galaxy-brained the answer. She heartily agreed and we talked about it a bit: 1. Artsy 2. Serial Monogamist who is a Relationship Disaster (Big "Do I want to Be With Her, or Be Her?" energy) 3. Becomes best friends with every ex-girlfriend 4. Noted Respecter of Women in Very Terrible and Awkward Ways 5. Chronically allergic to self-reflection and introspection, but also addicted to it in much the same way lactose intolerant people talk about how they can't give up cheese. 6. Just a complete and Utter Messy Agent of Chaos. 7. All too willing to adopt Other People's Expectations and internalize them as a Sacred Duty. 8. Just constantly Marked By Tragedy - both external and self-created.

It's Kyle Rayner, kids.

Torchbearer,

Honor Lantern,

Erstwhile Ion/avatar of the power of will

Kyle "I will be the Last of the Green Lanterns and yet keep trying to ressurect this entire Corps of Space Cops that I didn't even know existed until some Blue Dude showed up to give me jewelry and I guess marry me into the Corps? Because I guess that's just my job now and that will become my whole personality" Rayner.

After the conversation, this - the only fanfic I have literally ever written popped out of my head fully formed. It's intended to really be Chapter 1 of Several which are basically conversations between Kyle and one Ex-Girlfriend per chapter as Kyle finally accepts herself and transitions.

Eventually she reveals that the name "Ion" comes from her real name "ImOgeN" because she read Nevada and Was Impacted and she's just that extra.

But, honestly, despite getting started on the Alex chapter ages ago, I never have drawn the energy to go back and finish and/or write more, so I'm just gonna share the first chapter of what I am calling:

"Green Egg and Fam"

Putting the actual content behind the Read More because I've already rambled too long.

“It’s just exhausting, you know? Every few years it seems like I have to pick up the pieces of my life, my memory, my self and figure out who the hell I am! Every time I get a handle on things, someone or something comes along and shakes up the snow globe,y’know? I’ve tried to talk to Diana about it and, like, she’s compassionate and cares and offers sympathy, but most of the time, my whole relationship with her is just one more flake in the globe and I never know who we’re going to be to each other. Somehow, though, you’re always my favorite ex-boyfriend. It’s weird, right?”

Kyle patted Donna’s arm reassuringly. He glanced from Donna’s face to the view over Lake Michigan. There was no more beautiful view of the lakeshore than the roof of the John Hancock Building. He could just about make out the lights of the small shore towns across the lake in Michigan, and he could see the industrial Indiana towns along the round tip of the lake.

“I’m not positive I like that descriptor of our relationship, but I am happy to be some kind of constant for you,” he said with a rueful smile. “Donna, you are one of my dearest friends and I always want to be here for you. I know you didn’t need my help with Dr. Psycho here, but I’m glad I was Earthside to help you out anyway.”

They’d taken the diminutive psychic menace to the Chicago Special Crimes Unit, who had training and facilities for telepaths and telekinetics. They found this perch when Donna said she just needed a little bit to settle down before heading back to the Titans Tower in New York.

“No, I had him just about handled - a Lasso of Persuasion is pretty useful, after all - but I’m glad you swung through, all the same,” Donna said. “I’m glad to have a friend here. Psycho was really messing with my head this time. He kept dredging through my memory, pulling out bits and pieces of lives lived and people lost. He made me relive the loss of Terry and Robert and Jenny, over and over, replayed the tortures of Dark Angel, dragged me through that whole mess with the Titans of Myth, and I’m actually not sure which of any of those actually happened in this reality anymore.”

Donna’s breath was getting ragged and tears were falling down her face, twinkling in the moonlight.

“You told me about Terry and the kids when we were dating, so since I still remember them, they must still have existed and they still loved you and you still got to love them. I’m a little fuzzy on the Titans of Myth, so I can’t be sure about that stuff. But you’re here now and that’s what’s important right now. Just take a sec to enjoy this moment, this view, this night and see how you feel, ok?” he said.

They sat in the quiet, next to each other, watching the waves reflect and distort the moonbeams. Donna’s breathing calmed down and she straightened her back, half a head taller than Kyle even while sitting.

“Thank you, Kyle. I’ll be ok now, I think. I appreciate you listening. You have a good heart. If you’d only learn to actually fight without that ring, you’d make a pretty decent Amazon. Well … if you weren’t a man, of course.”

Kyle coughed and thanked the stars that Donna couldn’t see him blush. Suddenly Kyle felt like there was lava beneath his skin and he couldn’t sit comfortably.

He didn’t want Donna to catch on, so he stifled his squirming and whipped up a quick construct of a miniature green Kyle in an Amazonian uniform, breastplate, Spartan skirt and calf boots. For added effect he made sure to widen his shoulders and used Hal Jordan as a reference for a jaw far more square than Kyle’s real life chin.

“I’m not sure I can pull off the uniform. Guess I’ll stick with green and black for now. Ha!” he said. He hoped it didn't sound as forced as it felt.

“Oh I don’t know. You’ve got great legs, Kyle! Maybe you should start wearing shorts when in uniform. Besides, you had those over-the-knee boots for the longest time. I think you’d be just fine!” Donna said, laughing.

“Give me a hug, Dick just texted me to meet him in Blüdhaven. Take care and fly safe back to Oa!” she said.

After a quick, warm embrace, she turned eastward and flew off over the lake. Kyle watched her fly out of sight. He looked down and saw little Amazon Kyle, slowly spinning in the air. He drew the construct up to eye level and returned the shoulders and jaw back to his more slender and softer reality. It didn’t look that bad actually.

He’d been trying to make Donna smile, and deflect from … something before, so he exaggerated those features to highlight the incongruence, but he didn’t hate this more realistic image.

He continue to finesse the construct’s features. Like most artists, he never really considered a piece finished, he just stopped working on it. He smoothed the musculature, narrowed the shoulders a little further, pulled the hips out just a bit more, and left the waist alone. The ersatz Kyle’s face got softer still, the brow less pronounced, the nose narrower, the chin just a bit more rounded. He watched the chest muscles soften and breasts form to fill out the breastplate better.

Finally, he lengthened the construct’s hair to shoulder length, adding some wave and curls like Donna’s somehow-always-perfect hair.

And there she was. The woman who’d been haunting Kyle’s dreams as long as he could remember. Slowly spinning in the air was a woman who could easily have been Kyle’s sister, wearing Amazonian garb (or at least what he remembered from seeing Donna’s while they were dating so many years ago).

He didn’t know how much time had passed since he started fiddling with the image, and he didn’t know how long he’d spent staring at the final form. Sister. Yeah, right.

With an angry wave he flashed his hand through the construct, dissolving and dispersing the light particles that he’d given form. He hastily looked around the roof to make sure no one had seen him or, specifically, seen the construct. The burning sensation of shame returned instantly and he immediately flew into the sky until the buildings looked like so many light-speckled building blocks.

He took himself through a calming exercise he learned from Kilowog to help him center himself and sling his ring “like he wasn’t a complete Poozer and deserved to wear it.” Kilowog had no appreciation for just how hard it was for other people to feel calm when he was around. Still, Kyle found it helped when the pink giant wasn’t breathing down his neck.

“My will is strong enough to carry the torch for the entire Green Lantern Corps, I can stop these feelings. I can make all of these thoughts go away. I can stop this. I’ve got too much responsibility to keep indulging this … this nonsense” he thought, trying to ignore the sting of the tears fighting their way free to fall down his face, ignore the pain in his heart.

“I don’t want to lose my friends - what would Donna say? Would she think I was a pervert, or making fun of her somehow? I definitely don’t want to lose Hal’s and the guys’ respect. I don’t want to lose my whole life just because I’m some kind of freak. Get it together, Rayner. No one else is feeling sorry for themselves because they don’t fit in.”

He pulled a hand down his face and pointed his right fist with it’s gaudy, shining green ring on the middle finger toward the Milky Way and flew into space. He hoped the cold solitude of the transluminal conduits would help him regain his composure before he faced Guy, Hal, John and Kilowog for the Honor Lantern meeting. For the millionth time, he wished he could just be more like them, have just a sliver of their easy and effortless masculinity. They made it look so simple.

“Bet they don’t spend half their life trying to figure out what is wrong with them,” he thought. He tried so hard not to envy them, but it was really hard sometimes.

Especially nights like tonight where his resolve had failed him yet again and he gave in to his most hidden thoughts. He entered the transluminal conduit between Saturn and Jupiter and closed his eyes.

He traveled faster than light, but it still took time to reach Oa, so he tried to sleep and hoped that his dreams wouldn’t betray him again.

#dc universe #green lantern #kyle rayner #transgender #lgbt #trans women #donna troy #lgbtqia #lgbtqia+ #wlw #wonder woman #fanfic #I used to want to be a writer #I almost never write #but occasionally #once every five years or so #this kind of thing can happen #I'm about due #green egg and fam #brin writes

[super-secret-sick-fics]

Hi, could you write a Iwaoi or bokuaka fic?

Hi! You’re in luck!! I just finished a bokuaka fic :) I’m working on and iwaoi one right now!

Suddenly Sick: A BokuAka Sick Fic

Pairing: Sick Bokuto, caretaker Akaashi

Words: 2,330

Warnings: vomiting

Bokuto and Akaashi walked hand in hand down the sidewalk on their way home after one of Bokuto’s matches. The Black Jackals won, of course, and the whole team went out for dinner afterwards.

It was a really nice night, so the couple opted to walk home instead of calling for a cab. The sky was cloudless and the moon was full. The slight breeze made it a little chilly, but nothing too unbearable. It was incredibly calming and Akaashi felt completely at peace.

Bokuto was chatting excitedly beside him, relaying different highlights of the game, despite the fact that Akaashi was there and saw the whole thing. His animated stories were punctuated by Akaashi’s occasional nods and hums, the setter content to let his boyfriend relive the most exciting moments of the game.

The relaxing atmosphere tricked Akaashi into letting his guard down. Normally, he was hyper vigilant of their surroundings for both himself and his absent-minded partner, but he was lulled into a sense of security. Hardly anyone was out at this hour and they were only a few blocks from their apartment. Further, Bokuto was riding high from his game. He didn’t need to keep his mind running with the different situations and outcomes that they might encounter on their short walk.

Bokuto was slowly calming down, his stories becoming less animated as they walked, but that was given. Akaashi expected that to happen because it was their usual routine. Bokuto expended his leftover energy until he came back to a normal level and Akaashi was happy to oblige him in any way he needed.

What he didn’t expect was complete and sudden silence.

Akaashi was looking at the stars when it happened. Bokuto stopped talking abruptly. No more relaying highlights. No questions about Akaashi’s day. No idle conversation about current events. No, it was radio silence and after 2 minutes, all of Akaashi’s nerves were set on edge.

He was about to ask if Bokuto was okay, though he wasn’t sure what would have triggered the change in Bokuto’s mood. Right as Akaashi turned to face his boyfriend, Bokuto released his hand and stood frozen, rooted to the ground. Akaashi was completely thrown off. Something was very wrong. Immediately, he moved in front of Bokuto.

“Kotarou? What’s wrong?”

Akaashi scanned Bokuto for any obvious signs of distress and was not pleased with his findings.

Bokuto was pale, his skin taking on an ashen grey color. His eyebrows were scrunched and his mouth twisted. There was a slight tremble in his shoulders, and a hand rested precariously on his stomach.

“I-I’m not sure. I just feel really bad all of a sudden,” he panted. Akaashi felt his own eyebrows come together. He brought a hand up to Bokuto’s sweaty forehead and frowned.

“You’re a little warm. Were you feeling off at all earlier?” He asked. His arms wrapped around Bokuto’s shoulders and he pulled his distraught boyfriend into his chest. Bokuto shook his head.

“No. It just hit me in the last few minutes,” the ace whimpered into Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi rubbed a hand up and down Bokuto’s back gently.

“Okay,” he whispered back, “let’s get you home and in bed then? I’ll take your temperature. It’ll be okay, Kou.” He pulled Bokuto from his chest and held his shoulders. His concern grew when Bokuto didn’t respond verbally, opting for a short nod instead. Was he paler than before?

They tried to move forward, only for it to become blatantly, painfully, obvious that whatever was plaguing Bokuto sapped all of his energy when he stumbled and nearly face planted within the first two minutes of them walking. Akaashi felt a jolt of anxiety surge throughout his body. He didn’t know what was wrong, but it wasn’t good.

Akaashi threw one of Bokuto’s arms over his smaller shoulders and wrapped a hand around his boyfriend’s waist. They started walking again and Akaashi sent up a silent prayer to whatever god would listen that they could make it the measly 5 remaining blocks to their apartment without incident.

Apparently no one was listening.

“K-keiji,” Bokuto stuttered, desperate. Akaashi’s head snapped to look at his boyfriend so quickly he swore he got whiplash. Bokuto was entirely too sweaty given their slow pace and his eyes were squeezed shut.

They were only about a block from their apartment now. They were so very, very close.

“Keiji, please stop.”

“It’s alright, Kou, we’re almost hom—“

“No, we need to stop walking,” Bokuto panted, halting them with a strength he didn’t have just a few seconds ago. Akaashi stepped in front of his boyfriend and gave him a once over again.

In addition to the pained look on his face, Bokuto’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed tightly. A sense of foreboding washed over Akaashi.

“Kouta-“

“Keiji, I’m gonna be sick,” Bokuto muttered weakly behind a poorly suppressed gag. He brought the back of his hand up to his mouth and peered at Akaashi with pleading eyes.

Akaashi scanned their surroundings. They were in the middle of a small strip mall the block down from their apartment. Curious eyes of children and concerned adults looked at them from afar. No, this was far too public. They needed to move.

“We’re almost home. Can you hold on a little bit longer?” Akaashi nearly begged. He didn’t want to face the judgement of adults and frighten children. No, he needed to get Bokuto somewhere isolated quickly.

Bokuto looked at him again, eyes wide and watery, his lips pulled in a tight line. The whimper that sounded was quiet, barely noticeable, but made Akaashi’s heart pang nonetheless. He immediately reprimanded himself for thinking more about their public image than helping his boyfriend when he was clearly distressed.

“Okay,” he soothed, cupping Bokuto’s face in his hands, “it’s fine, Kou. Can you try and make it off the sidewalk at least? To those bushes right there.” Akaashi gestured to the shrubbery about 5 feet away from them. Bokuto took a deep breath and nodded. Together, they slowly made their way over, Akaashi supporting Bokuto far more than he liked.

What had caused this sudden illness? Perhaps a stomach bug and Bokuto was too filled with adrenaline all day to notice symptoms earlier? Perhaps food poisoning? Anxiety? Appendicitis?

Akaashi ran through and tried to rule out every possibility in the short time it took them to make their way to the bushes. His rapid thoughts were interrupted when Bokuto stumbled slightly and gagged.

Akaashi directed him towards the innocent plants, and Bokuto doubled over, resting his hands on his knees. He panted and Akaashi’s chest ached in sympathy. Bokuto wasn’t good at being sick. It was such a direct contradiction to his personality, that he was utterly miserable the second he even caught a cold.

“K-Keiji. It hurts,” he choked out, before having once more, bringing his hand to his mouth.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry this is happening,” Akaashi said gently.

The next few minutes were terribly pitiful. Bokuto continued to gag and heave without relief. Children asked their parents what was happening before quickly being carted away. Older adults frowned and mumbled words of sympathy and pity. There was no way Bokuto didn’t hear the exchanges and Akaashi was sure it only made him feel worse.

“I want it to stop,” Bokuto whimpered when he had a second to catch his breath. Tears were falling down his flushed cheeks, whether they were from sadness or the strain of endless heaves, Akaashi wasn’t sure. He frowned and rubbed a hand up and down Bokuto’s back. His muscles were tight. They tensed with every unsuccessful retch.

“Please relax, Kou. It’s alright,” Akaashi whispered calmly. Bokuto shook his head, eyes shut tightly.

“It’s fine, baby. You’re fine. I’m here. Once this is over, we’ll get you home and I’ll take care of everything, okay?” Akaashi kissed the back of Bokuto’s sweaty neck. He tried to ignore the heat that he felt for the time being. It could be addressed once they were safely and comfortably back in their apartment.

It took a minute or two more, but finally, Bokuto heaved and a wet burp immediately followed, bringing with it his dinner. It continued on like that, Bokuto’s body refusing to give him a break between rounds of vomiting.

“Breathe, Kou,” Akaashi tried to comfort. At some point during the vomiting spell, Bokuto crouched down and placed his head in his hands. He continued to heave, vomit splashing between his legs. Akaashi knelt with him, ignoring the splash-back on his shoes. He rubbed between Bokuto’s shoulder blades and shushed him gently.

A minute later, Bokuto gasped, finally managing to catch his breath, and fell with a thud on his ass. Akaashi pulled out his handkerchief and wiped down his face, frowning.

“Keiji, I really don’t feel good,” Bokuto choked, his eyes wide. He didn’t regain any color in his face, save for the flush of the fever Akaashi discovered earlier. The look on his boyfriend's face reminded him of a surprised child. He chuckled lightly.

“I can see that, Kou.” His hand found Bokuto’s hair and he ran his fingers through it before sliding it down to cup Bokuto’s cheek. Bokuto closed his eyes and whimpered.

Akaashi allowed them to rest a few more minutes before asking Bokuto if he could make it home. Bokuto exhaled slowly, but nodded.

Together, the two of them got Bokuto standing. Akaashi supported him the same way he did earlier. Slowly, the couple made their way home. They only stopped twice when Bokuto thought he was going to throw up again, but kept moving when it turned out to be a false alarm.

Bokuto paled when they got to their apartment. Akaashi grimaced when he remembered that there was no elevator and they had to get up 7 flights of stairs. Around the fourth floor, Bokuto started shaking.

“Koutaro? Are you okay?” Akaashi asked, alarmed. His boyfriend nodded, his lips in a tight line and his eyes determined.

“I’m not going to throw up in the staiwell,” he gritted. Akaashi understood and tried to speed them up as much as possible.

When they finally made it back to their apartment, Akaashi escorted Bokuto to the couch and immediately rushed to the kitchen to get their big trash can. He brought a few extra trash bags too. Just in case.

As soon as he made it back to Bokuto, the sick boy grabbed the trash can and heaved, a slurry or brown vomit spilling into the trash can. Akaashi winced, but left Bokuto to go get him a change of clothes, promising to be back as quickly as possible.

Akaashi changed into more comfortable clothes himself and stopped by the bathroom on his way back to Bokuto. He grabbed a thermometer, a couple wet wash rags, some medicine, and a glass of water.

Upon entering the living room again, he found Bokuto leaning back on the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes. The trash can was sitting idly next to him, only an arm’s length away.

“Hey baby,” Akaashi sat down beside him and brought his legs up so he could face his miserable boyfriend. Bokuto looked at him pathetically. Despite the situation, Akaashi found the look on his face utterly adorable and he gave Bokuto a sad smile.

Akaashi worked quickly, helping Bokuto change into more comfortable clothes. He wiped down his face with one of the wash rags. The thermometer was placed in his mouth and as they waited, Akaashi got the appropriate number of pills ready for Bokuto.

The beep of the thermometer broke the disconcerting silence and Akaashi sighed to find that Bokuto did indeed have a fever. Maybe it was a stomach bug then. In which case, Akaashi should prepare himself to face the same fate in a few days' time.

Bokuto took the medicine and Akaashi coaxed him into drinking the rest of the water. When he finished he handed the glass to Akaashi, who set it on the table.

Bokuto wrapped his arms around Akaashi’s middle and whined as he nuzzled his face into the former setter’s stomach.

Akaashi maneuvered them so that he was laying down, his back leaning against the armrest of the couch, and Bokuto lying between his legs. He slid his fingers through Bokuto’s hair, breaking up the gel and making it fall down.

“I feel so icky,” Bokuto pouted. His eyes were closed and he frowned, his lower lip sticky out childishly. Akaashi giggled.

“I know, babe. Don’t worry, you’ll feel not icky soon.”

Bokuto turned his head so his chin was resting on Akaashi’s stomach and looked at him with wide, fever-glazed eyes.

“You’ll take care of me?”

Akaashi blinked a few times before his face relaxed and his lips pulled up into a gentle smile.

“Of course. Always.”

Bokuto seemed satisfied with that and turned his head so his cheek was resting on Akaashi’s stomach again. He sighed.

It was bound to be a long few days, but the two of them would get through it.

***

A week later, Bokuto was sitting at the breakfast table, feeling much better, though he could still only stomach light meals. The worst week of his life was over, and he was starting to feel like himself again.

He was eating some toast and humming to himself when Akaashi stumbled into the kitchen, a hand on his stomach and sweat shining on his flushed face. Bokuto stared at him, eyes wide.

“K-koutaro? I don’t feel so g-good,” Akaashi managed to force out before promptly doubling over with a jarring belch and vomiting on their kitchen floor.

Bokuto scrambled over to his side and dragged him to the bathroom, a trail of vomit marking their path. He guided Akaashi to kneel in front of the toilet and rubbed his back when he threw up once more.

“It’s okay, Keiji. I’ve got you.”

#haikyuu sickfic #bokuaka #bokuto kotarou #akaashi keiji #sick bokuto #sickfic #my fic #vomiting #fever #caretaker Akaashi

[ffangirlingsince2001]

End of the Tunnel: I

Description: It’s almost been a year since Freed Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: (future as well as present) suicidal thoughts, smut, angst, fluff, depression,  attempted SUICIDE, self harm, torture, mentions of torture

A/N: So, this is pretty dark, just FYI. There will be happy moments but a lot of the time it will get pretty dark. Trigger warning applies now, just be forewarned. Please enjoy though if you are willing to suffer through the tragedy to get to the light at the end of the tunnel.

MASTERLIST

***

The world ended on May 2, 1998.

At least it did for George Weasley.

He was not dead, of course. His mother and father still loved him. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, and Ginny all still hugged him. His business was doing splendid, far better than it ever had before the war, Ron was even helping him run it. And yet, the world felt as if it no longer turned because Fred was gone and that was all that really mattered.

May 2 had been awful, but the funeral was even worse. Friends, family, and strangers wanting nothing more than to hug him or shake his hand when all he wanted to do was destroy everything that touched him. He hadn’t shed any tears that day. He figured he was all out, but now that he considered it, he was sure he had just grown numb.

He had never had a problem smiling before, and even in the winter he was constantly warm, denying every coat his mother sent his way. And now, he was sure he had forgotten how to smile and even in the hottest part of July he wore a sweater, fighting off the chills that ran along his spine.

His mother had pleaded with him to go to therapy, to talk to someone about the tragedy but he had refused. There was nothing a therapist could tell him that he didn’t already know.

He knew he was depressed; he knew Fred was never coming back, and he knew he needed to move forward. He had no interest in reliving the moments when he had witnessed the cold lifeless body of his twin lying on the floor of the school they had once attended. All he wanted to do was the lock the door to his new flat and never come out. He had considered returning to his home above the shop but every time he thought of the memories he had built there his stomach churned and before he knew it he was emptying the contents of his stomach into the nearest sink. So, he gave it to Ron and Hermione and bought himself a smaller one.

He was laying in the bed that occupied most of the studio flat, thinking about the day he moved in as he struggled to get up. The walls were grey, and the bedsheets were white. He hadn’t bothered to buy curtains, so the dingy light of the cloudy morning was highlighting the dust he had let build up over the months. No pictures hung on the walls; no Knick knacks sat on the shelves. Dishes were piling up from the last spout of motivation, not that he ate a whole lot these days. Most importantly, there were no mirrors. He had ripped the bathroom one from the wall and shattered it in the street the moment he moved in, completely satisfied with giving up his security deposit for a little bit of sanity. His world was completely colorless. His skin was pale and the warmth that had generally resided in his face had seeped away like water from a washcloth. In fact, the only color one could find in the small room was his hair, shining just as brightly as it had the day the world ended.

He had dyed it once. A dark brown, the most boring color he could think of, but the moment his mother had seen it she burst into tears and begrudgingly changed it back, if only to avoid the dirty looks that Ginny shot him through the very uncomfortable family dinner.

Today was the first of March, and George could feel the anniversary of Fred’s death drawing nearer with every movement of his body. His muscles ached and his bones creaked like an old rocking chair no one had touched in a century.

As he laid there he considered never getting up, but eventually with great effort he pulled himself from the cold sheets and pulled on the dullest clothing he owned. A grey tailcoat covered a white button up and black slacks, severely pressed hung a bit short over his ankles. The shoes were so old they no longer shined. He didn’t bother brushing his hair, sure that the howling wind would mess it up anyway.

He left the door without eating breakfast and turned down the street in the opposite direction of the store. He couldn’t bare to go to work today, and Ron could handle it.

Ron had gotten a lot better at handling it.

He was right about the wind, it battled against him like it was trying to force him to go to work, but he pushed on, determined to spend his day in miserable loneliness. Somedays he imagined Fred was screaming at him from the clouds, telling him to stop being a git and move on with his life, but he had never been good at taking orders. So, without any regard for the signs of the universe he continued to push on, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to keep warm.

In honor of his mood, it began to pour and before he knew it, he was drenched to the bone, the neat he clothes he had donned pressing tightly against this skin. By now he was in a muggle town he had never been to. The streets were completely empty, no one wanting to get caught in the torrential downpour.

He was going to turn around, go home if not to work, when he heard a voice shouting through a roll of thunder. He glanced around, searching for the source, and was met with the sight of a woman hailing him towards her store. He looked behind him, checking for someone else, when he heard a sharp laugh.

“I’m talking to you, silly. Now, come in before you catch a cold,” she called, stepping into the rain to usher him closer. He walked quickly, ducking through the doorway as he followed her inside. He watched as she shoved the door closed against the atrocious wind, the bell jingling ferociously overhead. When she had succeeded, deadbolting it for good measure she turned to face him. She wrung out her blonde hair as she studied him with bright eyes (they reminded him an awful lot of what his used to look like). “What on earth are you doing out in this weather?” she laughed, and he shrugged, unsure of how to approach the situation. He had not been met with such glee in an exceptionally long time. When he didn’t respond he smile faded and concern rested heavy on her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t think so,” he muttered, and she nodded.

“Then I think you need a drink.” She ushered him to barstool and disappeared behind the counter. “Butterbeer or tap?” His eyes snapped to her when she mentioned the magical drink. “Butterbeer then.”

“You’re a witch?” he blurted, and she laughed, shaking her head.

“Oh no, but I know my customers, and you are clearly a wizard.”

“How can you tell?”

“The wand in your tailcoat.” He glanced down and sure enough, a faint outline of his wand was visible against the fabric. “No need to obliviate me though, I’m no snitch. I’ve had all types in this little pub of mine, vampires, werewolves after a particularly bad night, wizards, what you call muggles, I’ve even had a couple goblins gamble in my back room, no bias here.” He didn’t say anything as she twittered on, setting the mug in front of him and leaning on her elbows as she took him in with earnest curiosity. A few minutes of silence before she spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it, that’s what bartenders are for to hear all your tragedies while you drown them in the best liquor we have?”

“Who are you?”

“Hannah Gladdis. And you are?”

“George Weasley.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen, twenty in June. You?”

“Twenty-one in April. How’d you come to own a magical bar at nineteen?”

“It was a tragic thing really, last year the owner died in a war with your sort. I was a waitress then, but he left it to me in his will, so now it’s all mine. Honestly, I’m surprised I survived long enough to own it, luck I guess.”

“What happened?”

“These men in masks came and tore the place apart looking for the owner, shouting something about blood traitors, but he wasn’t in. It was just me, hiding right behind this counter praying that they wouldn’t find me.”

“Did they?”

“Yes,” she whispered, fear creeping into her eyes as she thought about the night she was describing to him. “They used two spells. One made me feel like I was on fire and the other made me bleed, I can barely remember it. The whole thing was awful, by the time they were sure I didn’t know I could barely move. They set the place on fire and left me to die, still hunting for him, I guess since he’s dead now. Somehow someone saved me, I don’t even remember them but they must have performed a counter curse because I got out with only a few scars, but you would know all about those,” she said noting his missing ear. “Were you in the war?”

“Right in the center of it. Do you have any firewhiskey?” She nodded and dropped beneath the counter and pulled out the familiar bottle.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“How do you know I lost anyone?” he growled, and she offered him a sad smile.

“I lost friends and I’m not even a witch, I figured a hero right in the center of it wouldn’t come out unscathed. Also you’re missing an ear.” He grunted and threw back the shot of liquor she had poured. “You won though?”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way,” he mumbled, and she nodded, taking one of his hands into hers. He watched her hands cradle his as if he were the fragile one, but he could see the scars that were etched into her fingers. He ran is thumb along one of the more prominent ones. When he glanced up, she was biting her lip, eyes focused on the thumb that was stroking the harsh scar. He whispered her name, but she didn’t move. He said it again and this time her eyes met his. He wanted to say they were blue, but that didn’t seem quite right. Her dark eyelashes were hanging heavily over them, casting shadows into the two small pools of ocean that stared back at him. He was going to say something more, let the light buzz from the liquor take control and pull her against him, but she moved away before he could. With an awkward laugh she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and pulled herself a shot, downing it just as quickly.

“It’s not even noon,” she laughed to herself and he shrugged.

“I’ve been drunk before noon before, nothing to ashamed of.”

“Isn’t that a sign of alcoholism?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of before.” He flashed her a tight, unpracticed smile that made his heart cringe against his ribs but it seemed to work. Pink washed over her cheeks and she was quick to busy herself among the empty glasses, searching for one to clean.

“So, what’s someone like you wandering the streets during a downpour?”

“Escaping.”

“By catching a cold?”

“Or something like that.” She laughed awkwardly, running a damp washrag over the top of the bar, avoiding eye contact at all costs, and it was killing him. He wanted to look into her eyes all day. He had to think of something, do something, say something that would draw her back.

“Why didn’t the Ministry take your memories?” he asked, and then silently cursed himself. Out of all the topics he could have chosen, he chose the one that terrified her. He hadn’t spoken to a stranger so domestically in such a long time it seemed he was out of practice.

“They don’t know, as far as I know they don’t even know I exist. And I would like to keep it that way if you don’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to forget?”

“To forget what?”

“All that pain and fear.”

“I considered it at first, but then I decided it was better to know what was coming then feel broken all over again.”

“No one is going to hurt you like that again,” he growled, far more aggressively than he had intended and she laugh, taking his hand and finally allowing their eyes to meet once more. She didn’t seem scared when she looked at him, it was if she almost wanted to believe him. She really seemed to believe the idea he could chase away her nightmares. He knew he would disappoint; he could barely chase away his own.

“You sound so sure, George, but alas, you won’t always be sitting in my little bar to protect me.”

“Then come home with me.”

She was shocked to say the least, at least that’s what her eyes said.

“I barely know you.”

“Then get to know me.”

“I’m working.”

“You said it yourself, no one is out in this rainstorm.” He sauntered towards the window and flipped the sign around and locked the door. “And anyways, it seems you’re closed.” She studied him closely, and he was acutely aware that she was still holding his hand. Finally, she nodded and for the first time in ten months his heart jolted with joy. He spun her around the bar and caught her in his arms. “Ready?”

“For what?” she began to ask but they were already gone, whipping through the air as he apparated them to the small flat.

She was laughing when they landed, clutching her stomach as she tried to catch her breath.

“My god, that was exhilarating,” she gasped. She was still holding his hand, tighter than ever. He watched her as she looked around and cursed himself for not keeping the place cleaner. “I like your place.” He was sure she was lying; it was so dull and lifeless it was almost a prison cell. The counters were dirty, and the trashcan was overflowing. “It could use a little color, but maybe that’s the beauty of it. I can never decide how to decorate so I’m constantly having to remodel, this way I can just close my eyes and imagine the walls orange.”

“Orange?”

“Or maybe a soft teal, I don’t know, it depends on my mood.” He caught him smiling again for the second time on the day he woke up feeling like death. She was like a ball of sunshine and she was standing in the little place he called home. For the first time since he had been born, he found himself wishing his home was bigger. Even when he was a kid he had never cared, but now that there was someone he was dying to impress he wished he owned the minster’s mansion.

“It’s not much…”

“It’s lovely.” Color tinged his cheeks and now it was his turn to busy himself in the kitchen.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, yes, why thank you,” she said as she glanced out the window, “What part of town are we in?”

“Just on the edge of Diagon Alley.”

“Oh really! I’ve always wanted to come; I’ve heard it’s absolutely beautiful. Wow, a real wizard town. Is it true what they say about Hogsmeade?”

“It depends on what they say,” he chuckled, bathing in her excitement. It was a welcome tone, something he had not felt since months before the end of the world.

“That it’s absolutely picturesque. Someone showed me a post card once, and I called her a liar, told her nothing but a painting could be that beautiful, but she assured me it was all true.”

“She wasn’t lying, if you want, I’ll take you sometime.”

“Wow, not even a first date and you’re already promising to whisk me off to some beautiful village in the countryside.” He blushed when he realized what he had said, abashed that this woman had gotten into his head so quickly. He had never been so infatuated with anything. He turned quickly, spilling hot tea over the side of his hand, but he barely even noticed. Her eyes were big and blue as she stared at him, cheeks pink and lips parted. “George…” she began but the teacups hadn’t even hit the ground when he was taking her into his arms and kissing her as softly as his feelings would allow.

She tasted like Christmas. Cinnamon from the firewhiskey and butterscotch from the beer tainted her lips like frosting on cake he had only eaten in a distant memory. He wanted to throw her to his bed and devour her, experience every inch she would allow him, but her tentative fingers stopped him. He was stranger who had apparated her to his flat in a place she did not know, and now he was doing everything in his power to ravish her like the goddess she appeared to be.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling away as far as he dared. He was not sure he would ever be able to be far from her again, not when he knew how wonderful she was. She stepped forward, still hesitant, and cupped his cheek in her hand.

“No, don’t be. That was brilliant.”

“Then would you mind if I did it again?” She laughed and leapt into his arms, pressing her lips against his. He had never understood people comparing others to home, but as he wrapped his arms around her and he felt her fingers unbuttoning his shirt as fast as she could manage. His hands dropped to the hem of her shirt, prepared to pull it off and admire her entirety but she jerked back. He stopped immediately, pulling away as he searched her face for what he had done wrong. She wasn’t looking at him again, eyes crossed over her chest as she shuffled her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled and he shook his head, taking her cheek in his hand.

“Don’t be. Tell me what you want. If it’s nothing then we’ll do nothing,” he whispered and with tentative fingers she brushed the place where is ear had once been. He wanted to pull away, but he didn’t dare, not when she looked like she was going to break.

“Very few survived your war without scars, even us muggles.” She pulled her hand away and took a deep breath before pulling her shirt over her head. He watched it hit the ground before trailing his gaze over her skin. She hadn’t lied. Scars were etched across skin that had once been soft. They were harsh and angry, still red after what he had assumed was months of healing. Silence crept into the room as he stared, anger coursing through his veins as he imagined the kind of pain that had caused these scars. “Say something,” she whispered, words catching in her throat.

“If I ever find who did this to you, I will not hesitate to kill them,” he growled and she let out a short laugh. “I’m not kidding.” She leaned up and kissed him softly, gratitude laced in every touch. He pulled her closer, fingers trailing the scars that plagued her. They tipped into his bed with unexpected grace, laughing between kisses. Quick fingers undid his pants and he followed suit, exposing soft skin raked with more scars. She didn’t pull away anymore, in fact he was sure she was trying to get closer than possible. Her legs pressed against his hips as her fingers explored every inch of skin. He flipped them over, admiring her against the bedsheets, blonde hair spread out like a halo. He leaned down and kissed her softly as she giggled against his lips.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered before he could stop himself and with all seriousness she nodded.

“Not in a thousand years.”

#george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley #george weasley smut #george weasley fluff #george weasley angst #george weasley x reader smut #george weasley x reader angst #george weasley x reader fluff #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x reader fanfiction #end of the tunnel

[writingsbychlo]

put her together again (03)

word count; 6472

summary; after you’re making steady progress, mitch takes you on a trip to jog your memory, and you have quite the reaction to it.

notes; this is a really emotionally intense chapter, so take it easy. I cried while writing it AND while proof reading it.

wrnings; mentions of gore, murder, underage drinking, child abduction, breaking and entering, abuse, criminal activity, and child abuse.

The name revelation had been a snowball, one that had continued to roll and tumble until it had become a crushing avalanche of success and progress within your mind and personality.

You were making big and little breakthroughs within yourself, sometimes it was a sudden realisation about what your favourite colour was, and sometimes it was bigger. Sometimes memories came filtering through - good and bad - and he’d come to learn the tells of what each one consisted of. You’d taken to writing them down or drawing them, your doodle pad becoming more like a journal now, and you shared more with him. On the happier days when the memories you were able to now recognise as ‘good’ came through, memories of times on assignments when you’d soak up the sun, or a butterfly would land on your arm, you would tell him all about them, describing in in vivid detail as you relived every moment with him, and made sure to give so much detail he felt like he was sitting there himself.

Sometimes, on the days when something came to the surface that now made you shiver, it would have a different effect. Those were the quieter days, the days when he’d make you a hot cup of tea and give you a tablet for something herbal to soothe your anxiety, and would choose to sit beside you on the couch instead of working in his office, reading a book as he waited for you to be ready to talk about it. Sometimes, those days took a physical toll on you, you wouldn't eat or move, and there had been multiple times when he’d had to hold your hair back as your body was racked from head to toe as you emptied your stomach into the toilet bowl while shock and horror washed over to you.

The progress you were making was incredible, but not all the emotions you were finally tapping into were something to be celebrated, it was just something that had to be done.

The cold and emotionless version of you was something that was rapidly slipping away, and he could barely even compare you to the person you’d been when he’d first taken you in so many months ago. The way your face had been permanently stoic and lifeless was something he could barely picture now, you were never without some kind of expression, a lot of which made him laugh, or made his own chest blossom with warmth when you did. It was hard not to, watching you come into yourself, your smile was contagious, enough to light up the room when you’d knock on the office door with a wide grin and another story to tell him, or a joke you’d read in a book that you wanted or share, and the way he’d have to suppress his laughter as he watched your face change when you read.

You weren’t even aware you did it, your face flicking between joy, despair, judgement, horror, shock, with every word you read, letting yourself get immersed in the words that created a new world for you, and sometimes it was enough to distract him from his own work, simply to watch you.

In the first few weeks after you’d realised what your name was, he’d caught you mumbling it to yourself as you went around, written on the back of your hand, or on every page of your notebook as you tried to familiarise yourself with it. You did your best, and he felt like his heart had both broken and been strengthened as he found the open page of your name written, scribbled and scrawled in different handwritings, colours and types of writing tool as you tried to work out how you best associated with your own name.

You spoke it on a loop and left it written everywhere you could as you began to grow more comfortable with it, but after a month had passed, you had seemed to begin to find a connection within it. He did everything he could to help, making sure to say your name to you as much as he could, to reinforce it in your mind, and he had felt himself light up like the fourth of July the first time you’d said his name too.

You had said it so simply, a false argument that two of you had been having about a book you’d read and whether or not you agreed with the choices taken, and after you’d made a valid point, he’d used his foot to nudge the book out of your hand from where he sat at the opposite end of the couch, stretched out across it. You’d chastised him by using his name, laughing under your breath as you found the item under the coffee table and flicked through it to find the page, having not marked it before losing it at his shove.

Sometimes, you still messed up, when you were particularly tired or you’d had a nightmare, you’d slipped back into accidentally referring to yourself as unit eight in the mornings, a somber feeling following you around for hours until you snapped out of it, often with his help, when you watched a movie and had a hot drink to soothe you, or listened to the music he’d begun to introduce you to.

It was a long road, one that the pair of you were struggling with together, and every day you seemed to be gaining miles, faster and faster. What had once been like a dam - tightly locked and making sure to allow only enough in and out to hold strong and survive - was now beginning to crack. Water was dripping through, little by little as the break widened and pebbles fell away, and as each little piece fell away from the barrier it was expanding more and more, gaining ground faster with each progression. One day it would burst entirely, there would be nothing left to hold you back, because the concrete would crumble away to let everything beautiful within you that was locked up so tight be allowed to roam free, instead.

Upon coming into yourself, though, had brought several troubles for him. The first of which was your curiosity, he no longer had to guide you in finding hobbies and telling you what to do, but instead, you were all but bouncing off of the walls while locked inside, desperate to get around to your weekly walks at night when there were fewer people on the streets and less of a risk to you, and so they had become more and more frequent, the two of you venturing out almost every other night, now.

With your arm linked through his as you strolled along, wrapped up in one of his coats that was too big for you and some sweats, he was certain that the two of you had walked every possible route around the neighbour over fifty times now, and that had led him to another issue. You wanted to explore, you wanted more, the searching on the laptop did no good, because you’d seen so many aspects of the world on the job, so much more than he had even, but you’d never experienced it.

You wanted to see the world, but you weren’t ready to be a part of it yet.

You were a killer, a trained mercenary, you knew more languages than he did, and you could use a spoon to kill him in more ways than he could kill someone with a gun, you knew the entire periodic chart by heart and you could do a backflip on the spot - something which the two of you had spent upwards of a week trying to teach him how to do, and failing. He couldn't contain the overwhelming sense of pity he had for you, though, because while you were such an incredible person with limitless talents and skills, you had absolutely no idea how to do basic things like set off a dishwasher or put through a load of laundry.

On a day when he’d been trying to assess your skills, you’d taken him down ten times in a row at sparring without even breaking a sweat, but he’d found you crying in the laundry room as you tried to figure out what all the buttons and symbols meant, and so his latest hobby had been teaching you the things that mother’s taught their kids from youth.

His investigation into your past hadn't ceased either, he would work with every fragment of memory you gave him and every tiny detail he could pick up from a story you told him, never wanting to push and risk upsetting you, or having you close back in on yourself.

You were becoming a seamless part of his life, taking you to the store and watching you sniff at shampoos and laundry detergents, or debate the health benefits of certain vegetables over others was something that he was too quickly becoming used to, and wandering around the library and holding your stacks of books for you while you chose a new week’s worth of reading was beginning to become the highlight of his Saturday nights.

The domesticity of it all was overwhelming, never in his life had he held this kind of life in the palm of his hands, a happy little setting that was nothing but serenity and peace when he was home. The old him used to go to pubs and bars, Katrina in a cute little dress on his arm as he wore tight skinny jeans and spent more money on drinks at clubs and hockey games than he did on rent. Half of his existence was hangovers and headaches, from booze or college textbooks, and he was looking a long and dull but successful office career in the eye, his sporting being something he’d keep up as a hobby until work hours got longer and he got that promotion that ‘everybody wanted’ and ‘it was a real honour, everyone was fighting for it’ and so he’d spend more time behind his desk instead of at home, gain a little weight, fuck his secretary when Katrina started to make eyes at the gardener instead, because he was still young and hot.

It was someone he wasn’t, he’d never seen himself before this as being the guy who was happy to read books quietly with his girl when her feet were in his lap or toes poking at his thigh like you did on a bold day, or cook recipes from a book you’d picked up as one of this week’s editions, the two of you trialing different meals from all over the world, because you couldn’t actually go there to get them.

With the more expanding into society you’d done, the more he’d invested in you, no longer being able to wrap you up in his own clothes as much, especially not with the looks the two of you received when you were in public places, and so he was left to buy you clothes. He didn’t know much, likes sizes or measurements, but he tried his best, and so with heated cheeks and a scowl, he’d pushed some bags into your hands after returning home from a midday excursion.

Leggings, sports bras, simple cotton panties, and a fair amount of pyjamas, because those were your favourites. He went for the basics, leaving you to roam around in his hoodies and shirts, but it was an improvement, to say the least, making you look a little less like you were still a project, and more like you were finding your place in a society you didn’t understand and had never been a part of. You’d managed to dig up a packet of hair elastics he’d had from his time when he had longer hair and couldn’t be bothered to cut it, and so you’d begun to style it like you read in books or saw in movies, ponytails and braids and buns.

Slowly but surely, everything about you was becoming less robotic and more unique, and he was simply along to watch you bloom like a flower in the sun, now.

“Do you want to go out somewhere today?”

“Somewhere like the library? Because we only went a few days ago, and we still have lots of food in the fridge.” You glanced up at him as he leant on the door for the kitchen, and Mitch couldn't help the grin that took over his face as you looked at him curiously, twirling a pencil between your fingers in patterns that confused him and yet you seemingly didn’t even know you were doing it, and the wondering as to whether you could do that with something like a knife flitted across his mind, but he shook it free. “Anyway, it’s only eight minutes past two, it won’t be dark for at least five hours yet.”

“I was thinking we could switch up the routine today.” You raised your brows at him, lips pursed as your eyes flicked over to the paper stuck up on the fridge, and he pushed himself up from the framing to take the seat across from you instead. “You mind that?”

You let out a dramatic sigh, pouting a little as you placed the pencil back into the case before you and zipping it up. “I suppose for you an exception could be made.”

“Wow, don’t I just feel honoured?” He grinned, watching as you giggled a little bit, before pushing your chair out, excitement taking over as you came to stand beside him, rolling on the balls of your feet a little bit. 

“We’re going out now? During the day?”

“Yes we are.”

What was almost a squeal left your lips as you nodded your head, hands clenching and unclenching from fists as your gaze faded away from his. “I’m gonna’ wear the black jeans!”

You were gone from his view before he could say anything else, dashing away towards your room and clicking the door shut as you left in a whirlwind of coloured pencils and fluffy socks that you’d dug out of his drawer, and he scooped up all the papers to tidy them away, placing the glass you’d been drinking from into the sink and getting rid of them.

He had been researching, using every bit of information that he’d heard from you to build a case, trying to find out who you were to try and help you expand on the life you’d lost, everything that you’d forgotten or been forced to suppress. How many girls at about age three could go missing with your name, from a state he was certain he’d hear you mumble in your sleep, from a house that matched all the pictures you drew?

Three-hundred and twenty-two. That’s how many. 

But only eighteen of them had been cases that were still open or never solved, and only one of them had the mysterious circumstances that would match you, and was exactly what he was looking for. He was confident in the decision, in his own sleuthing, and so the decision he had been pulling over for the past few days on whether or not it was actually a good decision, had taken over this morning. It was like a band-aid, it just had to be ripped off, but it was a lead on who you were supposed to be, not who they forced you to be, so he was willing to take it.

Luckily for him, and you, by some kind of blessing, it wasn’t actually that far away, only one state over, a few hours driving at the max, and so like some kind of emotional therapy or purge, you’d be able to go to the place you once lived, and find a piece of yourself. If his detective work had been accurate, that was.

It hadn't taken you long to change. You were flying out of the room excitedly while pulling up your hair to secure it back as your laces were still undone, waiting eagerly as he put on his own shoes and jacket, taking a little longer to pat down his pockets and find his keys just to tease you, as you hovered in the doorway, anticipating the journey out into broad daylight that you’d be venturing into. Everything seemed different to you in the daylight, he could tell, from the was you took anxious steps, buzzing slightly as the two of you chose to take the stairs instead, avoiding the security camera and the busy people shifting from different floors in the elevator, still trying to keep you as safe and secreted as possible. 

He’d parked the car close to the building on the last journey, and so it was barely a walk to get to it, blacked out windows hiding your identity much better now that you were venturing out into the light. He had already programmed the location into the SatNav in his car, only a few hours away to be taken to, and you settled into the seat, reading the back of the latest CD he had, and mumbling about getting a burger on the way there if it was far away, before the journey was beginning, and Mitch was doing his best to push down his anxiety.

The house was still just as it had been left, a little unkempt and the garden overgrown, the cobblestones leading up to the front door had become unstable with some missing and some just out of place. The weeds had taken over, mud and grass with thistles that had overruled it all, everything trampled down by kids who had wandered over the area. One of the windows had broken and there was graffiti along the walls, the front door kicked in and there were marks around the frame where repairs had been made, new locks and wood being put on, but it had only continued to happen. 

It had never been repurchased, it was a little town that the two of you had pulled up in, and you’d gone silent from all the chattering you’d done on the way over as you stared up at the building, unaware of the neighbours eyes peering on at the two of you as you sat in the large sleek vehicle. Rumours had spread quickly, he’d barely had to dig into your history before articles and news about your family were popping up, rumours about the things your parents had been involved in before tragedy had struck and the littlest member of the family had gone missing, a cold case that was never solved. 

Beer cans and burnt ashes were in the garden, but there was no movement inside currently, and so releasing the lip from between his teeth from where he’d been nibbling, Mitch rounded the car, opening the door for you and giving you the most reassuring smile he could as your gaze left the house to find his, and you stepped out of the car to stand beside him. You didn’t question him, or yell at him, but you lingered by his side, your shoulder brushing his for comfort as you shoved your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie, and followed him up the pathway when he took the first step. 

You paused by his side halfway up the garden, looking around anxiously, and that same blank look that he hadn't seen for months was back, and suddenly, the weight of the moment came crashing down onto him as he realised the weight of the mistake he must’ve made. The panic that he’d triggered something bad within you was crushing, that you might close back in on yourself and freak out, that this act may have been your entire undoing. 

Then, he was able to process the look on your face. It was recognition. You knew where you were, you knew what it was you were looking at. The blank look wasn’t you closing in on yourself, it was you protecting yourself, and he closed the distance between you both with a few quick strides, tipping your chin up towards him before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder and squeezing, fixing you with a look of questioning and security as he waited to know whatever you were okay. 

“I think I used to have a pink bicycle.” You looked over his shoulder, glancing along the broken pathway as you traced your gaze across the garden. “It had training wheels that lit up in all different colours.”

He could see it now, the fear in your eyes, and it was an emotion he'd never seen on you before. You were scared, but the cogs were turning in your head as the final part of you clicked into place, finding your roots and being reunited with your home, a shaky breath leaving you, before your eyes were searching to catch his own once again, and you gave him a weak smile, but he was sure it was the strongest you’d been able to muster. 

“Can we go inside?”

“Are you sure you can handle that?” 

You hesitated in giving him your answer, but there was determination washing over the fear, and you nodded, pursed lips and slightly trembling shoulders, but he could tell you were absolutely adamant in your decision. You were moving before he was, taking quick and steady steps up the front porch, and lingering by the front door, waiting for him to catch up, peering through the glass and past the ripped and yellowing fabric, that was covering the slip of glass, only an outline of the interior revealed to you. 

A simple nudge of his foot was enough for the door to swing open, the wood creaking under the strain on its hinges as it wobbled a little, scraping the wood flooring in motions that were clearly ingrained from a lot of breaking and entering. He lingered back, letting you take the first step, and it was like walking into a piece of your history, he didn’t want to invade, so he gave you your time to observe the place. 

It was a little torn up, massacred from the graffiti and break-ins, smashed glass and covered with damp and mold, peeling wallpaper that had yellowed and snapped or broken furniture. There were burns on the walls and floors from where kids had come in to smoke and set fires, broken bottles and crushed beer cans, litter and lost belongings, but it was still the place that used to be your home. 

The first room was the living room, couches that were torn, flat cushions with rusted springs and missing stuffing, but the faded pattern was almost still visible. There was a clear place where a television had once been, almost everything of value having been stripped from the room, and other furniture rearranged to make places for youths to sit around and talk, but it was enough for you to be able to put the jigsaw puzzle pieces together. You wandered around, running your fingers lightly over everything, and moving onto the dining room. You’d dragged the chairs back through, arranging them around the chipping and wobbly oakwood table, and adjusting the photo frames on the walls, even though the glass had shattered. 

The kitchen was a mess, broken cupboard doors and a leaky tap, the backdoor completely kicked in and the panels on the back porch broken, but you didn’t seem to care, a small smile flickering on your face as you crouched down, peering into the oven, despite the fact that you couldn't see through the glass of the door. “I think my mother used to bake cookies.”

“Yeah?”

You glanced at him, hands on your knees to push yourself up from your crouching position as you nodded your head. “Yeah. I just got the overwhelming urge to eat cookies when I walked in here.”

“Well, it won’t be the same, but when we go home, we’ll swing by the store and try and whip some up, if you’d like?” Your shoulder bumped against his as you walked through the room, before looking back, offering him a soft nod, and making your way across to the staircase, leaving him to follow you. 

“I would like that.” 

His offer was seemingly well accepted, and he was happy to have made a suggestion that was something positive for you. The stairs groaned and squealed under each step he took, and for a second the worry that the wood may actually give way underneath you both passed his mind as he felt each plank tremble under your weight, the disarray of the house entirely different to the upstairs.

The upper half of the house was more well-kept than the lower half. Less graffiti and broken furniture, it seemed far more well preserved, and Mitch would be willing to bet good money that kids just weren’t bold enough to try and climb stairs that screamed out in fits of protest at the first simple steps to be placed upon them. It brought a different mood, too. The downstairs was cheery for you, filled with sweet memories and happy times, thanksgivings at the dining table and christmas’ by the fireplace in the living room, but the upstairs was different. The first real room that you’d come across was that of the younger version of yourself, pink walls, pink furniture, everything must’ve once been bright and covered in glitter, and it seemed perfectly reasonable for a three-year-old girl’s room. 

Children’s toys still covered the floor, a tiny bed with a little desk, colouring crayons and old teddies that had become weathered and ugly, slightly torn apart but not entirely disheveled, and Mitch held his breath once again as he waited for your own reaction. There was no smile, or look of fond memories, only that of sadness and shock, his body reaching for you as you jumped and twitched with every eerie squeak of the flooring under your feet or the wind rustling through the open windows of the upstairs. 

It was dark, and unsettling, watching a grown woman relearn the room she’d been ripped from as a child, and something in the back of his throat burned at the thought as he wondered whether this was the last room you’d been in while holding your freedom, before being snatched up and cast into a life of horror and abuse. He watched as you moved around, kneeling down on the floor with an open plastic tub, picking up the toys on the carpet and tidying them away, before putting the glittery crate back where it belonged, the scratched off paint on the side revealing a part of a butterfly with purple wings and blue spots, and he had to look away from it all for a second.

He wanted to ask if you knew that you were tidying, or whether something instinctual had kicked in and taken over when you did so, but he didn’t have the heart to break what you were doing. Once you were satisfied with the straightened sheets and lines of rotten bears and plush toys along the pillow, you were kneeling down, brushing your fingers along the planks of a colourful wooden box, faded paints that had once been a rainbow, and your fingers lingered on the latch, but you didn't open it. For the first time, your lips flicked up at the corners, and you placed your hand flat on the wood, pushing it back into place but continuing to stare at it.

“Bumblebee dress.”

He cursed under his breath, listening to you mumble to yourself about your favourite costumes that lay inside, and he turned away to wipe at a droplet that had strayed from his eyes, blinking back tears on burning eyes as he tried to control himself. You were more composed than he was, but he couldn't help it. In the few months he’d known you, he had grown to care so much, you barely even knew yourself but he felt like he knew you inside and out, and he didn’t want any unhappiness for you. You were like the sun to him, warm and welcoming and loving, every day you became more and more like a star to brighten up the sky, but this was a significant dull moment in your history.

If he hadn't thought it could get any worse, he was severely mistaken. 

At least your childhood bedroom was preserved in its purity, you hadn't been harmed and perhaps you’d put up a struggle - the best struggle a toddler could - but that was not the same story in your parents room, and he felt himself stiffen up beside you at the same time your entire body had turned to one of stone.

It was a mess, the walls were spattered with blood in different angles and torn up yellow tape reading ‘crime scene’ was still hanging from some places on the walls, with white tape on the floors marking stained carpet. There was more of a visible fight put up in here, gunpowder shadows on the walls and furniture that was tipped over. The drywall was littered with dents and holes, and splintered wood still covered the floor. It was haunting, nothing seemed to be disturbed, and he wasn’t surprised, because even small town kids who broke into ‘haunted houses’ for fun had enough respect not to disturb the place a person took their final breath.

“My mother must’ve died here.”

Your voice made his head snap over to you, and he hadn't even noticed that you’d taken a few steps away from him, staring down at the dark mark on the carpet, taped off to avoid it having any disturbance from the people who would have been wandering around while it was still a fresh crime scene and open investigation. He barely had time to process your words, swallowing down the lump in his throat that felt like cotton as everything in his mouth felt dry, watching as you moved away, your shaking voice extending on again;

“This was my father’s side of the bed. I think he died here.”

Everything about being here with you was making the absence of his own parents feel like a raw and fresh wound, his eyes lining with tears once again as all of that pain came rushing back to the surface in his weakened state, and he wondered how you were still holding yourself together so well as you stared down at a bloodstained bed, the covers still pushed back as though he’d simply gotten up for a second to nip downstairs or to the bathroom, before coming back to bed. 

Just as he was thinking about it, your jaw dropped, head snapping up so that your sights could catch his own as your calm demeanour was washed away to be replaced with a horrified look, startled and tensing up as you came to some kind of revelation. “I’ve killed people. I’ve killed people who could have been other little girls’ parents.”

He knew where this was going, a familiar rabbit hole that he’d worked hard to pull himself out of before, his mind feeling slow despite how hard he tried to think about what to say as he watched the pain take over, and he could barely get his feet to move, feeling like he was trying to run through wet cement with every movement. 

“I’m a monster. Just like the ones who killed my parents.”

He couldn't take it, shaking his head as he finally managed to click into place, pushing away his boundaries as you stared at him with tears streaming silently down your cheeks. His hands found your shoulders, smoothing down until he could hold your waist, before pulling your body into his own. It was the most affectionate touch he’d ever given you, and he wasn’t sure if it was welcome, all he knew was that you needed it right now, and so he had no hesitations in tugging you in closer to him, arms wrapped entirely around your body, and your face was pressed into his shoulder, salty tears washing over his skin as you sobbed silently into the crook of his neck.

“I don’t think you’re a monster, it was beyond your control.” He lifted a hand, feeling you shake underneath him, and weaving his fingers into your hair. He detangled the strands delicately, running his fingers through the locks and scratching at your scalp lightly as you remained wrapped up in his arms, his own eyes sliding shut as he rested his cheek against the top of your head. “I think you’re lovely. You’re incredible, sweetheart; you are.”

Your arms came up to hold him back as he spoke, mumbling into your hair to reassure you. Your hands bunched up in his shirt as your legs went weak, a loud cry in distress leaving you as you held onto him, and his knees buckled a little, before he was leaning down. Scooping you up and into his arms carefully, Mitch made the decision for you that this little excursion was over, you didn’t need anything else, you’d had everything from this house that you could possibly get. With tentative footsteps he carried you through the halls and back outside, freeing up one hand to open the car as your trembling body clung to him, seeking comfort and affection to soothe your broken soul. 

Placing you down in the car seat, the whimper you let out when he pulled away was enough to break his heart, but you soon realised your location, fingers unwrapping from his jumper enough to let him round the car, and find his own seat. The drive home was silent, the radio playing softly as you tried to calm yourself down, his hand in yours at every time he could as he smoothed his thumb over your knuckles to ease your pain, and you had snoozed off for almost an hour towards the end, letting him gently wake you as you arrived back at his apartment building. 

Your hand remained locked in his own as you wandered slowly up the stairs, pushing the door open as he twisted the keys, and he didn’t miss the relieved breath you let out as you stepped back into the place you were now calling home. There were no blood splatters and trauma, no bad memories that you’d have to hide from, just the warmth he’d tried to surround you with, and you shook his hand off of your own in order to take off your shoes, before you were collapsing down onto the couch, pulling a cushion to your chest and resting your chin atop it as you pulled up your legs, creating a ball out of yourself as you tried to work through fragmented thoughts.

Wandering to the office, the box that was hidden on the very top of filing cabinet was layered with dust that he brushed off, the label reading clear to him ‘another life’ scrawled in shaky handwriting that he’d completed while swiping thing sinto a box at three in the morning as a desperate bid to clear himself of the lost life. 

He braved it, though, and brought it back through to you, your head twisting to look at him as he carried it out and took a seat beside you, placing it down on the coffee table before you both and taking a deep breath. 

“I want to show you something.”

You didn’t move, just nodded, and he lifted off the top, a musty smell coming out as a pain burned in the back of his throat once again. The first items up before you both were his medals and certificates, sporting achievements that he showed you and explained each one to you, accolades from both college and highschool, things that had made him who  he used to be. Next up was a photo album, and he was shaking a little as he held it out to you, flicking through the pages and pointing out family memoirs to you, water splashing on the plastic when his parents stopped showing up. 

You had moved across the cushions a little closer to him, your arm pressing to his as you looked on with interest, and his heart felt like it was rebreaking when the pictures of a fresh-faced college kid with a beautiful blonde on his arm came into view, and the pain and longing for the simple life of who he used to be was enough to make him feel as though he couldn't breathe.  

“When Katrina died, I was so overcome with rage and jealousy. I hurt a lot of people, and I was ready to just slaughter hundreds until I got my revenge, before the CIA found me. I’m a monster, too.”

He let out a weak sound, trying to clear his throat to cover it as he left the book discarded on the table, and you shook your head, letting out a disapproving noise that prompted him to look up at you. “You’re not a monster. “You saved me.”

Your arms circled around him, holding him just as tightly, mumbling the same words into his hair that he’d used to try and placate you only hours prior, to calm you own when you’d bene in his position only a few hours ago, a cracked and watery laugh leaving him when you squeezed him in tightly, letting him rest his face in your neck as he held onto you just as tightly in return. You had made a breakthrough of earthshaking sizes today, and while it make him sad, to know that he had nothing else to offer you, that he'd made you into someone who could go out into the world as a real person now, and that he'd have to report your progress to his superiors, he didn’t have to do it tonight. 

He was more than willing to be selfish for the rest of the evening, shifting you to pull you to sit across him as your fingers weaved through his hair, holding one another in silence as the weight of the day threatened to crush you if you didn’t bear it together. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Yeah.” His breath washed over your skin and back into his face, warm and suffocating, but he liked having someone to hold so close again, to have even a snippet of emotional comfort once again, and not having to carry everything on his own, for the first time in a long, long time. “You choose us a film, and I’ll order us a whole bunch of takeout.”

#mitchtober #mitch-tober #mitch month #put her together again #PHTA #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp/reader #mitch rapp #dylan obrien mitch rapp #dylan obrien #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien american assassin #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader

[littlemisswolfie]

nothing is so loveless as the break of day

AO3

Cold dawn A waning moon With no companion— Since our parting, nothing is so loveless As the break of day.

—Mibu no Tadamine

 Haiji wakes up on his first morning in his new apartment and decides it’s too quiet.

Getting a team of almost complete rookies to the Hakone Ekiden in less than a year is an accomplishment. It’s noteworthy. While Haiji hadn’t been thinking of his future prospects in his last year of college (he just wanted to run), the fact is, what he did should have been impossible, as Kakeru said. Over and over and over. 

This, as it turns out, makes him very employable, and somewhere in between his emergency surgery and his final exams and his packing, he gets a job offer to be an assistant coach for a corporate team. He doesn’t really have anything else going for him, so he takes it, and he, Yuki, and King all graduate from Kansei to the cheers of their teammates. 

Haiji’s heart is heavy as he steps out of Aotake for the last time as a resident. He knows the team is in good hands, with Kakeru being unanimously voted to succeed him in captainship and several incoming freshman eager to be part of the team that seeded in their first year at Hakone, but it’s bittersweet. He got one year. One year. One year out of four. 

“Call me if you need anything,” he tells Kakeru.

*

Kakeru doesn’t call. 

*

“Hey, Kiyose-san!”

Haiji startles, looking up from his training journal to face one of the runners he’s been charged with inducting to the world of professional running. Tamura Shou, his mind supplies. He’s a bit older than Haiji, with dark hair and brown eyes. “Tamura-san,” he greets, closing his notebook to hide his notes. He knows from experience (from Kakeru) that runners seeing their own stats isn’t always the best idea. “Did you need anything?” The group Haiji is in charge of is taking a break right now so another group can run time trials, so he doesn’t see the harm in a little bit of conversation.

“Well,” Tamura says, looking a little sheepish all of a sudden, “Yoshioka and I have a bet running, and I wanted to ask you straight out, so, do you have a girlfriend, or something?”

(“By the way… Kakeru, do you have a girlfriend?”)

“What.”

Tamura flushes. “F-forget it!” He blusters off to a cluster of other runners.

Haiji blinks, a little stunned. What would have made him think Haiji had a girlfriend?

*

Cooking for one is hard. Haiji always makes too much.

*

He still talks to Yuki and King, sometimes. Yuki’s trailblazing his way through both the legal track and several women’s beds and is always eager to talk about each conquest. Haiji enjoys his career talk and tolerates his womanizing talk. King finally found work as a guidance counselor at a nearby middle school, and he’s the faculty supervisor for their men’s track and field team. Haiji never lets him forget how reluctant he was to start running in the first place.

The three of them meet up for drinks every once in a while. Haiji considers proposing inviting the older members of their old track team, but decides against it. Seeing them feels sad, like trying to relive that last glorious year of college would be betraying his friends.

“Haiji, King,” Yuki slurs one night after a few too many drinks, “you need to get girlfriends already.”

King blushes. “Shut it! I’m busy enough as it is without a woman getting in my way!”

Haiji sighs. First Tamura-san, and now this. What is it with the world prying into his romantic life? “I’m content,” he tells Yuki. “I already got everything I could ever want. What else can I ask for?”

*

He almost goes to a track meet to see if Kansei is there. He decides against it.

*

His team goes away for a training camp. Haiji can get around pretty well with his crutches by now, so he goes with them.

Okinawa is beautiful in the summer. Haiji leans out the window of the van his group takes and watches the passerby, the teenagers on their skateboards and the families walking together. He remembers how much the twins wanted to come here last summer. (He wonders where Kansei went this year, if they went anywhere at all.)

Watching the runners run is always hard. He wants to run with them, feel the wind in his hair, use his muscles that have become lax in the months since Hakone, hear his heart thunder in his ears. Wants to see if that white line that was always under Kakeru’s feet is anywhere else.

(He doubts it.)

He helps cook the meals for the team, like he used to for Kansei, but it feels wrong to cook with someone other than Kakeru next to him. He’d only had company in the kitchen for a year, but he grew used to it, and cooking without Kakeru is foreign.

He wonders if Kakeru cooks with anyone new at Aotake. He wonders why the thought makes his stomach twist up in knots.

*

He doesn’t visit his parents very often. What would they even have to talk about, other than running?

*

He’s off his crutches by then, but he still doesn’t get to go watch the Ekiden in person. Training starts that day, after all, and he’s too new to be able to beg off to watch his former team compete in a relay race. Instead, he watches the highlights when he gets back to his lonely apartment both nights.

Not everyone from last year is running the race. Prince, Jota, and Nico-chan-senpai all act as supports rather than runners, but they’re wearing their track suits, so Haiji knows they’re still on the team. He’s surprised at Nico-chan-senpai not running. It’s his last year.

The team is strong, much stronger than when Haiji was captain. He knows that’s because of their success last year. If they hadn’t made it to the Ekiden already, their team would be pretty much unknown. But the sight of all these strong runners working together with his friends makes something ugly bubble up in Haiji’s chest. He wants to be there with them. He wants to be running that race.

Kakeru beats the section nine record again. Haiji watches him hand the sash off to the last runner, some first-year, and remembers when that was him.

Kansei finishes eighth. 

Kakeru doesn’t call him.

*

After their graduation, Shindo and Nico-chan-senpai join their nights out. Shindo’s working as a business analyst for the corporation sponsoring Haiji’s team, so they see each other more frequently than the others already, and Nico-chan-senpai is still doing his freelance programming.

“Whoa,” Yuki says the first time they meet up, “you cut your hair!” His fingers brush Nico-chan-senpai’s newly-short hair almost reverently. “You almost look like a functional person!”

“Thanks, I really missed this,” Nico-chan-senpai snarks, but his eyes are unbearably soft.

The conversational inevitably turns to Kansei. “It’s so strange,” Shindo muses one night, before he gets too drunk. “I got so used to it just being the ten of us that working with all those new people was weird.”

“They just kept hangin’ around Aotake, too,” Nico-chan-senpai grumbles. “As if the twins weren’t loud enough already.”

Shindo groans. “And they’re even worse now that Hana-chan’s at Kansei. They have some sort of pact to not pursue her until they graduate, but they’re so moony. Musa and I were never like that.”

What?

Haiji’s glad he’s not the only one confused by this statement. A quick glance around their table tells him the rest of his former teammates look just as shocked. Well, except for Nico-chan-senpai, who just nods in agreement, like this is a reasonable thing for Shindo to be saying. “Uh, Shindo?” he says. “What are you talking about?”

Shindo looks at them like they’re all stupid. “Uh, me and Musa? We’ve been dating since last year’s Ekiden?”

“HAH?!” Yuki slams his hands on the table, jostling everyone’s beer. 

“Wasn’t it obvious?” Shido’s neck is red, now, and not thanks to the alcohol for once. “It’s not like we were trying to hide it or anything!”

“I-I thought you were straight, though!” King says, flushing red under his tanned skin. “You had a girlfriend!”

“Bisexuality exists, you know,” Nico-chan-senpai drawls. Haiji doesn’t miss how his eyes flicker over to Yuki as he says this, or how Yuki stares straight at Shindo, ears red. Huh.

*

“Kakeru misses you,” Shindo says to him after the others leave for the night (or early morning, whichever is more accurate). “You should give him a call, sometime.”

“He could also call me,” Haiji points out.

What good could I ever do to him? he wonders silently. I can’t even run anymore.

*

The revelation of Shindo and Musa’s relationship is one Haiji can’t help but dwell on. Looking back on it, he realizes the signs were there. They were always close, after all, and Musa ended up dragging a drunk Shindo back to his room on more than one occasion. It was weird to see one of them without the other close behind. 

So, he thinks, maybe this was inevitable.

He imagines their relationship, sometimes, when he’s alone, lying in bed in his too-empty apartment. They’re probably easy. Comfortable. They don’t have to fill a silence. They’re content to just be with each other.

He wonders if Kakeru has anyone like that.

He hopes not. Does that make him a bad person?

*

Now that he knows about Shindo and Musa, Haiji can’t help but wonder if any of his other former teammates are like them, so he does what he does best: he watches.

It only takes a few more guys’ nights out to notice how Nico-chan-senpai keeps looking at Yuki. He only does it when he thinks no one is looking, but his eyes are soft, affectionate, loving in a way that makes Haiji ache. Has anyone ever looked at him like that? Like he hung the stars in the sky? Like he’s the answer to everything?

“Why haven’t you said anything?” he asks Nico-chan-senpai when Yuki heads back to the bar to hit on a girl. Shindo and King are talking loudly to each other about their respective jobs, both already three sheets to the wind, so Haiji’s not concerned with either of them overhearing. 

Nico-chan-senpai doesn’t pretend to not know what he’s talking about. “I’m content with how things are,” he says, looking wistful. “I’d rather have his friendship and pine than risk losing him over a confession.”

Haiji nods, even if he doesn’t really understand. Then, a little quieter, he asks, “How many of the original team do you think are…?”

“Queer?” Nico-chan-senpai supplies. Haij flushes. “Well, Shindo and Musa for sure, and me, obviously. I have my suspicions about Kakeru, but I’m not sure.”

Haiji feels his world stutter to a stop. Kakeru?

*

He can’t stop imagining it, now. Has Kakeru ever kissed another boy? Did he sneak around with his classmates in high school? Is Kakeru with a boy right now, in his room at Aotake?

Haiji hates the thought. 

He pulls up his phone browser and types in “what does it mean if i get mad at the thought of my friend with a guy” and deletes it. He already knows the answer.

*

He throws himself into his coaching to try and distract himself from his new intrusive thought. His runners aren’t thrilled with his newfound enthusiasm, but it gets results, so none of them can really be mad about it. 

“What, did you get dumped, or something?” Tamura jokes.

“Five more laps!” Haiji tells him with a cheerful smile.

*

When Hakone rolls around this year, Haiji watches the replay of Kakeru beating his own record once again, and Kasei takes fourth place. After, Haiji pulls up Kakeru’s contact information and stares at the call button for a good minute.

He decides not to call.

*

The first time Musa and Prince join them after their graduation, Shindo downs five beers in ten minutes and spends the rest of the night in Musa’s lap. Musa (who has a goatee, now, and it suits him pretty well) manages a surprisingly normal conversation around his clingy boyfriend, and that’s how Haiji learns he’s staying in Tokyo for grad school.

“Visas are complicated,” he says. “Until the laws change and Takashi and I can get married, the only way I can stay here for now is as a student.”

Musa calls Shindo by his first name. Haiji’s not sure what to make of that.

Prince got a job as a shonen manga editor. “I’m not going to be working on any major projects for a while,” he grumbles. “What’s the point of editing manga if you don’t get to touch the big ones?”

“Hey,” Haiji soothes, “at least you get to work with manga! And who knows, maybe you’ll be tasked with a sleeper hit!”

“That’s what my girlfriend keeps telling me,” Prince groans.

Yuki almost drops his glass. “Girlfriend?”

King whirls around and grabs Prince by the collar. “I can’t believe you got a girlfriend before me!”

Nico-chan-senpai makes a considering noise. “That’s three of us with actual partners, huh? Shindo and Musa, and Prince.”

Musa laughs. “Four, soon, if the twins have their way!”

“I thought they were waiting until they graduated to ask Hana-chan out,” Haiji says.

“No, no, they are. They’re trying to set Kakeru up with a guy they met at this year’s Ekiden.”

Haiji’s blood roars in his ears.

“Oh, that guy from Rikudo?” Prince asks. “What was his name? Miyamura?”

“Miyamoto,” Musa corrects. “Miyamoto Jurou. They went against each other in Section 9. Jota saw him checking Kakeru out and decided they should get together.”

“I swear to god,” Yuki grits out, “if Kakeru loses his virginity before I get a steady girlfriend, I’m going to murder someone.”

So will Haiji, he thinks. 

*

Nico-chan-senpai pulls him aside as everyone else leaves the bar. “I saw that look earlier,” he says. “What’s got you so upset about Kakeru?”

Haiji really doesn’t want to talk about this, so he says, “I’ll tell you if you promise to ask Yuki out by our next guys’ night.”

And so the subject is dropped.

*

He goes home that night and looks up Miyamoto Jurou. He’s a third year at Rikudo, studying literature, and he’s tall and good looking, and he gave Kakeru a run for his money at this year’s Ekiden.

And he can run.

*

In what feels like a breach of their semi-distanced guys’ nights, Haiji finds himself at Shindo and Musa’s tiny apartment a few weeks later for a housewarming party.

It’s been Shindo’s apartment for a year now, but with Musa moving in, it feels kind of like a home. The decor is a healthy mix of Shindo’s country sensibilities and Musa’s colorful Tanzanian culture, and the two young men seem so at ease in this space they’ve made with each other that Haiji kind of wants to cry. 

More than anything (okay, maybe not more than running) he misses this. He misses living with someone else. He misses the noise and the companionship. Every morning, he wakes up to his empty apartment and he feels lonely.

He’s so caught up in this feeling that he misses Kakeru, Jota, Joji, and Hana-chan arriving until he hears something hit the floor. His head whips around and he sees Kakeru standing in the doorway, mouth slightly open in shock and a convenience store bag filled with what looks like plastic bottles of green tea at his feet. Haiji feels his heart stop.

Because Kakeru is gorgeous. He’s always been good looking, Haiji knows, but that was a lot easier to deal with when he saw Kakeru on a daily basis. Now, it’s been a little over two years since the last time he saw him, and he’s wholly unprepared. 

But everyone is looking at him, now, and he knows Kakeru kind of hates being the center of attention and that’s what’s going to happen if he keeps staring at him like an idiot, so he forces his face into a smile and waves. “Hi, Kakeru. Long time, no see.”

*

Things are more than a little tense, even if everyone pretends the atmosphere is normal. No matter where Haiji goes in the tiny apartment, he can feel Kakeru’s eyes on him, burning a hole in his skin. 

He tries to make the most of the party. He catches up with the twins and Hana-chan, who have all fallen into leadership roles as the years went on with ease. Now that Hana-chan is a Kansei student herself, she can help them full-time, which has, apparently, been very helpful. “Plus,” Joji whispers to him, already drunk, “having a cute manager is a huge morale boost!”

Jota and Joji are sort of like sub-captains, from what Haiji gathers. Kakeru is the main authority on all things running, but Jota and Joji, who specialize in sprinting and long-distance running respectively, have been overseeing those aspects of the team’s practice. “We have almost twenty guys now,” Jota says, “so it’s hard for Kakeru to give them all one-on-one attention, so Joji and I focus on the broader things while he nitpicks.”

“That’s a great idea,” Haiji praises, and he can’t help the smile that overtakes his mouth when he sees how Jota preens. This feels right, advising his former teammates like this. It’s different from the feeling he gets coaching the corporate team, because that’s a team, but this is Haiji’s family.

He wishes he could turn back time. He wishes he could live in that final, wonderful year of college for the rest of his life.

He wishes he could run again.

*

He can’t avoid Kakeru forever. Nico-chan-senpai makes sure of that, because when he escapes to the balcony for a breath of the cool night air, he hears Nico-chan-senpai say, loudly, “Oh, Haiji? Yeah, he just went out those doors! You should go check on him.”

Is this revenge? Haiji wonders. Is this him paying me back for trying to make him make a move on Yuki? It must be.

He doesn’t look up when he hears the sliding door open and then close again, or when he feels Kakeru walking up next to him to lean on the rail. “You never called,” he says, staring at the city streets below, still alive even in the dark.

Kakeru sighs. “I figured you would be too busy, with your rehab and your new team and all.”

“I’m never too busy for you.”

“Yeah, you say that, but you would do something stupid, like sleep less, to make time to talk to me.” Haiji finally looks over at him, his profile glowing a little from the light inside, and, god, he’s so beautiful. “You can’t do that to yourself again, Haiji-san. It was scary enough the first time, and we were still living at Aotake, then. If you collapsed again, I might not even find out.”

“Alright, point taken.” Despite the earlier awkwardness, this feels natural. It feels like quiet nights in the Aotake kitchen, listening to Kakeru clumsily chop carrots while the prepared dinner together. It feels like home, almost. “You’re doing a great job, Kakeru. I watched the last two Ekiden highlights, since I couldn’t go watch in person. You’ve become a great leader.”

Kakeru flashes him one of his genuine, tiny smiles. “I learned from the best.”

*

It’s easier, after that.

Everyone comes to the Aotake demolition party to say goodbye to the building that used to be home, and they split up to help Kakeru and the twins move into their new apartments, and things feel normal, for once.

Kakeru’s new apartment is tiny, but Kakeru, by his own admission, probably won’t spend too much time here in the next year before he graduates, so he’s not too bothered by it. Between his classes, training, and the part time job he’s picked up in the shopping district, he has a busy fourth year ahead of him.

“Years ago,” he tells Haiji when he sees him to the door when his taxi arrives, “you said you wanted to know what running was. Do you remember that?”

“Of course,” Haiji says.

“Come watch Hakone this year. I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

Haiji could say no. Should say no. He has his own team to think about now. But when Kakeru looks at him like that, Haiji would say yes to just about anything.

*

The next year passes in a blur. Haiji works harder than he ever has before, like he’s making up for having to take the first few practices of the new year off months in advance. The guys’ nights happen with a little less frequency (or, at least, Haiji attends less of them than he used to), but they’re fun when they do happen.

“I finally have a girlfriend!” King says one night, triumphant, and the table explodes into raucous cheers and applause. “Her name’s Noriko, and she’s the second year social studies teacher at my school, and damn, is she cute!” He whips his phone out of his pocket to show them a photo of a woman who is, indeed, damn cute. 

“Ugh,” Yuki groans. “Life isn’t fair. How did you get a girlfriend before me?”

“Being a whore might be a factor, there,” Shindo slurs.

Yuki growls when the rest of their friends laugh. “But really, who’s next?” He spins to glare at Nico-chan-senpai, who’s hiding his grin into his beer glass. “Are you gonna pop up with some girlfriend next? Huh?”

“Nah, I’m too old for that shit,” Nico-chan-senpai says, waving the comment off with his usual affable air. “I’ll just be the cool, childless uncle who spoils all your kids rotten.”

“So, that just leaves Kakeru,” Prince muses. “Has anyone heard anything else about that Miyamoto guy the twins were trying to set him up with?”

The mention almost makes Haiji’s blood boil, but before he can rile himself up too much, Musa shakes his head. “Hana-chan told me that he asked Kakeru out, but he turned him down. Apparently, he already has someone he likes.”

Around Haiji, his friends start debating who, exactly, Kakeru likes.

Haiji has an idea, though.

*

Before he knows it, the Hakone Ekiden has arrived. Haiji arrives at the finish line for the first day before the race starts, a livestream already bookmarked on his phone, and he finds the rest of the original Kansei team there, as well. “Hey!” Yuki says, slapping him on the back. “You made it this year!”

“Well, it is the last time any of the original team will be racing,” Haiji says. “What’s everyone running this year?”

Musa looks at his phone. “Jota is Section 1, Joji is Section 2, and Kakeru is Section 10.”

Haiji blinks. “Not Section 9? Why’d he change up sections?”

“If I had to guess,” Nico-chan-senpai says, “he wants to cross the finish line in his last Ekiden.” 

Haiji thinks back to his first and last Ekiden and nods. “That makes sense.”

*

Kansei ends the first day at fourth place, which is very promising for the return leg. Their fastest runner is at the very end, after all, and Haiji knows damn well how many runners Kakeru can pass if he’s serious about it.

Haiji stares at his phone in his hotel room that night and thinks about calling Kakeru. He knows he shouldn’t. Kakeru needs his sleep if he’s running the last section of the race tomorrow. But then he remembers their conversation on Shindo and Musa’s apartment, and he hits the call button.

Kakeru picks up very quickly. “Hey,” he says, voice soft. “Did you watch today?”

“Yes. Your team is really good. You’ve got a chance of winning tomorrow.”

“Don’t say that, you’ll jinx it.”

Haiji laughs. “Since when are you superstitious?”

“It’s my last chance, Haiji-san. I want to go out with a bang.”

“You’ll do great.”

“Will you be waiting for me at the finish line?”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

*

Haiji is a nervous wreck for most of the next day. He remembers this anxious feeling from when he was running the Ekiden, but now it’s combined with a feeling of helplessness. There’s nothing he can do but watch, and he hates it. He wants to be running alongside Kakeru, working with him, helping him cross the finish line.

But he can’t.

So he watches.

*

Kansei keeps doing well. They’re a far cry from the haphazard team Haiji put together all those years ago. These men are trained runners, athletes who have spent their lives preparing for this moment. There are no Princes, no Nico-chan-senpais, no Kings.

They are a group of Kakerus.

Where am I? he wonders as he watches them run. Did Kakeru find someone to take my place? Was there room for someone like me in the team he’s made?

*

The Kansei runner who runs Section 9 doesn’t beat Kakeru’s record from last year. Haiji can’t help but feel incredibly smug about it.

*

Haiji limps his way to the finish line as soon as he sees the sash get passed to Kakeru, who’s in first place. First place! “Go on ahead of me,” he tells the others, who try to slow down for him. His knee is on fire, but he’s going to see this through. “I’ll just slow you down.”

“What the hell kinda talk is that?” Nico-chan-senpai asks. 

Prince nods and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You and Kakeru didn’t leave us behind, no matter how slow we were. The least we could do is return the favor.”

“We’re the Kansei Ten,” says Jota, since he and Joji joined the rest of their former teammates after their sections. “We finish this the way we started it: together.”

“‘Kansei Ten?’ What kinda name is that?” Yuki scoffs.

Haiji’s heart feels full, and he and his friends, his family, walk to the finish line together.

*

When they see Kakeru coming around the bend, everyone starts yelling. Haiji can’t help but think about that second track meet, where only half of the guys ran, and how the spectators just went buck wild. This is the same thing, except there are nine people cheering and one person running.

Well, more than nine people cheering. The rest of the current Kansei team has joined them at this point, so their shouting is deafening. Haiji knows there are several cameras trained on them, but he can’t bring himself to care. All he has eyes for is Kakeru, running towards him. Was this how Kakeru felt, all those years ago, when he was in Haiji’s place and Haiji was in his?

There’s my dream, he thinks again. It’s taken form and it’s running.

Kakeru has always been his dream, even if he went over twenty years without knowing it. And now that he knows it, he can’t escape it.

“Kakeru!” he yells, cupping his hands around his mouth to make himself louder. “Last spurt!”

His friends laugh at the phrase and join in in sync, but he’s not paying attention. All he sees is Kakeru, speeding up, making a beeline to him. He knows, logically, that of course Kakeru has gotten faster over the years, because that’s how progress works, but Haiji swears on everything good in this world that he’s never run as fast as he is now.

When Kakeru crosses the finish line (in first place!), Haiji rips the blanket out of the twins’ hands and throws it over Kakeru himself. “You did it!” he gasps, and he’s positive Kakeru can’t hear him over the cheers of the rest of the former and current Kansei team members, but he says it again. “You did it, Kakeru!”

It seems like everyone is trying to touch Kakeru. There are hands on his arms, on the blanket, on his back, in his hair, but Haiji refuses to be dislodged. He has an arm locked around Kakeru’s shoulders and he’s not letting go. Not for anything. 

Haiji sees the reporters hovering outside their circle of celebration. He should let Kakeru go talk to them, should let this incredible man get interviewed for the nation to see, but he’s selfish, so he still doesn’t let go.

*

“And there we have it! Kansei University has won the Hakone Ekiden, led by captain Kurahara Kakeru! There, we can see Kurahara-senshu’s teammates congratulating him, along with the original Kansei University Hakone team. In the center of the celebrations is former captain and current works team coach Kiyose Haiji-senshu. Some of you will remember that Kiyose-senshu had to quit running after his first and last Ekiden four years ago…”

*

“Kurahara-senshu! How does it feel to have won the Hakone Ekiden?”

“It feels amazing, but, at the end of the day, the times don’t really matter. I got to run with and against extremely talented runners, and that is what I’m most grateful for.”

“Do you plan to continue running when you graduate from university?”

“I’ve had some scouting offers from works teams, but I haven’t committed to anything yet.”

“What do you have to say to young athletes?”

“I want to say that running isn’t about who’s fast and who’s slow. It’s about strength, and everyone has the strength to start. And, no matter what, you’re always running with someone.”

“Thank you for your time, Kurahara-senshu. And, again, congratulations!”

*

The team and their supporters retreat to a nearby bar to celebrate. Haiji still refuses to leave Kakeru’s side, finding excuses to touch him as often as he can. He’s probably being too obvious, but, then again, next to Shindo and Musa, he’d be surprised if anyone noticed. 

King’s and Prince’s girlfriends meet up with them at the bar, too, so everyone gets to meet them. King seems a little suspicious of Yuki when they walk through the door, but he’s a perfect gentleman about the whole thing. “They’re great guys,” he says to Noriko-san and Chihaya-san, Prince’s girlfriend. “I’m proud to call them my friends.”

Everyone stops dead at the surprisingly earnest expression from Yuki, and Nico-chan-senpai pulls him into a noogie, saying, “Damn it, Yuki, why’d you gotta get all sentimental?” and then everyone laughs.

*

As the night winds on, Haiji finally has had enough, and he tugs on Kakeru’s elbow to pull him away from the noise of the celebrations. They wind up outside the bar, leaning against  the building, arms just barely brushing. Haiji knows his knee is going to hate him tomorrow, but for now, he’s just focusing on Kakeru. “You said you’d tell me what running is,” he says, trying for conversational and probably failing.

“It’s you,” says Kakeru, characteristically to the point. “You’ve always been the answer.”

Haiji just stares for a moment. Then, for lack of a better reaction, he tilts his head back and he laughs.

Kakeru, of course, flushes bright red. “W-what?”

“Oh, no, not you,” Haiji says, having doubled over. “I’m not making fun of you, I swear.”

“Sure seems like you are,” Kakeru grumbles.

“I swear,” Haiji repeats. He straightens up, because he knows he has to be serious about this. “It’s just, I thought something similar about you.”

The younger man perks up. “Really?”

Haiji nods. “When I saw you running, that first night, I thought, ‘That’s it. That’s my dream.’” He laughs again, this time, soft. “We’ve both been idiots, haven’t we?”

“I think so,” Kakeru says. He’s breathless, like he just finished running, and Haiji can’t help how he delights in being able to affect him like this. He reaches a hand out, just this side of shy, and tangles his fingers with Haiji’s.

“Hey, Kakeru?”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Kakeru pulls his face down in response.

The first meeting of their lips feels like coming home.

“You know,” Kakeru mumbles against his lips when they draw back just enough to breathe, “my lease is up in a month.”

“Move in with me.”

“Yeah.”

And then they kiss again.

*

“Oh, fuck you guys!” Yuki yells when he pokes his head out the door a few minutes later to see them still kissing. 

*

A month later, Haiji wakes up in his apartment, Kakeru snoring softly into his ear and his leg thrown across his hips, and decides, maybe, it’s not too quiet, after all.

#run with the wind #kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #kakehai #ao3fic #kurahara kakeru #kiyose haiji #my writing #my post #mine