glitterge1pen

[glitterge1pen]

Simple and Lovely

Gaara x Tenten, 3,401 words, pure fluff,

Gaara and TenTen start paying attention to each other after attending Naruto and Hinata's wedding.

He keeps looking at her. Gaara can't remember the last time he saw Tenten. But today feels like the first time anyway. He’s scouring his memories, the exams, Tenten soaring through scrolls, his sister’s easy win. In each memory of Tenten, Lee and Neji are right next to her. That couldn't be right. It seems impossible that her looks and demeanor are only noticeable to him now.

Should he ask Lee about her? How could he get his friend alone? How could he get Tenten alone? Though no one can read his thoughts, he still finds his face dusted with pink at the thought of spending time alone with the woman. Maybe this was something to ask Temari about? But the idea of his older sister pinching his cheek and cooing about love made him reconsider. 

The sensible thing to do was tag along with Tenten and Lee through Konoha. He’d deal with this feeling later.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙��˚*･༓☾

“Don’t worry, you’re definitely her type,” Kiba slung his arm over Gaara. Gaara could smell the alcohol off of Kiba, but the other man didn’t seem too different from his typical demeanor. Perhaps he was speaking a little louder than usual. Everything was so loud here, so Gaara repeated what Kiba said, wanting to make sure he’d heard right.

“Her type?”

Kiba made a peace sign and gestured at Gaara’s eyes, and Gaara understood. He remembered Neji, whose pale eyes matched those of the bride. Now that he thought about it, every time he’d seen Tenten prior to the war, Neji had been by her side. “It’s not just the eyes either; trust me on this one.”

Gaara didn’t have much else to say on the topic because Kiba had pushed him fully onto the dance floor. Kiba was not a wallflower but had struck up conversation at the edge of the dance floor to sip his beer in peace. Gaara didn’t have to do anything other than enter the proximity of the kunoichi to be swept up in their motions.

Sakura, healthily drunk judging by her flushed face, hugged him. “Ah, Gaara, have you come to dance with us?”

Ino bumps Sakura with her hip, her blonde hair swaying, “Let him dance with me! I’ve always thought you were so cute,” she says it so plainly, like it’s a fact, and it makes him blush.

“I actually came to dance with Tenten,” Gaara says, waiting for Tenten’s eyes to meet his. She looks a little surprised but is quick to cut between Sakura and Ino, grabbing Gaara’s hand in the process.

“Wow, I’m so honored, Kazekage,” she says in a faux stilted tone. Gaara hasn’t stopped blushing since approaching Tenten, and her light teasing only makes his face a brighter red. At first her hands are clasped together at the back of his neck; Gaara takes one of her hands into his own. “Is this alright?” He asks, and she nods.

He spins her, smooth and well-practiced. Her laughter ringing out with the music, a few people glancing at the pair as they glide through the crowd. She slaps his chest a little before giggling into her hand, “You told me you couldn’t dance!”

“I’m just leading,”

“No, you’re good.” Tenten has to look away when she says this. Tenten felt small in his arms, not just because he was the perfect height to gaze up at, but because the last time she’d felt this way, she was a girl. Her smile is uncontrollable as gentle images of Neji briefly cross her mind.

“My siblings and I, we had to take lessons,” Gaara says, eyes glancing down at his feet. Memories of late summer afternoons parading around an empty room with his siblings, each holding an invisible partner. Baki had to convince them it’d be beneficial for battle. Gaara didn’t like to admit how he’d learned to be graceful from imaginary women he asked to dance. Tenten is definitely not imaginary. He can smell her perfume; it’s flowery with some sort of spice. Would it be rude to ask what it is?

Then the music picks up. Gaara looks away from Tenten and at the people around them. Couples have split apart to move freely and with more force. But Gaara doesn’t want to let go of her just yet. “Can I spin you again?”

“You can do whatever you want,” And before Tenten can correct herself or add an embarrassingly long explanation of what she meant to say, she’s being thrown out into the center of the floor.

Gaara has spun her with a flurry; she laughs heartily when Gaara tugs her back to him, spinning her back into his chest. She teeters, buzzed from the alcohol, disoriented from dancing. Gaara steadies her, his hand on her waist. “Sorry, that was too much—“

“Again!” She’s definitely a little more than tipsy. Gaara happily indulges the woman. Tenten doesn’t know how Gaara is able to spin her into a crowd of people with no one getting in their way. She spins back to him; he takes her hands and swings them apart from his. When they come back together, Gaara guides her hand from his shoulder down the length of his arm. When they are connected only by fingertips, he spins her. It’s gentle, an opposing force to the boisterous music.

Tenten’s hands come back together around his neck, and his own hands are lower than his first stiff movements with her. They sway in slow circles, Tenten’s head tucked into Gaara’s shoulders. He knows he should say something about how pretty she is, and in the time it takes to will his mouth to speak, the couple stumbles.

More accurately, it's her teammate who pushes them. Tenten slips, her feet sending her falling back, while Gaara trips forward, able to keep his body upright for the most part. Tenten desperately wants to escape now; she can feel every pair of eyes on the three of them. Lee, his voice as loud as ever, begs her to dance with him, while Gaara hovers inches away from her face. Their right hands are still connected; it’s what kept her from hitting the floor. Gaara had pulled her into his arms. 

“You’re…elegant,” is all Gaara can think to say, and he’s so close that he can see the soft peach fuzz on her cheeks and above her lips. Her lips become all Gaara can focus on. It’s Lee who pulls the couple fully to their feet. 

Tenten, grounded by embarrassment, saunters away from both men. No one’s ever called her elegant. It’s definitely not a term she’d apply to herself. She’s fuming a bit when she returns to the two kunoichi, who have moved from the dance floor to sit at a table together.

“Look who’s back!” Sakura says, pulling a chair up for Tenten to sit with them. 

“Gracing us with your presence, Lady of the Sand?” Ino says, unable to keep from laughing at the blush that sprouts on Tenten’s cheeks.

“Gah,” Tenten swats her hand in Ino’s face, trying to force Ino’s words away, “It’s not like that.”

Sakura scoffs playfully, “Does he know that?”

Tenten can’t help the way her voice seems to shrink, how she can’t control her blush, “He just doesn’t think of me that way,”

The other two women roll their eyes. “You’re blind,” Sakura says, taking another sip of champagne.

“You know, if you’re so sure he doesn’t feel that way about you, ask if he’ll take you home,” Ino says, immediately raising her arms to brace herself against Tenten. 

“What! I can’t ask him that; he’s the Kazekage!”

“Ask me what?” The three women freeze and then turn to find Gaara. He has three chocolate-covered strawberries in his hand; he offers one to each woman. Ino and Sakura are laughing their ‘thank you’s’ while Tenten shields herself from Gaara’s gaze.

Tenten stutters, unable to form any sort of lie that could appease him. She looks to Ino and Sakura for help, but this is a mistake. Ino takes that invitation to help, ready to pounce on the pair, “Gaara, what would you think of walking Tenten home?” 

“Now?” He asks, looking around for his siblings, ready to tell them goodbye. 

“No, no, later,” Sakura says, reaching for Tenten’s uneaten strawberry, popping it in her mouth. “She probably wants a strawberry or another slice of cake before she goes,” Sakura smiles again. Sakura collapses into Ino's side as they laugh together. 

“Come on,” Tenten says, leading Gaara away from the table and back into the crowds of people. The crowd erupts with applause; Naruto and Hinata are both shy as they separate from a kiss on the dance floor. Tenten can’t help clapping too. In a way, it feels like part of a burden has been lifted from her shoulders. 

Hinata is married to the man she’s loved for years and has someone who’ll always be on her side. 

When Neji died, it was hard for Tenten to see Hinata at first. Their eyes and features were so similar; eventually, Tenten was happy to recognize her friend in Hinata, like part of him was still alive. They started having tea where Neji used to read. And slowly, tea turned into training sessions and outings in town. Now she babysits and helps Hinata do the more rigorous chores around the house. 

“Tenten!” Hinata releases herself from Neji to jump into Tenten’s arms. 

“You’ve been so busy I haven’t been able to congratulate you yet!”

“It’s okay! I know you’re happy for me! I’m so glad you’re here too. I wish…” and Hinata trails off. Tenten knows what’s coming; Hinata always hesitates when bringing Neji’s name up. Tenten grabs her friend's hand in reassurance. “I wish he were here. If he were, you’d already be married, and I could come to you for advice,”

Tenten’’s smile, squeezing Hinata’s hand, “I’ll do my best for you, Hinata; you can always come to me for anything you need,” which is true. It’s also something she knows that Neji would want her to say and do. In the beginning of the friendship, she would have said it just for Neji, but these days it comes from her own desires. 

“Aw! Tenten!” And she’s engulfed by Naruto, blonde hair in her mouth as she struggles to pull him off. 

“Give her some space,” Gaara’s voice is right next to her ear, cool and deep like always. The shiver that runs up her spine is involuntary. 

“Gaara!” Naruto is drunk, not tipsy, drunk. He clings to Gaara, which only attracts Lee again. And this time, Tenten cannot escape a dance with her teammate. 

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It’s late, the moon is full and illuminating the village. Tenten felt like she’d spent a day training, her body tired but mind content. The wedding had been beautiful, and being able to spend time with friends, family, and allies made her feel like everything was in place. 

To her surprise, Gaara did not leave with Kankuro; instead, he stayed behind with Tenten, Lee, Shino, and Kiba as they made a quick scour of the party grounds. Stacking chairs and throwing away empty bottles and plates, they wanted to make the morning clean-up easier. The three boys were likely at a bar still drinking, but Tenten and Gaara were strolling along the river. 

“Were you betrothed to him?” Gaara asks this with such a tender seriousness that Tenten can’t help but cackle. He’s really too cute for his own good, she thinks. Tenten knows he means Neji. She finds her hands clasped together at her back; she resists the urge to fidget with them under Gaara's scrutiny. 

She shrugs. “That sounds so serious.” She peeks at Gaara from the corner of her eye; he’s watching her. His eyes are so eager, so genuine and curious, it makes her feel light. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone besides Lee,”

Gaara expects himself to stiffen and become awkward, but he’s so engrossed by Tenten that he finds himself listening with ease. 

“When we all departed for war, Neji promised that when it was over we’d have a life together. When I asked what that meant, he said he’d propose to me. Even then I laughed. It had never occurred to me that I could have a life without Neji.” Gaara is surprised at her tone, her smile. She speaks of the broken promise so fondly.

“When he died, I didn't know what to do with myself. It wasn't just that he was gone, but our way of life. There's so much I want to tell him about how the world’s changed. He’s from a different time. He was my first love and my best friend. These days though, I’m just happy I knew him at all, that our time together lasted as long as it did.” She stops walking, turning to look at Gaara with an embarrassed expression. “Sorry! I was rambling a bit there.” 

“I like listening to you,” 

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“You look extraordinary today, Tenten!” Lee greeted his teammate with a jump kick. Tenten moves out of the way and dusts off her dress. It’s not much different than what she usually wears, but she is wearing a new pair of earrings. Their glass flowers, the petals move around the flower bud, so they twinkle when she moves. 

“Thanks, Lee,” She’s in such a good mood that his overenthusiastic nature hasn't gotten to her yet. She promised to meet Lee on the training grounds but decided, for once, that she’d rather spend the time applying a light coat of makeup. She’d train with him later. 

Lee leans down to sniff her hair. “You even smell better than usual.” 

“Okay, enough,” Tenten steps away from him; maybe that extra spritz of perfume was too much. “Should we head to the gates?”

“Let’s waste no time!” Lee knew they would likely arrive early, but he liked being early. Tenten found herself keeping the same pace as Lee, running almost to the entrance gates. 

“Wow, it looks like the Kazekage had the same idea!” Lee’s voice catches the attention of the sand siblings.

“Welcome back!” Tenten surprises everyone, including herself, with a volume that matches Lee’s. “Happy you’re here,” This she tries to obviously direct at Gaara, meeting his gaze for the first time in months. The last time she’d seen him, he was on duty. But there was a knock on her door late that night. They’d spent the moonlight hours talking on the steps leading up to her apartment. He gives her a small smile and nods. 

Lee ends up taking Gaara by the arm, while Tenten chats with Kankuro and Temari. They don't get very far before Temari separates herself from the group. Temari doesn't say it, but Tenten knows Temari’s on her way to meet Shikamaru. Tenten chats politely with Kankuro, but her eyes keep wandering back to Gaara, who she manages to catch looking over his shoulder at her. 

Kankuro hums, and Tenten looks at him, “I’ll make you a deal.” 

“For what?” She asks. 

“Buy me a drink, and I’ll make sure you sit next to him,” Kankuro laughs when she shoves him. But when they all sit down to order food, Kankuro keeps his promise and pulls the chair out next to Gaara for Tenten to take. 

“Thanks.” The word dry and flat leave Tenten’s mouth. The meal is lively, though. The four of them are friends after all, so the conversation flows between them easily. With dessert on its way and their glasses empty, Tenten has almost forgotten how nervous she was to see Gaara again. Lee, with an endearing smile, finds a way to make her eyes bulge and starts shaking her head. 

“Tenten! I see you have a purse today; have you brought along your cards? Or maybe tea leaves?” Lee asks excitedly. 

She hadn't been thinking about her fortune-telling cards when she grabbed her purse, but Lee is right; she does have them. “Ah, I’m sure you guys don't want to do that.” 

Kankuro perks up, “Do you read fortunes?” He removes his gloves, then sticks out his palms to her. “Tell me I’m going to get lucky,”

Tenten rolls her eyes, “That's not how it works,” but she still takes Kankuro’s hands in hers. Tracing her finger over the lines on his palm. Kankuro delights in the way Gaara’s shoulders tense. 

“Hm, you,” she chuckles, “you worry a lot.” Tenten points to a cluster of lines under his thumb. “These lines make it harder to read the rest of your palm.” 

Kankuro pouts at his short palm reading, “What about the cards—” Kankuro shushes himself. Gaara has stuck his hands out to Tenten. 

“Please,” he says with a tilt of the head. Tenten nods, taking his hands. 

She points at his palm, and Gaara feels as if he’s been struck by lightning. “Your lifeline shows impaired health until your early teens. The lines of influence strike the headline young too,” of course the Kazekage’s palms read like this. She stumbles over her words for the next part of his reading. “Your heartline, it um, it reaches, this is the year that it—”

Lee intercepts, piecing together what Tenten is saying. “Congratulations, Gaara! This will be the year you find love!” 

Gaara puts his gaze on Tenten. “Really?” The word is so pointed Tenten swears a blade has brushed against her skin.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“So when I think of you, this is where you are?” 

She throws her shoulder into his, “You don't have to say things like that,” 

“Like what?” 

Tenten laughs; it's light and free, and it twines around Gaara’s heart. “Yes, I’m likely here,” They sit on a grassy hilltop, the dusk a blazing gold. Tenten runs a hand on the blades of grass next to Gaara’s. He doesn't move his fingers to grab hers, just watches as she plucks out a few blades of grass. She ties soft green blades into a ring.

“Here,” For the second time that day, she grabs his hand. This time she slides a simple grass ring onto his middle finger.

“I should be the one giving you a ring.” The peaceful look on Gaara's face erupts into a bashful red. “I didn't mean that, not that I wouldn't want to,” He forces himself to stop talking. He knows the longer he drags it out, the worse it’ll sound.

Tenten kisses him on the cheek, “Relax, Lord Kazekage.” He hates when she uses his title like that. Whenever she did, he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and demand she use his given name. He startled, sitting up to rest on his knees; did she know that? How it grounded him when she teased him that way?

She’s tentative when she leans her head on his shoulder. The trees rustle and bend as a breeze runs through the field. 

“I like the way you smell. I've wanted to say that to you when we danced together.” 

Tenten laughs, “Is it really becoming to speak so freely with a woman?” 

Gaara clutches at his shirt collar, “I don't suppose so. But if I don't… He didn't want to say it felt like he’d explode if he didn't tell her these things. That it was imperative to find ways to soothe the burning he felt, and right now talking to her is what helped. 

She pulls Gaara’s arm down to his side. “I like it. Besides, I wore a little extra perfume today just for you. It’d be a waste if you didn't notice.” Tenten wants to be closer but knows that if she did, it’d be too much. Her heart is already racing; she takes forever to piece together her words; she's simply nervous. But he’s so warm. 

“For me?”

“For you, you.” 

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N; As with most fics, Ive arranged a playlist just for the occasion; https://open.spotify.com/playlist/57d4eNnIHt77KJfDksHJwg?si=9c837b97b9794fe8&pt=ee981c5adee2bcda8d74aeca5f1e7aa9

Ive been a Neji/TenTen shipper since I saw them on screen as a child lol. Ive read lots of NejiTen, and even written some, but it recently started to bug me that TenTen is so alone ??? same with Gaara tbh. Also why does he have that stupid ass haircut in the most recent episodes?????? GET A GRIP LET HIS HAIR BE WILD AND MESSY. ITS CUTE.

adrenaline.

no proof reading.

I like writing cheesy stuff like this cause my orignal works tend to skew more violent and heavy.

[glitterge1pen]

So Get This, Its 1986. 

Iwaizumi Hajime x reader, sfw, little bit of fluff, word count 3,033 , gender neutral pronouns for reader, no tw

New wave? Post punk? Iwaizumi braves his first show to see you perform. 

Iwaizumi’s eyes were a mixture of dread, embarrassment, and shock. He hung his head, unable to face his reflection in the bathroom mirror anymore. 

“Oh, get a grip. It’s not bad. In fact, I’d say we did pretty good,” Oikawa said, forcing Iwaizumi to look at him. Oikawa put a finger to his chin, assessing the outfit one last time. “You know, it’s missing something,” 

“How? We spent way too long putting this together. I don't even know the band on this shirt. What if they ask me about the shirt?” 

Oikawa waved his hand in a flippant manner, “No one is going to ask you about your shirt, relax. It is your shirt, though. Hmm, wait here.” Oikawa left Iwaizumi alone in the bathroom. Iwaizumi had one thought, ‘What am I really doing? I’m doing this.’ That looped in his mind until Oikawa returned. Scissors in hand, Oikawa took Iwaizumi’s shoulders, turning the t-shirt into a muscle tank. 

“I’m requiring you to show these off.” Oikawa patted Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “Up your chances.” 

“You think so?”

“Holy shit,” Oikawa stared at his friend in wonder. Usually a comment like that earned Oikawa a smack. 

“What?”

“You really like them.” That got Oikawa the smack he was expecting. 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Iwaizumi was nervous. He had insisted he do this alone, but now he wished he’d asked his friends to tag along. Oikawa could navigate any crowd; even Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s bickering was preferable to being alone. He’d arrived fifteen minutes after doors opened. But he wasn’t feeling right, so here he was at the gas station across the street from the venue.

He wandered the aisles debating which snacks were most practical. Pringles? Candy bar? Water or energy drink? He felt out of place in his own body. His clothes were new, not broken in, and simply different from what he was used to. 

Unbeknownst to Iwaizumi, there was a pair of eyes tracing his movements around the convenience store. Your eyes. That was Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi, who looked cool and absent-minded, almost lazy, as he opened the fridge door to grab a drink. You had only ever seen him in his volleyball and school uniform. His attire now was unbelievable to you. God himself couldn't have chosen a better outfit to impress you with. 

Ripped up t-shirt, the text on it bordered by a check pattern; when he turned to walk to the cashier, you saw it read The Specials. You clenched a fist around your hoodie strings, a nervous tick. You had their latest album on vinyl. Studded belt, wallet chain, black jeans, and Converse. His hair was spiked up like it always was. You had taken note of his hair first. You thought it looked cool. Whenever your friend dragged you to school volleyball games, you spent them cheering for Iwaizumi in the nosebleeds. You figured being so far from the court, he couldn't single your voice out. You teased your friend for being too shy to talk to Oikawa, but you weren't much different. 

You watched as Iwaizumi paid, your heart aching and racing. You were tempted to pay for him, but you knew that was silly. But was it? You’d be performing; it’d be easy to thank him for coming to the show and pay for his water. It was a little presumptuous to think he’d be at the show, but where else would he go dressed like that? The bell above the door rang; Iwaizumi was leaving. 

You rushed to the back of the store, grabbed a bottle of water, and willed yourself to keep composed. Outside, Iwaizumi is downing the last of his water. The store's neon window signs and the soft glow from the entrance make the night seem far, a third place between day and night. 

“Are you not cold?” You asked him. 

Iwaizumi resisted the urge to jump away from you. Was his face already red? Did his hair look okay? 

“It’s not too bad,” he said. It was a little chilly, actually. A fall breeze brushed against him. Dry leaves swirled and twinkled on the concrete below him.

“I’m sure inside it’ll be roasting. You came prepared.” 

He’s not sure what to say and ends up just nodding in response.

“You're coming to the show right?” Maybe it was a stupid assumption you made.

“I am. Want to walk with me?” His body tightens; he didn't know he was going to say that. Where did that come from? 

“Yes!” You smile and then turn away from him. Had you sounded too excited? You were excited, though. 

Iwaizumi walked slowly. The only show he’d been to was the school choir performances. He’d never been to this place before; he was trying to let you lead. You noticed his slow pace, hoping he was trying to spend more time with you. 

“I've never seen you at a show before. How’d you hear about this one?” 

“You. You put a flyer up in the gym.” 

“You saw me?” You were surprised; it hadn't occurred to you that Iwaizumi would be here because of you.

Iwaizumi laughs; your surprise is cute and charming. “Yeah, you,” He felt relieved to say that, his body loosening up like he’d just shared a big secret. “I wasn't sure I’d come, but I saw your band was playing—”

“My band!” You were being too loud again. Heat rose to your cheeks, but how? How did Iwaizumi know about your band? 

Iwaizumi looked around, unsure what was keeping you so on edge. Surely it wasn't him making you nervous? Iwaizumi saw you flawlessly read passages in class, ignored every comment about your “weird” outfits, and skipped eating to write lyrics during lunch. Once, he offered you a snack from the vending machine, but you were so engrossed in writing you hadn't looked up at him. This was the incident that clued Oikawa into his friend's feelings. 

And, of course, there was the cheering. Iwaizumi had admired you from afar the moment he saw you. You seemed so confident to him. You came to school ready to appear on an album cover. He knew you used to be in choir when you were younger. He figured that's how you were so loud. The ball touched down on the other side of the net; the crowd erupted. But it was your voice he heard above the rest. A holler is what he’d call it. 

He had never felt more aware of the sweat, the heat, and the pressure of the game as he did hearing you yell his name. It felt like a cannon blast of air pressure. The whistle blew, and Oikawa had to physically pull Iwaizumi back into the game. His eyes had been trying to find the source of his name in the crowd. The next day in class, he froze hearing you answer the teacher's question. It was like he was on the court again. His body heating up, fire erupting in his chest. 

“Yeah, I have your tapes too. It’s good. You're, you're a really talented vocalist.” Vocalist was what Oikawa suggested he say instead of singer. Iwaizumi grinned; Oikawa would just love hearing him take his advice. 

“But you know my band? Nobody knows us. I mean, look at where we play.” You laugh a little, gesturing at the tiny venue. The Stacks was an old library. A decade earlier, in the 70s, a new library was built to accommodate the neighborhood's growth. The old building was mostly abandoned, then bought at a low price by a group of local artists. Now, art performances and bands used the place. It was small, like an old schoolhouse. But it was loud. 

Iwaizumi could hear the fast-paced, harsh noises of punk music. If he were to touch the streetlight pole, he would feel it shake with sound. He knew the music you played wasn't quite like this. He really did enjoy the music you made; it wasn't a flimsy comment made to impress you. While he liked your music, he wasn't an avid music listener. You spent your weekends at the record store, the thrift, scouring the crates of vinyl and tapes. 

“Your buttons,” Iwaizumi thinks he’s getting too close to the truth. He rubs his hand along his neck. “On your school bag, you have pins of all these bands. I was pretty surprised when I saw you on the front of it.” 

“Woah, I didn't know you were so into music,” 

Now he laughed, “I’m not. I just wanted to know what you were into. Pretty gutsy to wear your own band merch,” 

You adjusted your hair and clothes, “It’s small, only a pin. Pins and tapes are all we got for now.” Shyness and a tender joy played inside you. You had never thought he was paying attention to you so closely. It was going to make your set easier on your heart. 

“Well, let me know when you make t-shirts,” Iwaizumi was unable to say anything else, because there at the door was a familiar face. 

“You!” Kyotani pointed at Iwaizumi from the entrance of The Stacks. Iwaizumi had been so wrapped up in his conversation with you that he hadn't noticed the music had stopped. Kyotani was the first to exit the building. A small crowd was starting to form, lighters flicking to life, voices chattering. 

You gasped; the first set was over, which meant you were up next. Your bandmates were definitely cursing your name, wondering what was taking so long to grab water. You grabbed Iwaizumi’s wrist, “I have to go!” and sprinted off.

Kyotani inspected his upperclassman. “I came to practice today.” 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “I’m not here to bust you; relax. Now I’ll know where to look for you if you do skip practice.” 

A shriek from a guitar stirred both boys. Kyotani lit up, jumping up the stairs into the darkly lit venue. Iwaizumi shuffled in at his own pace. On the bus and in the store, he’d felt so out of place. Now he was thankful for his attire; he blended in. He hung on the back wall. The stage was small, just a step up from the crowd. The lights were purple, blue, and green. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, and then you were there in the haze. 

“Thanks for coming out tonight,” You tried to keep the roaming of your eyes obvious. You were looking for Iwaizumi. To Iwaizumi, you sounded different. A little more subdued, deeper too. He smiled, so this was you on stage. He thought it was only fair. You’d seen him on the court; you came to a lot of games. Did you feel out of place in that crowd, like he felt here? He suddenly was very thankful he had come. He was here for you. It wasn't as simple as his feelings. He really wanted to thank you for cheering him on with such brightness.

“We’re The Floorboards, and this is our music.” You stepped back, and the drums came in fast. You pulled on the mic cable, the wire like a snake. The crowd was quiet and still as they took in the sounds. Kyotani appeared in Iwaizumi’s vision as he stomped in time with the bass. Then the bass got too fast, too complicated; Kyotani, unable to dance in time, began to stir the crowd. Literally. He ran around creating a pit in the middle of the floor. People moved with him, pushing, shoving, and kicking. 

Startled but capable, Iwaizumi was sucked into the typhoon. Iwaizumi kept his arms up and flowed with the crowd. He got tossed from person to person, and when you started singing, he found himself in the center of the chaos. He managed to ground himself to stare up at you. Your voice was a heavy cloud. Airy but firm. It had him by the heart. And then he was whipped into the frenzy. Or, he was shoved to his left, throwing him into the stampede in an awkward position. 

With a yank to his shoulder, Iwaizumi was set straight. Next to him was Kyotani. They locked eyes, Kyotani grinned, and then unleashed a screech. Iwaizumi did the same, letting his voice crawl from a deep part of his stomach. 

On stage, you were trying to pry your feelings from anxieties. Even while you bellowed and twirled, there was still fear. Being on stage was so many things. But then, you’d stop questioning your movements and your voice and become a performer, not someone trying to perform. It was powerful to control the crowd's energy and to do so with your bandmates. 

The end of the song was nearing, the last eight counts in reach. You clipped the microphone back onto its stand, taking it down with you as you howled. Your voice needed to be desperate, scratchy, and loud. Before the song ended, you could hear another voice, one rivaling your own shout. You knew it was Iwaizumi, but when you stood back up, his face still took you by surprise. 

He was at the foot of the stage; you could see his flushed cheeks and toothy smile. He gave you a thumbs up, and you pulled the mic away to giggle. You shook off your own smile, focusing on the crowd. 

“Thank you, thank you. That song was composed by our good drummer back there.” You step aside from center stage, letting your drummer stamp out some quick beats. You introduce the rest of the band, and Iwaizumi mentally compare them to his teammates. “Sticks put together this next song too,” 

The band was off again. Another fast-paced track with lots of bass and a strong melody on the guitar that kept it a little more clean. Iwaizumi realized you were playing the songs in the order they appeared on the tape. His favorite one would be towards the end. He worried you might not play it; would it be rude to ask about the song if you didn't?

Iwaizumi battered his way in and out of the crowd. Some people danced in big, hearty stomps, letting their bodies crash. Others jumped and threw their heads around. He was drenched in sweat by the time you came back to speak on the mic. You’d played six songs and were gearing up for number seven. You were definitely over time, and with the main act coming on after you, you knew it was risky to keep pushing the crowd. But you wanted to play one more song. 

“This is going to be our last song.” You were breathless and fought to keep your speaking voice even, “It’s called Four, and I wrote it about,” Caught up in the stages of the whirlwind, you hadn't expected the truth to come out of you, “how this one guy moves like lightning in a honey bottle,” your guitarists took this as their cue, the chord reverberating out the speakers.

Kyotani, who Iwaizumi had not noticed was standing next to him, knocked his elbow into Iwaizumi’s side. Iwaizumi scowled, but he had no retort for the gesture. The lyrics to the song talked about moving so fast that you could run through honey like it was fog. Iwaizumi’s favorite line was about the lightning: To the ground, no brakes, liquid light, fast and sweet, wicked hands keep the heart from going faint. 

It had never occurred to him that those words could be about someone. He was going to listen to the tape again at home. Maybe he danced, maybe he didn't. He felt dazed. He’d heard your voice on tape so many times, but now that he knew what the song was about, he felt weak. The music was what was keeping him upright. He was sure his heart had burst and stopped functioning. 

When the song ended, he was momentarily too stunned to clap and cheer with the rest of the crowd. He made sure his voice was the loudest. When he whistled, it riled up the crowd for another round of applause.

You were thankful to busy yourself with taking down your band's equipment. You were still buzzing from the show, your nerves and adrenaline made a dangerous cocktail. The main act was from the neighboring city, and everyone was excited to see them. Now that you were done playing, it felt like you were being rushed off the stage. 

Iwaizumi wanted to wait for you, but the heat was getting unbearable in the venue. He stepped outside, the night air peppering his exposed skin with kisses. Kyotani was lying on the steps, his arms splayed out, and eyes closed. 

“How can you be wearing a leather jacket? I’m surprised you haven't passed out from heat exhaustion,” Iwaizumi asked, but Kyotani only shrugged at the question.

“Do you think he’ll be buried in it?” Iwaizumi startles at the sound of your voice, turning to look at you with pleasant surprise.

Kyotani is stirred as well, opening one eye to peek at you. He sits up and stretches, “I’m planning on it. I’m going to head back in and leave you two alone.” 

Iwaizumi wants to say that's not necessary, that he doesn't want to go. He also does want to be alone with you, even if it hurts his heart to be so near to you. 

You offer him the last bit of your water bottle, “You can owe me?” You say it like an invitation. 

He takes it, nodding. He sits on the step; you sit on the one above him. Your knees next to his shoulder. 

“Liquid light?” He smiles when he sees how sheepish your own lyrics make you, “How’d you come up with that?” 

You shrug, trying to be nonchalant. “You know how,” 

“I want to be sure I know,” His eyes are big as he looks at you, like he’s trying to take in as much of your response as possible. He’s eager for the answer. 

“Watching you play. You're so fierce. Liquid light,” your genuine words turn his insides warm. "Iwaizumi's smile added to the hearth. 

“I wish I knew sooner,” 

“Really?” 

He nods, “It’s embarrassing that my favorite song from your tape is the one about me.” 

A/N: I have been in a bit of a nostalgic mood lately. Nostalgic about Haikyuu but also 80s music I liked when I was younger lol. I did NOT proof read this shit lmao. Think I did a Hawks fic kinda like this??? Been awhile :p

[glitterge1pen]

Choji, Shika and Ino wearing the same little earrings is IMPORTANT

[glitterge1pen]

Lets Watch Murder Mystery TV and Listen To 80s Music

Keigo Takami x reader, sfw, word count 7,652, gender neutral pronouns for reader, tw for mild violence,

Not really fluff? Well there's a little fluff. Hawks needs your quirk, and in the process gets tangled up in your quiet but brightly lit life. He hangs around :p

Your bag felt heavier than usual as you boarded the bus. The sky was a hazy blue, and it was just cold enough for a hoodie. You had little plans for the day: visit a few of your favorite shops, come back home, maybe make a new playlist, and read a little. It was your day off from work, one you would typically save for relaxing.

You took a window seat and opened the letter again. It had been among some junk mail. It looked inconspicuous. But you had not been able to identify a sender; not even some scam credit card company wouldn’t leave the envelope unaddressed. Opening it, you found a handwritten letter—or rather, a note.

'meet me at the infinity mirrors' 

You didn't know what that meant at first. You folded the paper into your pocket, trying to decipher the list of possible suspects. Who would send you a letter? No one came to mind, especially with the message the letter was trying to send. Anyone close to you would not bring up mirrors or reflections; they'd know better. 

The bus turned a corner, and it came to you—an infinity mirror. It was an exhibit at the art museum. Checking Google confirmed your suspicions. Yayoi Kusama's infinity mirrors, while undeniably ethereal, made a part of your heart shudder. 

It was in line with your bus's route, though. You could stay on for another two stops and walk to the art museum. But you didn't. You didn't want to talk to anyone there. You didn't want to go there at all. If someone wanted to talk to you so badly, they would find another way. 

You texted a friend about the weird note, went about your shopping, and carried on. 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It had been raining for several days now. You were in the kitchen watching over the stove as you cooked dinner. Taking occasional glances at the rain's patter and consistent hum. With winter beginning to melt away, you had hoped for a bit of sun, but the gray clouds did not seem to be leaving any time soon. 

You flicked the stove off, and the burners shut off. There is another sound. You look around to find its source and see an envelope had slipped through your mailbox. Mail had already come today. You pick it up with tender fingers and peek out the window. No one was there. 

You hesitate to open it, but curiosity gets the better of you. It's the same handwriting and the same message. 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The next morning, another letter of the same variety came in the mail. Today was different, though. You needed to go to work. Since you didn't work with customers, you didn't need to wear a uniform, but you always ended up in all-black clothes anyway because they hid water stains. 

The city unfolded before you on the bus. The children playing at the park were bright, colorful splotches in the gray matter of the sky—street vendors with flowers, food, and trinkets. Shops with open doors, smoke pillowing off the restaurant roofs. Skyscrapers and high-rise apartments were distant in their mass, like giants watching over the streets. 

You pulled for your stop. The downtown aquarium was not particularly packed in the middle of the day. You breeze past the front desk, swipe into the back office, and toss your things into your locker. 

Most of the place was designed to look like an underwater cave. The only light was the blues, purples, and pinks from the walls of tanks. Some rooms allowed for more light, and the water was a lighter blue, but it was never harsh light. You did a typical walkthrough first, and then it was time to check filters, switch cartridges, and make sure tank temperatures stayed accurate. 

You spent most of the day ducking in and out of doors, walking along small private staircases away from the public. Then you moved to another tank. The jellyfish tank was massive and an odd circular shape, too, which meant the filters were in strange spots. 

It was on one of these staircases that you met him.

"You know it's rude to ignore an invitation completely," The sudden intrusion froze you; you're sitting on the catwalk, leaning over the jellyfish. You find Hawks, a face impossible not to recognize. Unsure of what to say to the superstar, you stayed silent. 

"Was going to leave you another note at the front desk but thought it would be better to invite you myself," He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and extended it to you. 

You took it and found tickets to the art exhibit inside, "I don't know why you keep trying to get me to go, I'm not, and this is an employee-only space, you need to leave," 

Perhaps you wouldn't have been so curt if he hadn't bought up the infinity mirrors. The wall is entirely blue, and his red wings clashed with it as he descended the stairs. You follow, trying to show him out. Once back out in the dark, low lighting of the tanks, he said something that puts your heart onto a roller coaster. 

"There's not a lot of room for shadows here, is there?" He asked. You stared at him, disgusted. 

"What do you want?"

"You're help,"

"I doubt a quirk like mine is irreplaceable," You started to walk along the path of tanks. Green chromis schools, corydoras, and yellow-headed jaw fish burrowing and playing with sand. 

"Give yourself more credit,"

"Give myself credit for something I was born with?"

"You know what I mean,"

"I do," You said with a sarcastic scoff. He was going to try to flatter you, weasel his words like splinters under your skin. He just wanted help. 

"Don't you want to know why? What for?"

You did, but you would not admit this to him. It wouldn't matter anyway. You had been struggling to use your quirk for a long time. He stopped in front of the tank with various colorful saltwater fish. You kept walking. You think he'd have given in and followed, but he is still watching the fish.

"You really need to leave,"

He holds up his wrist to show you his wristband, "I'm an esteemed guest,"

You stood next to him, watching as the fish glided by with ease, twisting around coral and ducking through rocks. He pointed at one of the fish, "What's that one?"

"A mandarin goby,"

He hummed like he had just learned a secret—the goby flutters along the coral, around rocks. At first, you chose to work at the aquarium because of your own needs. A quiet, dark place. One where a person didn't pay much mind to the reflections around them but rather the fish. After your week long training you found that you had grown attached to the fish. 

They swam and ate. Their purpose was direct and easy to understand. They had fins, so they swam. Often, you'd get stuck watching the creatures gracefully shift through the waters. You took a glimpse at Hawks in the weak reflection of the glass. His wings tucked behind his shoulders, he looked out of orbit here. 

You sighed, and Hawks turned to you, "Fine. I'll go with you. But I can't promise I can help," 

     ༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

In midday, the gallery had started to fill up with people. A few people came up to Hawks to take pictures, but other than that, it was quiet. You supposed it had something to do with the atmosphere, the way a library was meant to be quiet. 

Neither of you stopped by the various paintings or the quilt exhibit. You two had an obvious destination. You stepped closer to a painting to avoid knocking into another guest when Hawks chuckled, looking back at the almost collision. 

"How does that work?"

"How does what work?" You asked, and Hawks gestured with his hand to the lights that pointed to the paintings. 

"I'm not sure. My body doesn't change, I don't refract light, I don't have something that changes the density of my body, its something else," 

Hawks was still looking at the floor and the walls behind you, "Does it…bother you?"

"Yes," You said with gritted teeth, trying not to be too harsh with him. He knew exactly what to say to irritate you. 

"Did you have one when you were younger?"

"Yes," You don't know how to explain to anyone what it was like. Being five years old in the classroom, sitting during reading time and listening to your teacher, you were tired, eyes blinking slowly as the warm golden sun entered the class windows. Then your shadow started to shrink away, you looked out to find what cloud was passing by but found none. You straighten up, trying to find out what was wrong but nothing was wrong. Your shadow had disappeared. 

It was like losing a friend you didn't know you had. 

Another banner directed you two down a long corridor. A gallery attendant greeted you, explained how to interact with the exhibit, giving Hawks a shy warning about his wing span. In the gallery room you found six large boxes, like little rooms. You realized that this was where the mirrors must be and shrunk back. Hawks waited patiently at the entrance to one of the boxes. 

He opened the door for you and you step inside. All the walls were mirrors. Endless sparks of light, lone sparkles of light hanging in the void. Hawks' silhouette was repeated over and over again in the mirrors, you were not. You had no shadow, no reflection, and in a room full of both you were a pure observer. 

"Woah," Hawks circled you, eyes flitting between you and the mirrors. 

"It's not about light or absence of light, it's about existing somewhere else," you said, taking careful steps to get closer to one of the walls, "I used to go this lab, which is where you must have got my information," You paused hoping those words strike him somewhere, "we did lots of tests, experiments, in the end the closest we came to a conclusion," you pressed your fingers up to the mirror, a blip of ripples, and then your hand is sinking into the mirror. 

Hawks watched closely as you stepped into the mirror. Once you were on the other side you started to walk along the perimeter of the room. He couldn’t pinpoint where your voice was coming from though, it was softer, less distinct and echoed around him, "Is that I exist in more than one place, and that is what allows my quirk to work," You stepped back out of the mirror. 

"That is not a simple quirk." Hawks said as you two headed to the next room. You shrugged, unsure how to explain that beyond your mirror tricks, you couldn't do much. 

The next box was brightly lit, and soft sculptures rose from the floor like roots. White with red polka dots, the twisted vines repeated forever in the wall of mirrors. 

"Can you show me the other thing?" Hawks said, looking for a place to step that wouldn't disrupt the exhibit. You stepped into the mirror. 

"What do you want to see?" You asked him. 

“Anything," He said, you closed your eyes in concentration. You thought of a clear blue sky, you started to wander in the image a bit, there was a grassy hill, tall trees, wild flowers. 

You decided to try something else. From Hawks's perspective, the mirrors turned into the grassy hill, and then the image wavered as you imagined something else. 

It was the aquarium. He saw himself through your eyes as he cornered you on the catwalk. The two of you in the gallery and everything until this moment. 

You stepped out back into the art piece, "It's easier for me when something is fresh in my mind, or when I get to make something up, because then the details are less important," 

"Good to know,"

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Hawks and you had settled into a cafe not far from the museum. One that he must have frequented often enough because the baristas only nodded at him and later brought out his order. An iced caramel latte and a slice of crepe cake. He ate as he spoke. 

"We've tried to break the hypnosis in a lot of ways. But the way the hypnosis is cast is through reflections somehow, you are the safest option for us," 

"What if it doesn't work?"

"We'll have a test run. We have one of the victims in custody now and we want you to try to work with them," 

You placed your drink on the table. Getting a chance to help people would be nice but this situation had the chance to escalate into something more dangerous. You weren't a hero either; you didn't have a license, so this whole ordeal felt a bit off to you no matter how many times Hawks said there were papers you could sign. 

Hawks had explained that someone was using their quirk to control people, but once the person was no longer of use they would just abandon them. With no one to control them they were mindless and couldn't complete simple tasks on their own. So far the hypnosis had been used mainly for breaking and entering.

"Can I ask you something else?" He asked.

"What?"

"Why didn't you become a hero?" He thought your quirk was brilliant. 

"It's not as desirable as you think," You said, covering your mouth with your drink. 

"Never said it was," 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

That night at home you couldn't stop thinking of Hawk's face when he had said that. Had he not wanted to be a hero? Some heroes were open about their personal lives, where they came from, their family, but upon reflection you knew very little about Hawks. 

To be as good a hero as he was though, he had to garner something from it, have some passion, but it probably wasn't that straightforward. 

You laid in bed that night thinking about Hawks. Despite the tense beginning you had had with him, you found something about him easy-going. He had also been the first person in a long time to witness your quirk, which was an honor of sorts. 

Helping people with your quirk had always sounded out of reach to you. It didn't click with you. Ever. Your quirk was strange, and it took a lot of energy from you. As a child you worked endlessly to try to get any sort of tolerance but that didn't work. The art exhibit with Hawks had left you desperate for a meal and nap. 

You worried that he would ask for you to do more.  

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Hawks was asking you to do more. Or he was taking precautionary measures that you wanted to roll your eyes at. He had given you directions to what appeared to be an office building but upon entering you recognized it as a kind of lab, or hospital. 

There was also a space meant just for quirk usage and physical training, from the type of gym equipment there you supposed the room could be used for physical therapy. 

But that was not what you and Hawks were using it for. You were sweating, hunched over, hands on knees, trying to regain some composure. He was there, waiting patiently. Or maybe not patiently. The more time you spent with the hero, the harder he became to read. In his arms was a mirror, a cheap full length one that had a little waver in its reflection. 

"One more," Hawks said. 

You nodded. Taking your hand to wipe away the dewing sweat on your forehead, you let the motion flow. From your face to the mirror you pointed. The mirror exploded in imagery. Straining, you tried to focus on the one image you needed. Colorful stars that started to swirl in a kaleidoscope. You increased the speed they moved and then violently halted them. It was going to be the first image you tried with the victims. 

Hawks seemed satisfied for the day and sat beside you on the little plastic bench. You tried not to down all your water bottle at once, to slow your breathing back to its normal pace. 

As you calmed you started to feel the soreness in your body from the work. The room smelled of sweat, and there was another scent there too. Like the manufactured perfumes that men wore, that were unnatural and brazen. You sniffed the air and decided it was Hawks. 

"What's wrong?" Hawks was following your gaze to the mirror. You shrug, still trying to wind down from the session, "Maybe if you use your quirk more it will come back. You never know," 

He was referring to your shadow. You shook your head. The room shrinking in on you, the terrible mirror, Hawks revolving door of emotions that moved just as fast. 

"Don't count on it," 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The first session with a victim went rather smoothly. They do vomit and scream, begged for water to drink. You had tried to interject to help them but a swarm of medical professionals had descended upon the room. 

Only Hawks and you remained in the room now. It was designed for this exact purpose. Tall mirrors, the cleanest, clearest you had ever seen were the walls, ceiling and floor. A steel table and chair chained to the ground. Hawks sat in it were less than an hour ago the hypnotized victim sat. Hawks boots propped up on the table, "Have you ever taken someone in?"

"I'd never do that to someone," 

"Why not?" 

"I don't even understand my quirk, how could I be sure another person would even survive?" 

A single red feather darted into the mirror like a bird blindsided by a window in its flight path. You shook your head no, leaving him alone in the room. 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The second go with breaking the hypnosis is much the same. This time you try more soothing images, a beach on a bright afternoon, rolling waves that crash onto the beach. Unlike the last victim, who was awoken by spinning stars, this one does not throw up. They are still rather dizzy though. 

You leave before Hawks can spin his way around the guards to make chirps about your quirk. They are always indirect. He mentions buying a new desk lamp that doesn't create too much shadow, or asking for mirror recommendations because his last one fell over and broke. He knows a guy who can copy quirks, he's been taking a protein that according to ad's strengthens your quirk. Buffers really before he asks his main question again more directly. 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The fifth victim does not wake up. You tried the beach. A stunning field of flowers below a mountain valley. City at dawn. You cut the illusions, Hawks opened the hidden door to hand you the victims file again. 

You hesitated before conjuring up their childhood home, their old school, a restaurant their parents had mentioned in their interview. Family had been contacted as they were once again legal guardians over their incapacitated mind numbed adults. None of the information they gave you worked. 

You were dismissed after an hour of attempts. You could barely stand and let Hawks put his shoulder under yours to guide you out into the hallway. You two sat on the bench in silence not looking at each other.

There was a boiling disappointment in you. Why didn’t it work this time? What could you have done to make it work? Was it even you? Not knowing made it worse. You wanted to be able to ask someone, anyone, but truly the answer was invisible. 

"Hawks," He sat up, he had been leaning on his knees but now he placed his head back against the wall to show he was listening, "Let's try it," 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Your house had light everywhere. Lamps and nightlights kept a steady flow of ambient light. You hadn't considered why you had been drawn to decorate this way until you came home and all the lights switched on. 

Hawks kept his wings tucked close as he followed you to the kitchen. You told him to help himself to the fridge as you searched for something in the bedroom. In your absence several feathers dislodged and surveyed the house in detail for him. 

He poured himself a glass of water and took an apple from the bowl on the counter. He did feel uneasy about pushing you to this. He never expected you to change your mind, and if he was honest, the expression on your face back at the lab was a frightening form of resolve. 

"This," You returned to the kitchen, in your hand was a compact mirror, "is an old birthday gift," 

You handed the mirror to Hawks, he admired you for a very brief moment, you changed into more comfortable clothes and looked much more relaxed. Then he admired the mirror. It was old, but clean and durable, you'd kept good care of it. Silver, with an intricate engraving on the back. He pushed a button and it popped open revealing the mirror. 

"Why this?"

"It's the only mirror I've ever liked,"

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Hawks stood with Tokoyami and Sero in an empty UA classroom. Originally Hawks had wanted Best Jeanist for this job but his instinct told him that having another high ranking hero involved would have been too overwhelming for you. 

Hawks gave the boys a pat on the back before drifting out into the hallway on a soft glide. Your bathroom trip was exceeding a normal time and Hawks sidled up to the restroom entrance. A sharp turn guarded the bathroom stalls. He could hear the drip of the faucet, your hands grinding as you gripped the sink.

He stepped into the restroom, you had been staring straight into the mirror and upon hearing him turned to meet his eyes. In the afternoon sunlight, your own eyes shone with natural warmth. This one moment of eye contact felt so long, so illuminated and pure that Hawks was truly unprepared for the way your body snapped against the wall. 

But it wasn’t the wall it was the mirror. Both of you were screaming, but your voice was muffled and echoing. Half your body, including your head, had been yanked into the mirror. Hawks had managed to grab your other arm and braced his shoes against the sink. 

Tokoyami and Sero were quick on their response. Tape, feathers, and a dark rope of shadow wrapped around your arm.

"Talk to me!" Hawks gasped out the words, his entire body tense as he and the boys tried to bring you back, "What do you see?"

"Nothing! There’s nothing-" whatever you were going to say next gets cut off by a deafening screech, then a flashbang as a howl of light encompassed the bathroom. Dark Shadow retreated and there was another bang as Sero threw his other arm out to catch you, his body colliding with the sink. The sound of ripping tape as he kept having to throw new strips out.   

"Tokoyami, there’s a mirror in my pocket, open it," Hawk’s work-study student does as ordered and Hawks calls your name out once more, "You need to follow my voice, jump to the sound of my voice, you mirror is in front of me," 

Tokoyami held the little compact mirror out in front of Hawk's face. Your whole body shook and burned with the effort. You listened to Hawks, who was recounting nonsense, but his voice was clear. Shutting your eyes tight, you hone in on his voice. You think of the mirror you’ve seen dozens of times, what it must look like in front of Hawks and then silence. 

The light, the tape, the rustle of feathers all stop. The mirror above the sink showed three startled faces. With a definitive strike Hawks shattered the larger mirror. Still, he was skeptical and turned the compact mirror the other way, as if what was on the other side of the mirror was still going to reach out and grab you. 

"You two get me Aizawa," The boys ran off, sneakers squeaking out in the hall as they ran as fast as possible.

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The next day Hawks was deciding on which pastry to bring to your house. Chocolate filled croissant? Matcha sugar cookies? Strawberry tarts? Lucky for him he didn’t have to decide, the bakery staff gave him three of everything packaged perfectly in a box. He paid anyway, putting the change in the tip jar. 

"I told you to give me some time," You opened the door with a dejected hunch in your shoulders that made Hawks grimace. He worked you too hard.

He held up the bakery box, ribbons twirling around his wrist, "I'm not here on business," 

You ushered him in, returning to watering your plants around the kitchen and living room. A throw back 80s playlist keeping you company as you tended to your plants. 

"Coffee or tea?" Hawks asked, rummaging through your cabinets with his feathers. With drinks and pastries, you sat on the couch with the pro. 

"So every episode there’s a murder?"

"Yeah and every episode they solve it," You said taking another bite. 

"How are they not a murder suspect too? I mean solving a crime every week?" Hawks eyes don't leave the tv screen though as he took jabs at which suspect was the killer. From the corner of your eye he looked extraordinarily human. The evening slipped away with a gentle sundown, more liquid in your mug, and an empty box of treats. 

By the time he leaves it’s late. The moon was the only light as you walked him outside. Before he took off into the sky you grabbed onto his jacket, "I'm ready this time," 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

This time, Hawks was having Jeanist escort the two of you on your adventure. Hawks had rented out a dance studio, the large mirror on the opposite end of the room exactly what you needed for today's task. Jeanist had your compact safely tucked into his pocket. He had also secured you and Hawks with fabric around the waist. 

Hawks looked up at you, he's crouched on the floor, unintentionally shielding himself from the mirror with his wings. You nod, then turn back around to Jeanist, "One more thing," You hand Jenasit a small portable radio that can clip onto the side of his belt, "Keep this on, I'll have an easier time knowing where I should go when I need to get back," 

You had only ever used your quirk to disappear into mirrors and change the image the mirror showed. What light and reflection had to do with your quirk you weren't sure. You had also never attempted to stray from the mirror. This concept was hard for Hawks to grasp but you said once he was on the other side he’d understand. 

Now you two stood inches frm the mirror. His reflection stared at you but nothing stared at him in return. 

"Easy now," Hawks said, with a teasing smile he hoped was reassuring. You had taken his hand and were pressing it to the mirror's surface. A ripple of the image as his gloved hand disappeared into the surface. The ripples got violent quickly and you and Hawks pulled back, the rope around your waist going taut as Jeanist prepared himself too. 

The rope became even tighter as Hawks ran towards you from inside the mirror. The real Hawks, the one next to you, felt his breath hitch as his reflection separated from him. His reflection had come right up to the mirror's edge. This Hawks was screaming, pointing back into the void he had come from, urging you to follow, and you did, or you tried to. 

The Hawks next to you grabbed your wrist, "If I was trying to trick you that's totally something I would do"

"Are you sure that’s you?" Jenaist said from behind, you and Hawks exchanged a glance. He was thinking of that day in the museum, when he had asked if a missing shadow, a missing reflection bothered you and he could say for certain now that he felt the same. 

Suddenly, as if both of you were reminiscing on the same thought you both checked Hawks shadow. There was nothing. Hawks spread his wings to their full span, the shadow his wings cast was gone too. 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

"Fuck," You said, taking another gander at his absent shadow, lifting his arms for him and ducking under his elbow, "I'm sorry, I don’t, I don’t know how or why that happened," 

"It's okay, let’s keep going," It's not okay, though. Hawks has never felt so uneasy in his life and as you two approached the mirror again you got closer to each other with each step until his shoulder was linked to yours. He wants to say something is wrong. The phrase kept repeating itself in his mind. Internally he knew that it was not just how dangerous this was, but a new unbridled rooting of fear he had not felt before, Hawks knew the loss of his shadow was to blame. 

You two entered the mirror. 

You grounded yourself as best you could. Hawk's nervousness edged your anxiety to a new height. Hawks took in a breath like he was diving into a pool, his upper half submerged into the mirror. You took initiative, moving several paces forward when a crash interrupted the 80s tunes playing on the radio. Hawks was no longer behind you, you barreled out into the studio landing hard onto the floor. Not as hard as Hawks had, who from the looks of things had been thrown out of the mirror. 

Jeanist had been able to catch him, but not fast enough, as the shelf Hawks launched into was in pieces. "Hawks!" came from your mouth most clearly, followed by an onslaught of concerned questions. 

He put his hand up to show he was fine and that you could stop questioning him. You frown, unable to place the emotion on his face, his furrowed eyebrows and gleaming eyes. When he picked you up, wind howling as he aimed for the mirror you realized its determination that was written all over him. 

"Don’t let go of me," He said in a whisper but still it echoed softly now that you were on the other side of the mirror again. He put you down and clarified himself when you kept your arms around his neck, "I just mean," He hesitated, eyes fully taking in the odd space, "I think if you’re not touching me I'll get thrown out," 

You nodded, removed your arms from his neck, slid your hand down his shoulder and connected it to his hand. You touched his waist, taking the rope Jeanist still had tied there and moving it to the joined hands. 

"I get it now," He said, head tilting backwards as he took in the mirror. It was not reflective on this side, but it was also not a window. Vague shapes, colors, and light from the room are visible but so distorted that if he hadn’t been on the other side he wouldn't know what was there at all. All around is emptiness, pitch black. The mirror is the same size it was in the dance studio, here it exists in the nothing, a thin sheet hanging in the void. 

"Wait," You said. It’s taking longer with him here. Seconds later another mirror appeared off in the distance. No not a mirror, its shape wasn’t as solid, as distinct. 

"What is that?" He asked stepping towards it but you pulled him back to the mirror. 

"It’s the window, the one on the door of the dance studio," 

"Oh, we could leave through it?" 

"Yes, if we wanted too. But that’s not what I'm waiting for," 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A door opens. Hawks knew it was not another reflection, unlike the mirrors and windows you passed on your way to the studio. No, this was a real door. And sunlight, sky, and life were on the other side of it. But nothing stepped through. 

Taking steps in time with one another you approached slowly. Closer, you recognized the door. It’s the door of your childhood home. It’s so dark that it was hard for you to see the color and design of it. 

"Hawks-"

"My names Keigo," You turn to look at him and his wild eyed expression matches your own, "I dont know, this place," He couldn’t explain how he felt like he was looking down a well, how his stomach and head and hands felt empty and disconnected.  

You nodded, "I know its strange in here," You took a surveying glance around the darkness, "We have to go through that door," 

His hand gripped yours tighter and it was a red feather that entered the door first, "I don’t sense anything, not even the air, it’s all still," 

You took the door knob in your hand and opened it wider. An amalgamation of rooms waited on the other side. Your favorite window from your school days, the employee door from an old restaurant in your neighborhood. Carpet and tile, plaster and wallpaper. 

A stinging in your arm as you collided with the solid black ground. Hawks and you are separated, Jeansit's ropes of fabric flail as they tried to find purchase on Keigo's body. A mess of dark shadow clobbered on top of him, his wings took their full span, a jet stream of air as he flew backwards low to the ground. The shadow was not solid, its jagged lines and edges moved in constant fretting jabs. 

Keigo flew upwards and discovered that this void did have a ceiling. His feathers easily pierced the shadow, but it didn’t seem to mind.

"Stop!" You cried out, clutching your arm and Keigo saw blood pooling around your fingers. He dove down to your side, or attempted to, he's cut off again by the large mass of energy. With a sharp turn, he gets low again, fingers brushing the floor as he grabbed one of Jeanist's ropes.

The creature lets out a howl, it was so loud it brought you to your knees, covering your ears, Keigo himself is barely able to resist the urge to do the same. When the howl dies you hear the 80s station much louder, Jeanist trying to assist anyway he could. 

Keigo could only evade as he was hunted. This must be part of your quirk, if he hurt it he hurt

you. You hunkered down where you stood, willing yourself to reel in the creature. Another jagged shape, this one much more clear in its proportions, it was Keigo's shadow. Black wings barreled into the middle of the shape, an agonizing screech as the black energy became even more disjointed. 

In the air Keigo came tumbling, his whole body clumsy as he fell. You ran to him, ducking, covering your head as the brawling shapes came dangerously close before fighting back up into the air. 

Awkwardly crawling and jogging you were able to get close to Keigo again. He wrapped your wrists together again, he was still laying on the floor though, unable to share his body with his shadow comfortably when separated. 

He fell back, his breath catching and arms grabbing at his sides. You looked back up at the fight. Keigo was taking damage that his shadow takes. 

"You should really be doing this for a living," Keigo said, smiling through his distress. Your quirk was perhaps not the most outwardly strong. But combined, it was scary. Jumping from reflection to reflection, manipulating the image of reflections and this. When inside a reflection, your shadow, yes, Keigo was certain now that jumbled mass of energy was your shadow. The way you accumulated damage through your shadow was not particularly ideal. From what he gathered, if a physical body attacked your shadow you were hurt in the process, but if another shadow attacked your own no damage was done to your body. 

"It won't hurt you," Keigo mused, trying to devise a proper solution. 

"And yours is protecting you," You said, standing, "You need to get your shadow and I need to get mine," 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Running back to the mirror's edge, 80s music blaring but still ambient, you and Keigo yanked once on the ropes while running, the fabric went taut. Both shadows followed the movement, not as quickly as they were still diving at each other. Keigo pivoted on his foot, and with a motion so fast you couldn’t see it, there was a sword in his hand and it was right above you. 

All your senses halted, overpowered by the scream your shadow unleashed. Keigo knew you wouldn’t be fast enough, he took the rope around his waist and wrapped it around him and the angry shadow. His abdomen became shredded with cuts as he did so. He used a feather to pull the rope twice, signaling to Jeanist to pull him out. 

Keigo was able to get his upper body out of the mirror. He freed your shadow, warning Jeanist to get back. The mass of energy was enraged to be outside the mirror, it thrashed around the dance studio like an animal. It’s simple path of movement taking up the flooring. Kegio was overcome with an urge to calm it, but he couldn’t, half of his body was still inside the mirror. 

He could hear your voice, but it sounded like you were underwater and the echo, the music, the destruction, he couldn’t take it. A thumping on his legs, your hands grabbed at him, clutched him and he tried to go back to you but couldn’t 

You stole a move from Hawks, literally using his shadow as your own, and dove through the mirror. You were uneven in the air, your body and Keigo's not the same, and you could feel his shadow struggling to conform. You took control of it, used it like it was another limb, an extra thing, and it hurt. It hurt Keigo, it hurt you, but you head straight for the creature. 

"Jeanist!" You and Jeanist wrangled your shadow, which only hindered you more, rendering Keigo's shadow useless to you as you lacked the strength to control it further. You kneeled next to Keigo, pulled him out of the mirror while trying to give him back his shadow. It wouldn’t budge, the wings and wild hair stayed glued to you. Tired out, you got close to Keigo's ear, "You need to take your shadow back," 

"I'm trying," He said through gritted teeth. Keigo looked at Jeanist, at the struggle with your shadow, he locked eyes with Jeanist and you understood too late.

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Two days later, you stand in the doorway to your house. Your arm is bandaged and Keigo was still next to you. 

"Let me sleep," he said, pushing past you to the living room couch. Keigo refused to leave your side. His shadow was still tethered to you, and yours to him. It felt sickening to be apart from him. Even the distance from the bedroom to the couch felt wrong, but you could already hear his snoring, and you doubted you could muster up the energy and courage to say something to him. 

You decided a shower was the best course of action. You had tried several times in the hospital to switch your shadows but could not seem to do so. You needed an empty body, your own shadow had to go back in the mirror. 

Jeanist had given you back the compact mirror, you stared at it. It was open on your dresser, maybe you could take it from Keigo while he was sleeping? But that didn't feel right either. He couldn't stay with your shadow. It wore him out, and the pain the first impact had on him was burned into your memory. It was the most pain you'd ever seen on another person, his face, his body, all screaming. And what would he do? Go out in public like this? 

He had flown here with you, but so high up his shadow was not a problem. Beyond that, it was still potentially dangerous for your shadow to be out. It had been tame, still messy and discombobulated but it kept to Keigo's body. 

Laying in bed, the previous day's replayed. Hawks and Jeansit had worked together before you knew that, they had a chemistry in battle and it had taken you seconds more than Jeanist to understand. Jeanist slammed the tied up shadow into Hawks. Outside the reflection, in the real world, your shadow could be harmed, Jeanist had been able to wrangle it. 

Cause really it was a beast, it wasn’t a normal shadow anymore. If Keigo had been awake, he'd have knocked your shoulder light and told you, "But it’s yours," 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Keigo had taken up to watching his own array of mystery TV shows in the following days. He was ignoring every attempt the world was making to get in touch with him. Together, for almost a week, the two of you did nothing but order food, take long showers, and watch TV. 

Freshly showered, Keigo's hair was wrapped up in a towel, a maneuver you shared with him. With your eyes on the TV it was easier to ignore the mismatched shadows. It was unnerving to see Keigo, whose wings were intimidating enough, with a bizarre otherworldly shadow. Keigo felt the same about you, the familiar sight of his wings odd on another person.

"She's my favorite," Keigo said, dragging the spoon full of ice cream through his lips, "All she does is write books and walk around her tiny town. Do you know how much free time she must have? She writes books!" 

"Fair enough, I expected another detective to be your favorite,"

"Jessica Fletcher reigns," He twirled the spoon around and bumped it on your forehead, "Supreme," He finished the sentence. 

"Watch it, this is my couch and my TV if you remember correctly," 

He threw his thumb back to point over his shoulder, "And this is your shadow," 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

On the sixth morning of the longest sleepover of your life, you found Hawks laying in the grass in the backyard. You lay next to him, legs in opposite directions but faces right next to eachother. 

"Going into that mirror, I’ve never felt anything like that. I don’t feel the same, I know I am but the way I feel everything," He meant this literally, a detached sensation haloed all his movements, "Is different now. I know you’re trying to fix this, and honestly I dont mind at all. I’d be okay if you took weeks, months, to figure this out," 

"Why?" Is all you could think to say. The grass cool on your back, the breeze gently rustled the leaves and shifted the hem of your shirt.

"I just want to rest and I can rest here," 

"Theres still things we need to do. Theres that last victim I need to help, and I'm sure you have even more," 

"I do, but for a little while I want to pretend like I dont," 

"Then I'm sorry," You said. 

Keigo looked up, at your side was the compact mirror pointed up at him, and in the grass he saw the black leaving his side like ink going down a drain. Your fingers pulled it towards you, sweat beaded at the top of your forehead from the effort. The second your shadow was free from him, Keigo's own leapt from your body back home. A flash of wings and limbs as it collided into his body. 

Keigo was so rejoiced and overcome with an unknown feeling of completeness, that his only means to express it was to take you in arms in a hug. Pulling you to your feet and muttering thank you over and over. 

He felt untangled, his lethargy had been soothed with his shadow. 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

"I'm still going to come by," Keigo said. He wished he could say it to your face and not the back of your head. Which is what he opted for as you two stood outside the commissions offices. 

"Really?' You asked, turning back to face him. 

"I still haven’t finished watching Murder She Wrote," He grabbed the back of his neck, the same urge he had after you had given him his shadow pulling at him again, "And I would just need to see you now," 

"Thanks," You felt small, his whole team had thanked you endlessly for your help with the last victim of the mind control quirk. For all your help. They’d given you a bouquet and a fancy box of delicatessen fruit. 

"You don’t have to say thanks for that,"

"I'm the reason you’re in this mess, I have to say something," 

Keigo raised an eyebrow, "There isn’t a mess anymore," 

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: I've actually been working on this for YEARS. Several other of my Hawks oneshots got completed and posted before this ever got done. Some of the original scenes got wiped but overall I'm happy to have it off my chest. Enjoy the surprise update, uh love Hawks, and make sure to listen to my Keigo 80s playlist :p and you guessed it, this is only MILDLY proofread :p 

Click here for Playlist link

[glitterge1pen]

That one Iwaizumi fic I wrote several years ago

Can Sun: Perfect Lover (2023)

[glitterge1pen]

heya! I've just wanted to drop this ask here, hoping that it might brighten your day! You are one of my favorite fanfic writers there is! I always find myself coming back to your works and rereading them over and over again! Especially when life gets tough, they've become my comfort place! And I'm not sure what exactly pulls me towards your works, but they all so captivating to me!! I've even started reading the ones I don't know the OG media they're from C: So thank you so so so so much for your work!!!!! It means the world to me and i'm so lucky i found your AO3 and your blog!!!!! I hope you'll have a nice day/night!! <3

Oh wow this is such a special message to get !!! I started this blog when I was kinda in a weird space with my original works and all the work here really helped me out with learning to write consistently, how, and lots of other stuff. Every now and then I tinker with some unfinished fics and maybe one day I’ll come back but currently it’s my own stuff in the mix.

Really this is so appreciated because to me it makes writing much easier, because regardless of how hard I work I still doubt myself, when I write I work on a scene or chapter for so long until I sometimes think “this isn’t going anywhere” and it’s reassuring to think instead of “but people do enjoy my work, they enjoy things I’ve written I can keep going”

[glitterge1pen]

one thing I appreciate about chihayafuru is that is makes it a point to show that you don’t suddenly stop having passions and aspirations after high schools I love how the competitions aren’t restricted to high schoolers but instead, we see a variety of people of varying ages play karuta as eagerly as the high schoolers like yea you can be a 34yo mom of two and still have hobbies etc etc idk it’s a fresh approach to sports animanga

[glitterge1pen]

yet again exploring purely self indulgent mha/x-men crossover art.

[glitterge1pen]

Also forgot I made this while writing, but for the first time in a bit I have a playlist to accompany a piece

Have you ever stood in an empty hallway and been put into 2005-2009?

Rukawa Kaede x reader, sfw, fluff, word count 3,490

guys I've done it again I have wrote something vague and tender

Stadium Operations Manger had not been the job you thought you would find yourself in. At least according to the results of the career aptitude test you took in high school.

Scheduling and preparing the stadium for events was your main job. Working with musicians teams to figure out how their touring stage would fit in your space. What nights were for basketball or hockey or monster jam trucks.

What charity wanted to sing at that hockey game? And there’s a new food vendor right? These were questions you handed off to other people, the managers beneath you. With a walkie talkie, clipboard, and google calendar you hoped yourself invincible.

Keep reading

[glitterge1pen]

Have you ever stood in an empty hallway and been put into 2005-2009?

Rukawa Kaede x reader, sfw, fluff, word count 3,490

guys I've done it again I have wrote something vague and tender

Stadium Operations Manger had not been the job you thought you would find yourself in. At least according to the results of the career aptitude test you took in high school.

Scheduling and preparing the stadium for events was your main job. Working with musicians teams to figure out how their touring stage would fit in your space. What nights were for basketball or hockey or monster jam trucks.

What charity wanted to sing at that hockey game? And there's a new food vendor right? These were questions you handed off to other people, the managers beneath you. With a walkie talkie, clipboard, and google calendar you hoped yourself invincible.

That was of course until Rukawa. His name squeezes its way out of the corner of your mouth, it tingles the tip of your nose and turns the ends of your ears hot. Your staff in aprons, yellow crowd control vests, and black security jackets moves out of your way as you pass.

There is twenty minutes until the doors open and then another hour until the game.

Your shoes clunk on the tiled floor, your legs burning from the fast pace. Where could he be this time? You were almost back at where you had started and there was no sign of him.

Pressing on the walkie you ask if anyone has seen him. They don't have to ask who. But he is still amiss and you don't know if you should be angry or impressed.

Deciding that he can wait just a couple minutes you walk over to the glass wall that overlooks the city. In the summer doors lead to a rooftop cafe, a balcony, but now in the colder months the doors are locked and you can only look.

At night the lights and reflections of the city are like rain. You often find yourself taking in this exact view, either on the first floor or higher up on the third floor where you are now.

Next to you is one of the smaller merchandise shops. The front of the shop also glass. All the local sports teams merch is stocked here and tonight the basketball teams logo is most prominent amongst the jerseys. Especially Rukawa’s jersey. That number of his, 11, seemingly mocking you. Where was he?

The shop door was propped open, you'd have to check the schedule and remind whoever closed last night to make sure to shut it. A sneaker. There behind the cashier counter on your right is a sneaker on the floor.

You leave the door to investigate. There is Rukawa on that blue shop carpet. His arms crossed over his chest and his breathing even. You kick the bottom of his shoe.

"Come on," he groans, "Get up, game time is soon,"

"You're lying,"

"I'm not lying you got to get your ass up and back downstairs,"

He doesn't say anything. You huff, knowing that the next part of this charade is trying to yank him off the floor. Rukawa is tall and mostly muscle, you tug on his arm but never get him very far. Today he is limp dead weight. You set your clipboard down to use both hands, in a misstep you tangle your shoes with his. Your hands loose grip on his forearm and you're tumbling backwards.

This is what seems to wake Rukawa up. His own hand grips onto your wrist pulling you in his direction just as he’s standing onto his feet. You bump into his chest and are momentarily in a whirlwind. Rukawa smells nice, his cologne faint but there, beneath the vague spicy citrus is the gentle sweat of sleep. His jersey isn’t pressed to flat clean lines but it is clean, it smells fresh. He’s looking at you not saying anything and you can feel his gaze but do not meet it.

“Your boss is going to kill me,”

“He’s not my boss,”

“He's your coach and that’s close enough, come on we have to get you down there,”

Rukawa follows you out of the store and into the massive stadium halls. He keeps pace with you, employees eye him but don’t ask for pictures or autographs. Around the bend is the employee only elevator and your shoulder brushes against him on the ride down to the basement floors.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,”

You say with a nonchalant tone, your eyes feasting upon your clipboard trying to find when the medic team is supposed to arrive tonight.

“I didn't mean for you to trip,”

This time he can't look at you while you look at him. You don’t know what to say, your mind trying to find some other instance where you’ve heard him apologize but can't. It's the thing that twitter accounts, sports journalists and other players say about Rukawa. That his head is too high, that he can't admit when he's over stepped but instead will say what he plans on doing next. The elevator dings open and you tell him that it's alright.

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Your office is tucked away in the basement. It's barely big enough for the desk, couch and shelf of binders that hold it together. Rukawa is there on the couch, his back to you as you type away on your computer. Players were required to arrive at the stadium at least forty five minutes before the games. Most came earlier than that. Rukawa's teammates were lounging in the locker room with take out, in the seats below the announcers box playing Xbox on the jumbotron and listening to music on the court.

Rukawa was napping. You wondered if he had some sort of sleep disorder. Since finding him in the shop several weeks ago Rukawa had stopped napping in various places around the stadium and taken up your offer to sleep in the office. You turn to look at him now and find that he is already looking at you.

“You're awake,”

And he nods, sitting up.

“You ready for the game,”

He scoots the couch closer to the desk.

“I’ll take that as a yes,”

“We’re weak on defensive because Miller is out. Their good scorers, and so are we but our weak point is shining,”

“You can still win,”

Rukawa is close to the desk so that he can rest his head in his arms. His breath itches your skin as your attention battles to focus on the computer screen in front of you and not him.

“And you have to move the couch back when you leave for warm ups,”

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The team was on a losing streak. You did not bring it up to Rukawa. He sulked in your office before games, twisting in his sleep. He had been spending even more time in the gym. The training center was only two blocks away from the stadium. He parked his car in the same lot as yours, you saw him in there sometimes before you had to clock in, the training center not open yet. Most often he was napping, but sometimes you caught him watching game highlights. You always made sure to bump your fist on his window as you passed by.

Today, in the cold night air, he was there again. The trunk of his car slamming shut as he tossed his duffle bag inside. His eyes widened when he saw you, having caught him off guard. Another thing that you had not been able to do before. You see the bags under his eyes, the red creeping around his pupils.

“Rukawa, what are you still doing here, its really late,”

He shrugs, “I could ask you the same thing,” you were carrying a box full of posters. The new ones for the holders had come in, you liked to keep the cool ones of bands you liked. Rukawa held the box for you as you unlocked the car. Your breath came out in white clouds, the air slithering around you, Rukawa put his hands in his pockets.

“Hungry?”

He asks. The restaurant of Rukawa's choosing was at first surprising. Empanadas served over a counter. Traditional ones, and ones with more flashy fillings like Vegan Caprse and Spicy Bbq Chicken. The place is small with few tables, it's on the mall strip downtown and has doors on either side. People filter in and out easily, their empanadas wrapped in wax paper, steaming hot as people head back outside. Most seem drunk, rosy, and loud as they wait for their food.

You order first and snag the window seats, gliding onto the high stools. It's Friday so even though it's late the street is still buzzing. When Rukawa slides into the seat next to you, he hands you a cellophane wrapped pastry.

“For letting me use the office,”

“Oh you didn't have to do that,”

“I did. I have to do something for you,”

He's so matter of fact about it that it makes you want to roll your eyes. He's serious and dead set on small things like this, it makes you grin. You watch the people on the street, your reflection mixing with the lights, the people behind you in the small restaurant just blurry shapes in the window. The food is good and warm, the bread flaky and filling.

“Are you okay?” He doesn't answer but instead just looks at you. If he was going to be stubborn about it you supposed you could be a little mean, “I know you don’t like losing and…” You trail off hiding a smile behind your empanada. He twists around in his stool, propping his elbows up on the counter. You don’t stop looking at him and eventually he sighs and swivels the stool to face you.

“Fine. I don’t like it. And I can't do anything about it,”

“And have you done other things?”

“Like what?”

“What you've never taken, like a spa day or something?”

“I’m not going to a spa,”

“I’m not saying go to a spa I just mean when you aren’t playing basketball what do you do?”

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“When I first moved here this is where I would come,”

It's the next day and you had spent more time than you'd like to admit thinking about what to wear. Only to find that Rukawa was bringing you to a bridge looking down at the freeway. It was the massive freeway too, the one with ten lanes and the toll. The bridge had nothing but chainlink, that enclosed the concrete path, and a single iron railing keeping people from throwing rocks and themselves down at the cars. It connected a neighborhood of houses to a strip mall.

“And why would you come here? There's like nothing here,”

He shrugged, “This path connects to the river, the one down by the stadium. I used to run it every morning and sometimes I’d stop here at the bridge.”

There's stairs you have to descend, they seem clunky and odd next to the freeway. Drivers slow down as they approach and merge from the ramp onto the lanes. The city is still in view and you find your eyes wandering to the skyscrapers and glistening windows. Rukawa nudges your shoulder with your own.

“This is the part I like,”

A car gets on the exit ramp.

“What about it?”

“Look at the drivers,”

The next car comes, a blue honda, and the girl driving looks over her shoulder to see if she can merge. Almost everyone does this, the peek over the shoulder. Of course everyone does this, but it is charming to see that Rukawa has picked a spot just to watch people do this mundane task. You try to think of other things like this that everyone must do but your mind comes up blank, too busy watching the cars pass by.

There are easy things to think of, like breathing, drinking water, sleeping, that all people somehow complete. But smaller things, like having to check over your shoulder, escape you. But you know still that other people exist in the same way you do.

“I get why you come here,”

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“That just isn't going to work sir,”

The grody man in front of you was trying to convince you that his musicians stage set needed another rig for lights.

“There has to be some way you can do this for us, we’ll downsize if we have too,”

“You're going to downsize over some lights?”

All the pleasantries between you two had been used up. The past ten minutes had been very tense, the forty five minute meeting was entering two hour meeting territory and you were jittering with nerves. Not because you couldn't handle this man but because there was a game tonight and you still hadn't made your first round of check-ins with your team.

“Hell yeah we’ll downsize over this. This is money that you’ll be losing,”

“It's not possible, we simply don't have the room for it,”

“Then make room!”

The door to your office swings open, Rukawa is there, duffle bag slung over his shoulder and frozen as he takes in the atmosphere.

“Oh, I didn't know you had a meeting today,”

He’s about to turn away but you usher him in.

“No, no, its alright we were just finishing up,”

“No we aren't!”

Rukawa’s eyes dart between you and this man, he tosses his duffle bag onto the couch, stepping aside to let the man pass. But the man is still in the chair across from your desk, his face red and his palms up like can catch him an explanation for this interruption.

“I’m sorry but we are done. I've explained several times that we don't have room for another rig, and even if we did I couldn't let you use that space because the amount of lights you're suggesting is a fire hazard,”

“Other places have given us the space so why can't you?”

“Because we don't have it!”

You are practically yelling and the man's mouth is open in shock, his hand on his chest like he has the right to be appalled.

“You have to leave,”

Rukawa says. You don't take your eyes off the man in front of you.

“You don't have any say in this matter!”

“They told you to leave, leave,”

Finally, after a long, long beat of silence the man gets up and leaves. He slams your office door hard. Your fists balled up at your sides, you jump at the door. Opening it only to slam it shut even harder than he had. You stand in the middle of your office unsure of what to do now. Your whole body burning hot, your eyes brimming with tears, and your hands still clenched tight.

“Come on, you have to get out of this office,”

You run your fingers over the lines in your forehead, the ones that appear before you're going to cry.

“No, no, I have to check in with security and-”

“Do you think it's a good idea to do that when you're not calm and ready?” “But I have to,”

“Just ten minutes,”

You follow Rukawa to the elevator and find yourself retracing steps to the merchandise store you had last found him in. To your surprise Rukawa walks past that and to the doors that lead to the patio, and he opens them. He somehow has a key and though it's chilly out you still stand on the rooftop. It's afternoon, the sky a strong blue, clouds fluffy.

“Thanks,”

You say as Rukawa tosses you his warm up jacket.

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Can’t you go talk to him,”

“Isn't that your job,”

Rukawa's coach, a balding middle aged man who wears too many rings, sighs, and shakes his head.

“Your better at it, he likes you better,”

“Which is it, am I better or does he like me better,”

“You know it's both,”

You hum and continue typing on your laptop.

“I’ll go with you if you're scared,”

“I’m not scared!”

“Then why aren't you going?”

“Beucae Rukawa is a professional athlete and I trust he knows what he's doing,”

“And I’m his coach and I’m saying he's doing too much, get him out of the gym, hes pissing everyone off,”

“Why do I have to do it? It's not my responsibility,” 

“I already told you, he likes you best”

This is the conversation you had with him in your office that led to you braving the night and walking to the training center. You show your stadium badge to the secretary behind the desk and she does not let you in. So you call coach and he doesn't answer, which leads to you calling Rukawa.

“Can you come down to the front desk,”

He's breathless as he speaks, “The front desk where?”

“Here, like where you are, the training center,”

Suddenly you are scared and nervous and don't know exactly what you’ll say to Rukawa. When he gets down to the lobby he bursts through the doors, head whipping back and forth to find you.

“Did something happen?”

“What? No? Did coach not tell you I was coming?”

Rukawa's shoulders drop, and he shakes his head no.

“He wants you out of the gym,” He runs a hand through his hair, “he says you're stressing everyone out,”

Rukawa hunches over on his knees, he huffs.

“He couldn't tell me that?”

“He says he did and you didn't listen.”

He flops back onto the couch that's in the lobby. You stand there holding the strap of your work bag. You aren't sure what's supposed to happen next, are you supposed to sit down with him? Is he actually going to leave? He wraps the healthy leaf of the house plant that's next to the couch around his fingers. It shines underneath the lights, green, vibrant, of life.

“Have you ever been inside?”

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Since Rukawa had given you a tour of the training center he was more prone to dropping by your office on days that he did not have games. He had also begun inviting you to practices. You had only been able to make it to two but they were interesting to watch. You didn't sit in the bleachers but rather in this hallway with windows that looked down onto the court. There were hardly any people there, and they appeared to be other employees.

You were not in your office though when Rukawa had popped in. He saw the drink on your desk and the light of the computer screen. He went wandering the basement offices in an attempt to find you. He grabbed his lunch too, he had come from a practice and was starving. He knew the building pretty well from his adventures in napping. He checked the water fountain, the break room but found you in the office supply closet. Which is where the big xerox machine was.

“Hey,”

You said to him as he entered the small room.

“You weren't in your office,”

“Well, yeah I had to make copies of these,”

Rukawa hoisted himself up on the cabinet next to the printer. He clipped the stacks of paper you were making with paper clips and set them aside for you as he munched on his food.

“Is that a whole bag of tomatoes?”

You asked, lifting up the scanner lid. Rukawa had brought a ziploc bag full of tomatoes to eat. He nodded.

“Do you want one?”

None of the tomatoes were of the same size or color, but most of them were small. He handed you one of the bite size ones, and you don't know what compelled you to do this, but you put it on the scanner with paper. You pressed the start button and bright light illuminated the room. With the lid open you could see the bar of light as it whirred left and right.

Rukawa took the paper off the glass and dumped the rest of the tomatoes on. You scanned dozens of different piles of the tomates. Flipping them over and rearranging them on the glass. All the images were being sent to your computer but also being printed out. Rukawa assisted. Moving the red bulbs this way and that.

“When we’re done can we go to the roof?”

“Sure,”

You say to him. Many weeks later you will visit Rukawa's apartment and find the printed tomatoes framed in the hallway of his house.

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N;  @z_adeh on tiktok has this video of them scanning tomatoes and it zapped my brain

[glitterge1pen]

he monch 🐥

[glitterge1pen]

Hi!!! I really love your Rukawa x Reader thingy! ❤️❤️❤️❤️ But how can I find you in a03?

Omg hello!

Awhile back I redid my desktop theme and in my rearranging of my blog forgot to repin my about me! My ao3 link should be there :p

[glitterge1pen]

Holy fucking shit

I love it when anons/guests find my works and kudo/leave reviews, but given the new revelation that Elon Musk is using bots to mine AO3 fanfiction for a writing AI without writer's permission, my works are now archive-locked and only available for people with an AO3 account.

[glitterge1pen]

Do you still write??

Unfortunately yes, it's clinical 💔 lol, I just haven't posted here because I've been working on other things, I do want to keep writing fanfiction tho

[glitterge1pen]

ahhh found you on ao3 and wanted to say hello!!!!

👋

ahhhhhhhhh this made my night honestly!

[glitterge1pen]

Selina Kyle/Catwoman | BATMAN (2016-) #127

[glitterge1pen]

Dear Fanfic Authors, PLEASE stop deleting your stories! The number of times I have browsed my AO3 bookmarks, just to find several stories marked as deleted, makes me sad thinking about it.

People love your story. Yes they do. Especially when so many have taken care to give it kudos and add it to their bookmarks. So while as an author I understand wanting to distance yourself from old writing, for whatever reason, please remember others love that story and will be sad to see it go. It could have meant a lot to them.

So instead of deleting, please consider pressing that ORPHAN button. That way the story is no longer associated with your AO3 account or username (the story will now say written by Orphan Account) but the people who cherish your story can still enjoy!

EDIT, since people are getting mad:

I am not demanding anything from authors. I’m an author myself with several fics posted. All I’m saying is to consider it. Repeat, I’m not MAKING you do anything.

I have a story with almost 500 likes and 200 bookmarks. Am I a fan of my writing from 6 years ago? Not exactly. Will I delete it? No, because I know it would make my readers sad.

You don’t have to orphan it if you don’t want to.

So don’t come here on my post and call me freaking entitled for speaking my thoughts. I’ve orphaned several of my works already. However, I understand orphaning isn’t for everyone and respect each authors decision.

Last but not least, on a happier note, go comment again on those bookmarked fics you love!