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#sheith thread - ASMR AU pt. 3!

part 2 can be found here:
Keith brings Shiro home for dinner (again).

Tex rejoices for being reunited with his pie plate and sets another place at the table. During dinner, Krolia is almost smug as she observes the fruits of yesterday's spur-of-the-moment maneuvering to help Keith out with his crush.
While Keith helps his parents clean up and dry the dishes, he lets them know about his impromptu vacation plans with Shiro, which are already set in stone as far as he’s concerned. Meanwhile, Shiro stews in the living room (Keith’s suggestion) as he waits for their reaction.
His parents have reasonable, well-meaning concerns— things are moving awful fast; they barely know one another yet; the coast is a long way to go with new company. Keith rebutts them at every turn, passionately making his case for why this is a Good Idea. No, the -Best Idea-.
He can’t let Shiro leave and have his chance at love slip away in the wind with him, and the slow roll of a single frustrated tear down his cheek has his parents clamoring to comfort him. Keith clinches it by reminding his mom and dad how quickly -their- relationship progressed.
“Didn’t you two elope after knowing each other like a month-and-a-half?” he questions, eyeing the two of them.

“It was two months and you know it,” his dad corrects, but the point stands. “And we weren’t setting a record for you to break, baby.”
“Kolivan wasn’t exactly pleased with either of us afterward, either,” his mother add with a soft huff.

It softens them on the idea of Keith leaving, though, the quiet murmuring between themselves going from skeptical to thoughtfully accepting.
As Keith bolts from the room to tell Shiro that they have his parents’ blessing, Krolia and Tex reflect on the knowledge that they were, perhaps, -too- effective in steering their son toward a relationship. They’d been nudging, sure, creating little opportunities for Keith to
spend time with this polite and handsome newcomer, as he so clearly wanted to, but...

It’s not a bad outcome, though. They both like Shiro and they’re happy for Keith, even if things are moving at a surprising speed.
“Keith’s always gone at his own pace when it comes to pursuing other people, which up until now has been pretty much… standstill,” Tex shrugs, his thick arms crossed. “Honestly? Going zero-to-sixty kinda suits him.”

Krolia has to agree there.
As Keith darts around his bedroom frantically packing a duffel bag for the trip, his dad ambles in with an armful of toiletries and snacks to take along, piling them into Keith’s bag whenever clothes aren’t actively being shoved inside it.
“Some snacks for the road,” Tex says, stuffing in sunflower seeds and spicy trail mix and twinkies. “Here’s some sunscreen— don't forget about it. And make sure you reapply it every... two hours?? Huh,” he mumbles, frowning at the back of the bottle. "Every two hours."
“Oh, and I grabbed your swimming trunks out of the laundry room for you,” his father says, laying them neatly atop the small, rumpled mountain of clothes already in Keith’s hastily thrown-together bag. “And I, uh, also, uh, got you covered on these.”
Keith looks up from the drawer he’s digging in, a fistful of underwear bunched in hand; his jaw slips open of its own accord.

In his dad’s hand dangles a lengthy chain of silvery foil packets, which he offers to Keith like it’s nothing more embarrassing than a first-aid kit.
“Where did you— oh… oh, no…” Keith trails off, pained realization turning his expression. They're not just any condoms, either— no, they’re his -parents’- condoms, no doubt fished from somewhere in the master bedroom for the sole purpose of handing them off to Keith.
“Condoms are condoms, son,” Tex says, tossing the foil packets into the duffel bag even as Keith drops what he's holding just to bury his face in his hands and groan. “Don’t— just don’t think about it, okay? Nowhere’s open at this hour and I’d rather you be prepared.”
“Thanks,” Keith mumbles through his fingers, still stunned by the sheer number of condoms his dad had seen fit to give him. On some level he’s grateful, truly, for the open support; on a more immediate and visceral level, Keith wants a sinkhole to open and swallow him. Now.
His dad gives him a gentle pat, sympathetic to the paralyzing awkwardness, and then takes it upon himself to organize Keith’s haphazardly filled duffel bag, expertly folding everything into perfect rectangles that won’t wrinkle.
In the living room, Shiro has his own why-can’t-a-sinkhole-take-me moment when finds himself cornered by Krolia. It’s a little like being interrogated, although Shiro 100% understands why she wants to know the address of where they’ll be staying and how to get in touch with him.
Krolia jots it all down in a notepad that Shiro recognizes from riding with her while she was on duty, and on the current page Shiro can faintly make out his own name and what looks like his license plate. He swallows hard and hopes he won’t leave a sweaty imprint on the couch.
“I like you, Shiro,” Krolia says after, as they wait by the stairs for Keith and his dad to descend. Her hand gently squeezes his shoulder, the pressure somewhere between fond and warning, her nails sinking softly into him. “I really do. But be careful with my son.”
“I will,” Shiro reassures, and it’s true. He takes the slip of paper Krolia offers— her number and Tex’s both printed on it, along with a shared email address— and pockets it. “The last thing I want to do is let him down. Or you both, either.”
The Koganes generously offer to let Shiro stay the night in their guest room, but he’s fidgety and nervous around them now that his romantic intentions are known. “A-and I already paid for another night in the motel anyway,” he stammers out.
So Keith abruptly offers to go back to the motel with him instead.

“It’s just so we can leave early in the morning,” he tells his parents, cheeks reddening as neither of them looks especially surprised or convinced by his reasoning.
“I’m sure,” Krolia says, resisting a smile as she runs a hand through Keith’s hair and then folds him into a tight hug. Tex slings his arms around the both of them, squeezing tight as he lifts his wife and son inches off the ground.
They both shake hands goodbye with Shiro after, iron-gripped and smiling.

“Hey,” Tex says, beckoning Keith back while Shiro loads his bags into the car. “If you’re even a little bit unhappy, you can call us and we’ll be there in three hours tops to bring you home, alright?”
Keith’s expression turns embarrassed and pleading; he prays Shiro is too far away to overhear his father’s low drawl. “Dad…”

“I mean it,” Tex insists, pulling him in and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You let us know if you need -anything-. Love you, kid. Take care.”
“Have fun, Keith,” his mom tells him, drawing him in for one last hug. “And you too, Shiro. Text us when you get there and let us know how you’re doing. Send us lots of pictures, too."

“And bring us back some seashells!” his dad calls as they clamber into the Volvo, waving.
“The sheriff’s not going to come after me, is she?” Shiro questions as he pulls out onto the road, glancing up at the rearview mirror. Keith’s parents still linger on the porch, watching them leave.

“Doubtful,” Keith snorts.

“That’s not a no,” Shiro murmurs under his breath.
As soon as they get to the motel, Keith holds true to his word. While Shiro sits in a tight ball on the bed, his arms looped around bent knees, Keith checks everywhere for scorpions. He wastes no time knocking one off of a wall and stomping another as it scuttles toward the bed.
Shiro’s dark eyes go wide, staring up at Keith like he’s a knight in shining armor rather than a stand-in exterminator in a shitty motel. It puts a little pep in Keith's step as he flushes the squished bugs.

"You didn't even scream when you stepped on it," Shiro observes, awed.
And Keith can’t deny that the little surge of confidence that hits whenever Shiro is impressed with him feels good. -Really- good. Especially when he’s rewarded with fervent kisses, too, and Shiro hastily tugging off his shirt as he expresses his gratitude.
The bed under them is cheap and squeaky, the springs in the mattress poky wherever his weight settles, and Keith is touched anew by Shiro’s initial offer to stay here rather than leave for his luxe rental on the beach— just to share more time together, to know Keith better.
Keith lets himself go in Shiro’s arms, kissing hard and overeager. Sloppy, even, in his rush to regain lost ground. Truly desperate, he fumblingly claws off his own shirt and jeans, moaning as he rocks his boxer-clad hips against the thick thigh he’s currently straddling.
A late bloomer in everything (or so it feels) Keith’s never gotten this far with anyone before— something he admits with his face buried in the safety of Shiro’s broad shoulder, hoping it doesn’t make Shiro think he needs to be handled with kid gloves.
When Keith lifts his head, he finds Shiro’s mouth open in a perfect and silent little -oh-, long lashes beating as he blinks at him in surprise.

“Really? And you want your first time to be with me? Here?” Shiro asks in a tone that reads half flattered and half incredulous.
Shiro’s pretty head tilts as he glances around the room— from the hideous wall art to the ugly carpet, and then to the rickety bed with its scratchy sheets.

“Yeah,” Keith answers, his voice low and husky-dry. His hands curl tighter around Shiro’s shoulders. “With you, anywhere.”
He seals his lips against Shiro’s with syrupy slowness, nails dragging as he runs them up Shiro’s neck and into short, dark hair that’s soft under his fingertips. A whine crawls out of Keith as a metal thumb runs over the seams along the front of his boxers,
tracing the hardening shape masked behind black fabric stretched taut. Shiro’s other hand fans at the small of his back, pressing him inward, closer.

And just as everything seems to be moving in the direction Keith wants, Shiro jolts still and pulls back, interrupting the kiss.
“Oh. Oh, shit, Keith. I didn’t— I wasn’t planning on meeting anyone, so I didn’t even bring any—”

“Don’t worry! I came prepared,” Keith purrs in his ear, excited for the chance to be the suave savior of their evening. He springs up from the bed and darts to his bag, rummaging
through it while Shiro sits up to watch.

Keith grabs the first condom he sees and raises it high, triumphant— then belatedly realizes that it’s still connected to a dozen other foil packets, forming a chain of condoms so long that it ends somewhere in the depths of his duffel.
Shiro’s eyebrows lift high, eyes fixed on the condoms dangling from Keith’s hand. He worries his bottom lip, doing a poor job of keeping a straight face. “-Very- prepared.”

“What now?” Keith asks as he tears off one of the silvery foil packets and tosses it at Shiro.
It bounces slightly as it lands on one of his rounded pecs, leaving Shiro even more the perfect picture of temptation— propped up on bent elbows and bare all the way down to his waist, sporting tousled hair and a reddened blush, a warm sheen building on his flushed skin.
His gaze breaks from Keith’s only to fall upon his own body instead, lingering on the shoulder ringed with healed-over burns and the scars that branch over his chest. Shiro shifts, suddenly looking self-conscious under the intensity of Keith’s stare. “I, um...”
That brief flicker of insecurity is more than enough to spur Keith into motion. He practically dives back onto the bed, on all fours as he clambers over Shiro again, his unabashed zeal winning him a bright, toothy smile and sweetly surprised laughter.

“Everything okay?”
"Yes." Shiro nods, biting his bottom lip through his smile. Prosthetic fingers sift through the locks of Keith's black hair, drawing him closer. "More than okay, Keith. Just—" he swallows audibly, his thumb fondly caressing Keith's cheek. "—forgot how I look, for a minute there."
“How you look? Shiro, you're beautiful,” Keith murmurs, bent legs splayed on either side of Shiro's hips. He leans in and kisses him deep without a millisecond of hesitation, pleased to feel Shiro kiss back just as intently, whatever worry raised its ugly head now laid to rest.
Keith can feel the extra give as Shiro relaxes underneath him, pliant again, almost comfortable atop the lumpy mattress; broad hands cup around Keith's ribs before sliding sinuously slow down to his waist, nearly touching finger-to-finger at the narrowest little dip.
“Can I take these off?” Keith asks in a gasped whisper, almost a plea, forehead rubbing against Shiro’s cheek as he shoves a hand down between them to fumble with Shiro’s buttoned jeans. He wants to see Shiro— all of Shiro— and feel him, too.
“You can do whatever you want, Keith,” Shiro answers, his dark eyes almost mischievous as he abruptly raises his hips and helps slips his jeans off. His underwear, too, Keith notes as his eye follows the trail of dark hair that begins under Shiro’s navel. “However you want.”
He licks his lips as he takes in the spread of Shiro’s body underneath him— generously filled-out chest heaving, his muscles flexing under smooth skin; at the periphery of Keith’s vision, he catches the slightest movement of Shiro’s mouth curling into a self-satisfied smile.
Right now, all Keith wants is to let Shiro take hold and guide him where he needs to go. He wants Shiro’s strong hands to lift his hips high and grip him tight while he slakes the thirst that’s been building in him for six slow months and 24 especially excruciating hours.
“Fuck me. Please. Like this,” Keith says, rolling until his back rests on the mattress, needily tugging Shiro over on top of him. He watches as Shiro’s eyes fall half-lidded, hazy, the grey going deeper and darker under the cast of his long lashes.
Shiro's smile is still soft as ever, though, even as he rolls Keith’s black briefs down his legs and tosses them aside. “I’ll go slow,” he promises. At Keith’s sudden glare and the pleading little part of his lips, Shiro laughs, kisses his brow, and adds, “But not -too- slow.”
When Keith wakes the next morning, it's to bright sunlight slipping through the blinds to fall across them where they lay in bed, the playing of a radio outside, and a profound satisfaction he can’t remember ever finding in any one of the thousands of mornings to precede it.
It runs deep through him, physical and emotional, a kind of closeness with another that he's never known— seen and felt and tasted, even. You can’t really miss what you've never had, but…

Keith’s glad to have found it, at any rate. Him. Shiro.
It takes some searching to find Shiro’s hand amid the sweaty tangle of their limbs, the both of them somehow lying almost sideways on the uncomfortable bed. But Keith does, his slim fingers fitting easily between Shiro’s, holding his hand til he wakes.
Shiro does so with a slow, sleepy smile that melts Keith’s heart into molten goo, bubbling with feelings he doesn’t quite know what to do with. Any little shred of worry he’d held onto over how falling into bed with Shiro might alter things between them crumples like ash.
“Hey, baby,” Shiro greets, a slight fray to his perfect, beautiful voice. His skin is bright, practically glowing— everywhere but the dark, reddened lovebites laid carelessly at the hollow of his throat and across his chest, the little half-moon imprints left on his biceps.
“How’d you sleep?"

“Low quantity, high quality,” Keith grins, convinced that Shiro’s chest might be the best pillow he’s ever slept on in his life. He’s a little sore, but no worse than he might be after a long ride; if anything, he’d kind of like to roll Shiro over once more...
But check-out is in an hour and there’s somewhere better awaiting them— with a sturdier bed and thicker walls and fewer bugs, he hopes. They take turns jumping into the shower, devour half the energy bars that Keith’s dad gave him, and then haul their luggage to the lobby.
The manager at the front desk mentions a few noise complaints as Shiro pays for the stay, shooting the two of them severely unamused looks. Their stare drifts past a bashfully flustered Shiro to linger on Keith instead, no doubt recognizing him as the sheriff’s son.
Inwardly, Keith groans.

It’s a small town. Word gets around. And this? Keith Kogane shacking up at the motel with the handsome stranger that just blew into town? That’s top tier grocery-aisle gossip that’s all too likely to circle back to his parents.
Keith’s lips quirk to one side, not loving the idea of the local busybodies having a field day. But it’s less out of worry for himself and more for the sake of his mom and dad, already no strangers to standing up on his behalf against scurrilous rumors and snide insinuations.
But it’s hard to let simple pettiness get to him when he has a week with Shiro to look forward to. Keith feels as though he’s treading atop clouds as he follows Shiro out to the car, stows his bag in the trunk, and settles into the passenger seat for the trip down to the beach.
Keith can’t remember the last time he hit the coast— when he was a kid, probably, on a rare family trip. And it was definitely never in a place this nice, as large as his parents' house but stuffed to the gills with lush comforts and little luxuries like he's never seen.
Keith seeks out the smallest bedroom and drops his bag on the bed. Not that he wouldn’t rather share the master suite (and its bed, and every waking or sleeping hour) with Shiro, but the last thing Keith wants is to wear out his welcome.
Even if they did sleep together last night… even if Keith is still itching to throw himself at Shiro... and even if the first thing Shiro does in the master suite is test the give of the bed, giving Keith a metallic thumbs up when it doesn’t buckle or squeak in the slightest.
The couch is where they end up, though, its white cushions nudged out of place as they twine around each other with increasing desperation. And then they’re on the floor, lost in their own world until Keith’s sent bolting back to the duffel in his room before they can carry on.
Shiro orders dinner in that night, the two of them too worn out to even contemplate leaving the comfort of the beach house. They spread across the living room floor, legs stretched out amid dozens of containers of food, chatting as they put away a small mediterranean feast.
And when the night is full and they've talked till they're both going hoarse, they carry themselves down the hallway, still wheezing from one of Shiro’s stories about a dental hygienist named Lance. At the door to the master suite, they hesitate, voices trailing into silence.
“You, uh, don’t have to sleep with me, obviously,” Shiro murmurs. “But… you can, if you want. Anytime. Even if you don’t feel like doing anything but sleeping.”

Keith hums, glancing past Shiro and into the bedroom, wistfully. The only place he wants to be is by Shiro's side.
“Don’t want you to get tired of me too quick,” he whispers instead, softening the truth in his words with a smile.

“Keith,” Shiro sighs as he leans against the doorframe, looking hopelessly fond. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of you.”

It’s all the enabling Keith needs.
They start the night on either side of Shiro’s california king, somehow less certain of themselves than when they’re rutting across the bamboo flooring. By morning, Keith finds himself plastered to Shiro with the tenacity of a barnacle, both of their bodies sweaty and—
And his dick poking firmly into the small of Shiro’s back, the hardest morning wood Keith’s ever awoken to.

“You too, huh?” Shiro laughs when Keith grumbles and buries his face in the Shiro’s shoulder.
Keith moves his stuff into the master suite with Shiro that morning, all pretenses of not diving into this headfirst and full-bodied given up. He’s head-over-heels already— willingly, undeniably— and the best consolation is that Shiro seems to be in the same boat.
And the next night, tangled together in white linen sheets and bathed in the moonlight falling through the skylight above the bed, Keith shyly admits to all the times he’d watched and listened to Shiro's ASMR videos with… less than wholesome intentions.
His vague worries of Shiro cringing away or finding it pitiful are soothed with a flattered blush and a flurry of kisses. Shiro is almost insufferably self-pleased as he then pries at Keith for details on how and how often, which videos and why Keith found them so… inspiring.
“Your hands,” Keith says as he wraps his fingers around Shiro’s wrist and guides it down his belly and between his legs, rolling his hips forward to meet his firm, broad palm, “your voice, your smile, the way you made me feel… you're everything to me, Shiro.”
They spend the rest of the week enjoying themselves— always on Shiro’s dime, no matter how many times Keith pulls out his wallet and offers to pay. They cherry-pick from Shiro's original schedule, taking their time wherever they go, enjoying good food and each other's company.
They visit museums, taking selfies together to send back home. They walk the seashore, plucking up shells and exploring tidepools. And as they dine in seaside restaurants, Shiro orders so many appetizers and desserts to share that there isn’t an inch of free space on the table.
There’s even a pier stacked with carnival rides and games, with a ferris wheel spinning slow at its end. They ride it round until Shiro’s out of cash, and then Keith too. The sunset is better from up here, amazingly— and the moon glittering across the dark water, too.
Keith makes another attempt at doing ASMR one night, for whatever it’s worth. (It’s worth a lot to Shiro, he learns.) Making the video is easier with a little guidance— and being in a quiet bedroom rather than a noisy mechanic shop certainly helps, too.
While the camera rolls, he reclines on the bed with Shiro’s head pillowed in his lap; grey eyes flutter shut, lips curved in a faint smile as Keith dotes on him. Slender fingers trace patterns over scarred skin, tap soft against Shiro’s temples, comb through white-and-black hair.
And all the while, he whispers to Shiro everything that comes to mind— how pretty his lashes are, how soft his lips. How much he loves sunrise over canyon walls and camping under the stars; how he wants to take Shiro out there sometime, the next chance they can both get away.
The beach vacation has to end, much as Keith hates it. He spends the whole ride home nibbling his thumbnail, sun-tanned and anxious, the bliss of his carefree week with Shiro replaced with a needy ache that deepens with every mile they travel inland.
Shiro spends the night at his family’s house this time, welcomed back with excitement and open arms. No uncomfortable motel stay. No guest room, either. He crowds into Keith’s bed above the garage, folded snug around him as they try to make the most of their last night together.
Shiro leaves late the next morning, as reluctant to leave as Keith is to see him go. After, Keith feels like a balloon with all the helium punched out, limply adrift as he tries to fall back into his old ways before Shiro stumbled into town. Work. Drawing. Riding his bike alone.
He has texts to look forward to, at least, traded damn near constantly that first week apart. Keith gets one right before Shiro updates his channel with a new video— two words and two emoji, with a youtube link right after.

For you 😘🏍️
It’s forty minutes of Shiro's leather-gloved hands running over the sleek black body of his Hayabusa, gently pulling it apart as he does simple maintenance work in a clean, immaculately organized garage that Keith would love to play around in. And it's just for -him-.

It’s forty minutes of his leather-gloved hands running over the sleek black body of his Hayabusa, gently pulling it apart as he does simple maintenance work in a clean, immaculately organized garage that Keith would love to play around in.
They spend months dating long-distance, through texts and video chats and phone calls that stretch until they both fall asleep on the line. Keith still watches Shiro’s videos religiously, although now he has a small library of ones made just for him—personalized, Shiro’s voice
murmuring his name, just like he’d always wanted.

Shiro does the same, watching recordings of Keith as he drifts off— even the crappy one of him working on the Volvo in his uncle’s shop. -Especially- that one, Shiro says. The perfect reminder of where and when they first met.
Shiro takes long weekends to drive down and meet him, becoming something of a regular around town. They go camping with Keith’s new puppy— a stray he found on one of the highland trails, golden-eyed and fluffy and never one to bark— and share late dinners with his parents.
And just as often, Keith rides the four hours northeast to visit Shiro, his red bike streaking through the desert and into the rolling green foothills, heart singing anytime he's on his way to him. Shiro’s city is bustling by comparison, alive with places to go and things to do.
But usually they just stay in together, spending the weekend curled close in Shiro’s wide bed as they try new movies together, work on their bikes in the garage, and spend hours fucking each other to blissful exhaustion before they’re tugged apart again.
At a ritzy fine-dining place downtown, Shiro introduces him to Allura, his dentistry partner and oldest friend. Keith can't stop himself grinning when he overhears her teasing Shiro about how blatantly in love they are on his way back from the bathroom, all too happy for Shiro.
Keith’s parents are more than understanding when he eventually floats the idea of moving in with Shiro, even if it takes him and Kosmo hundreds of miles from them.

"As long as you come home to visit us," Krolia says, she and Tex holding him tight. "And Shiro, too."
Tex and Krolia help Keith pack up his room, the three of them reminiscing as they sift through mementos and fill sturdy boxes. They haul his stuff up to Shiro’s place, too, Kosmo peering out the back window of the truck as Keith follows on his bike.
His dad, of course, makes a show of trying out every appliance Shiro owns once they're done unpacking, whistling softly at each one. And his mother checks every window, every lock, smoke alarm and safety feature. Tex and Krolia surprise them both with housewarming gifts—
a new succulent for Shiro’s enormous and ever-growing window collection, a sturdy new foam bed for Kosmo, and a photo of the five of them from Shiro’s last visit in the midst of a Marmora family gathering centered in a handmade wooden frame.
It moves Keith, heart full of love and ache both. But he thinks it moves Shiro more.

His boyfriend sneakily wipes away a tear as the picture is unveiled, only to end up openly crying when Tex and Krolia proudly declare that he’s like a son to them as they hug goodbye.
Family’s been a sore, complicated thing for Shiro for a long time, Keith knows. Most of his life, judging by the long, quiet conversations they've had with Shiro's head resting heavy on his chest, Keith's hands stroking soothingly through his hair.
And Keith is grateful that his own has come to fill that painful void for Shiro—uncles and aunts and cousins who’ve already adopted him as one of the clan, with parents to tell him that they’re happy for him, that they’re proud, that they can’t wait to see them home for holidays.
With Shiro’s support, Keith makes a second go at finishing the art degree he'd dropped after two semesters. He works odd shifts at the nearby coffee shop just to prevent Shiro from (willingly, eagerly) footing the bill for everything— but it's nice to know he doesn't -have- to.
In time, Keith even makes his first debut on Shiro’s ASMR channel (as a waving hand and a disembodied ‘hey’) while he helps Shiro record a roleplay in which he draws a portrait of the viewer. Or tries, anyway. There's a lot they'll have to edit out.
“This video was inspired by my artist boyfriend, Keith, who is currently in art school,” Shiro says as he smiles into the camera— and at Keith, who sits just behind it, smiling back so wide that his cheeks ache. “Did I mention he’s an artist?"
This is where it started for them. For Keith, at least. Videos just like this drew him into Shiro’s orbit, letting him know the face and voice of the man he’d one day brush past by chance, like a comet streaking by once in a hundred years— and he couldn’t be more grateful.

Thank you for reading!! This went on so much longer than I ever meant it to and your support helped so much. Once I have some time, I'll gather this up and post it to AO3 :) And if you feel like it, here's my ko-fi!
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